#suburban murder daddy

[kiwisbell]

Larks and Katydids [dave york]

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

my masterlist!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

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

word count: ~ 14.7k

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

LARKS AND KATYDIDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums. “Jackson.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it is. 

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

“Does he treat you good?”

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

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

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

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

~

Dave follows you home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Yes, he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave frowns. “Sweet girl—”

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

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

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

He unfurls his palm and finds a note. 

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

You don’t once stop smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's certainly not going to get you. 

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, he's going to make this hurt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not answering shi—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting. How very fucking curious. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

“Insects and people are different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don't walk,” he says. “Crawl to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d I get so lucky?” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lift your brows knowingly. “Leverage?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy…”

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

~

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

So, that night, Dave breaks into your apartment. 

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

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

You sleep on the couch every single night.

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

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

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

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

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

Coordinates. 

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dave, west! TURN WEST—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How can such a man handle you so lovingly?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

You can't sit still. 

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

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

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

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

“Dave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END.

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

[morallyinept]

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

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.

Dave York Fic Recs - Part 1

Dave York Fic Recs - Part 2

Dave York Fic Recs - Part 3

Dave York Fic Recs - Part 4

Will be added to as I find more...

Jett's Pedro Character Favourite Fic Recs

#dave york #dave york the equalizer 2 #dave york smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dave york x f!reader #dave york x gn!reader #dave york x m!reader #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york fanfiction #the equalizer 2 #pedro pascal dave york #dave york fluff #dave york angst #suburban murder daddy #jett's fic recs #fic recs

[guelyury]

You guys know... Dave York apologist 4eva bitches. Ñom ñom some Murder Daddy

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dave york apologist #dave York #dave york pit #suburban murder daddy

[exquisiteserotonin]

Precious Possessions Chapter 7: Keep Me On Fire

Pairing: Dave York X F! Reader

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Word count: 3.7K

Summary: Reeling from the aftermath of the events surrounding Brad's death, our dear reader must come to terms with what might happen next and what this means for your place on Dave's team and in his life

Warnings: PiV sex, dirty talk and names, squirting, minor BDSM stuff, sexy stuff happens in this chapter, I'm not responsible for what you consume. Once again please DNI if you are not 18 and over. Also not beta'd, so all errors are my own.

A/N: As always, I am so humbled when any of you ever read my stuff. I also appreciate if you have followed along with me as I have built this story. I hope you will continue me to follow me along the home stretch. Also if you would like to be included on the taglist for this fic, please let me know!

Love for my magical sluts! Thank you for the encouragement and pushing me to continue this story.

@youandmeand5bucks @imalrightllama @basicoccult @legendary-pink-dot @redhotkitchen @pink-whiskey-woman @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38

Chapter 7: Keep Me On Fire

One of your co-workers picked you up from the hospital after your overnight stay there. You didn’t know who else to call. No real family to speak of, not any you cared to call anyway. You sat in silence as you stared out the passenger side window at nothing in particular. Everything at the side of the road zoomed past you in formless blurs. Every sound around you played in your ears as though filtered through a muffled speaker. Your gaze moved to your hands, and you became hyper aware of your breaths and your body. Your brain was on another plane of existence. None of this, none of anything felt real.

Bits and pieces of words and conversations interspersed between images and feelings were tossing themselves around in your mind.

“We just want to make sure we have the details right, ma’am.”

You nodded, you were still damp with dirt and tears, and your body still hurt.

“Do you mind telling us what happened?”

You shook your head.

“Brad and I just finished dinner…and we left the restaurant, I pulled him into a quiet alley---then two guys came out of nowhere and---,”

A flash of Dave standing over you, pushing you to the ground, replayed over and over in your head as tears fell down your dirty face.

“Why would you go into an empty alley?”

“Brad and I wanted some alone time.”

You didn’t care if anyone knew what that implied. He was supposed to be your boyfriend anyway. The cop who questioned you tightened his lips.

“Ok, I see.”

He wrote down something in his little notebook.

“Um, ma’am, if you are ok, would you continue please?”

That was a funny question. Of course, you weren’t OK.

“Two guys jumped out at us. One of them threw me to the ground.”

The memory of his angry eyes burned themselves into you as he held you by the wrists and tossed you to the ground.

And now you were fucking crying.

The detective handed you a tissue. Some pathetic semblance of minute caring or compassion, you supposed.

“One of them threw me to the ground…”

By now, you knew you were doing that ugly crying thing. The kind of crying where your lips were trembling, and you were gasping to breathe.

“I heard Brad, and he was struggling and then he just---just stopped…”

A nurse came to you and placed a soft hand on your back as you cried. You could feel her glare at the detective.

“They started to come at me, and I just screamed and screamed.”

“And you’re sure you couldn’t see their faces?”

Dave’s eyes were enough.

“They had masks, and it was so dark.”

You placed a hand on your head as it began to ache from all the tears. There was a dull ache in your wrist, which hurt your heart more than the body part itself.

“Detective, do you have everything you need? She really needs to rest.”

The scribble of more notes sounded out before he closed his notepad.

“Yes, I think I have it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The detective reeked of stale coffee, cigarettes, and misplaced arrogance. The fucker had probably never been sorry about anything in his life.

“Hey, hon,” your co-worker’s calming tone snapped you back into reality, “we’re at your place.”

Through blinking eyes, you looked up to find yourself parked in front of your townhouse. Wordlessly, you began to gather your things that rested at your feet in front of the passenger seat of your co-worker’s car. Practically leaping out, she met you to open the passenger side door.

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly as you pushed yourself out of the car. “Thank you for driving me home.”

She accompanied you to your front door, kindly but also awkwardly waiting with you as you unlocked your door.

“Will you be ok?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to stay with you? Just for a little while?”

“No, thank you,” the words came out with a mindless automaticity. “I just need to sleep.”

“Ok,” she murmured, concerned but unsure of the protocol or etiquette she should be following. “Well, just call if you need anything OK?”

As you walked in you wondered briefly who would be awaiting you there. Dave? No. Someone to kill you? Perhaps. Likely Resnick.

Instead, there was no one. Nothing.

The early afternoon light filtered in through the diaphanous curtains in your living room window. Everything was as you left it the night before: a book you’d been reading left askew on your living room table. A blanket left on your couch. Your bed, though made, was rumpled from where you sat. An eyeshadow palette still left on the bathroom vanity.

You reached for your face wash and haphazardly washed away any remaining makeup left on your face, not bothering to even look at yourself in the mirror. Dark remnants of mascara pressed lightly into your face towel when you pat yourself dry. Reaching into the shower you turned the handle to somewhere between hot and warm. The water rained on you as you stepped in and stared at how droplets from the water streams clung to your skin like morning dew on grass. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash---your shower was quick and functional. You dried yourself off and hung up your towel on the hook attached to your door.

You didn’t even have the strength to put on any clothes. Climbing in bed and pulling the covers up to your chest was the only action your body felt compelled to do. You snuggled in, staring at your wrists where Dave grabbed you, shook you, tossed you to the ground. Burying your face into your pillow, you took a long, slow breath as your puffy eyes grew heavy with approaching slumber.

It still smelled like Dave.

***

Wakefulness eased its way towards you, crawling up your shoulders to your neck to open your eyes. Darkness met them in a kinder way than the harsh beams of the sun normally greeted you upon waking. The time it took for your eyes to adjust to the darkness was gradual as the edges of your blackout curtains allowed only slivers of moonlight into your room. The peace of the night was broken by the incessant ringing of your camera doorbell. Bolting up, you grabbed your gun from your nightstand and covered yourself with a kimono from your closet.

The camera revealed the figure of a man dressed in black, a beanie atop his head. The devil you knew was at your door and you were ready for him. Setting your gun down, you opened the door and welcomed him. His eyes met yours and you studied each other in silence. The raise of his eyebrow, along with a smile twisted with lust accompanied the pilgrimage of his eyes over the vision of your naked body. A cruel mixture of excitement and trepidation brewed within you as he locked the door behind him.

No words were spoken. No words were needed. He was on you before you could think, his hand grabbing at your bare waist. Keeping your body pressed to his, he advanced both of you towards your living room wall. A loud crash of books on the floor along with a shaking of mirrors was only a small part of the aftermath of him pinning you there, pressing at your wrists with his hands. The force of his body sent heaving breaths of desire across your naked chest. Only seconds had passed when you felt his own hot, audible breaths keeping time with yours. Primal need seeped from his lips to yours, drawing you in further with one delicious taste of his tongue.

“Is this what you want, you little cunt?” he asked with a raspy, snarl from the back of his throat. “My pretty little whore craves the fucking danger, the adrenaline, isn’t that right?”

Dave tossed your kimono to the floor then lifted you with ease as you wrapped your legs around his waist. By now, he had memorized the path to your bedroom. So many days and nights had been spent there drowning in each other’s darkness. He tossed you on your bed and you pressed yourself up to watch him undress. Each breath you drew in grew faster and faster at each article of clothing he threw on your bedroom floor. With his beautiful body fully exposed, he leaned forward and began to crawl towards you on the bed. A devilish grin curled his lips as you spread your legs open for him. The feeling of his hands as he traced along your thighs, hips, and waist was intoxicating. They continued to travel up your body, massaging the supple tissue of your tits. You arched towards him as he pinched and swirled your nipples with sudden flicks and strokes of his tongue.

He pressed himself up with his forearms on either side of you. He gazed at you with lust-filled eyes until they settled at your right cheek where you wore a purple bruise from Resnik’s back hand. He lowered his face to yours, taking you into a deep, long kiss. When you opened your eyes, the intensity of his gaze began to melt away, lifting with his eyebrows and softening as his eyes opened and rounded at the edges. His eyes, then nose moved across the small territory of your right cheek until he lowered his lips there in the softest kiss you’ve ever felt from him.

“It’s not that bad,” you whispered, “he needed to make it believable.”

He kissed you again, heavier with this desire for you. This time his tongue setting you alight with need as he bucked his hips against your pelvis. The way his cock twitched and lifted told you how much he needed you. The journey of his eyes rested at your left wrist. He paused to take you in for a moment, his brows lowered and without words, you knew he was replaying the moment he pushed you to the ground.

“Don’t get soft on me now, York,” you commented, slowly drawing invisible swirls on his freckled shoulder with your fingertips. “It was all part of the job, right?”

“Endangering someone who’s part of the team isn’t how I operate.”

“Look at me,” you said sternly, “I’m not willing to lose y---,”

Out of self-preservation, you disallowed yourself from uttering the rest of your declaration.

“I don’t want to be a distraction.”

His right hand traveled down to your center, your breath hitching as his thumb began a slow exploration of your outer folds. He gingerly pressed his thumb to your clit, massaging it with light up and down strokes, responding to each roll and writhe of your body.

“Not a distraction,” he murmured, slowly slipping one thick finger into you, “an asset.”

The roll of your body was a signal for him to insert another finger. He began slowly at first, working both his fingers in and out of you to build  up the slick that was already beginning to weep from your core. Your pussy began to swell at the pressure building inside you. The feeling of his forehead against yours as he continued his merciless ministrations had you opening your legs wider for him. The palm of his hand twisted upward as he relentlessly maneuvered his fingers within you, curling them on the button of your sex, beckoning you to come. It was hard to process anything else than his hand working on your pleasure. You closed your eyes feeling every ounce of it collecting itself at your bundle of nerves.

“No, firefly,” he voiced, his breath warm against your ear, “open your eyes.”

Your mouth quivered with moans as you followed his directive, capturing his brown eyes with yours as you made a pathetic attempt at forming words, “Dave, I’m---ah, ah, ah!”

“That’s it, come for me,” he demanded, “fucking come all over my hand.”

As soon as his words left his lips, you were screaming and bucking your hips towards the ceiling as his fingers continued to intensify each jolt your body was already giving to him. His lips and his tongue silenced your screams with a deep kiss while your legs and pelvis bucked towards his hand as he pulled a quaking, wet orgasm from you that left your entire body shaking. He continued to kiss you as your hand searched blindly for his arm, bracing yourself with each wave of wet pleasure.

“Jesus,” you gasp between long breaths, your head still pressed to his.

“Fuck, look at you,” Dave breathed into you, “look at how your body is shaking.”

“So good Dave!!” you proclaimed, intoxicated by his sex.

A quick yelp tumbled from your breathless lips as he flipped you over onto your stomach. The shift of your knees beneath you allowed you to press your ass up towards him, wriggling with impatient want for him to split you open.

Getting on his hands and knees, he prowled and shuffled around in bed to reach over to the night stand on “his” side. For a moment you laughed with breathless desire, thinking how ridiculous it seemed that you had designated the label to this object on your own. Yet, his brain and muscle memory knew everything he kept in there. This time he reached for a set of wrist restraints, which received little use since he acquired them for the two of you. Both of you loved the raw feeling of his large, bare hands holding you down and holding you still. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were his to control.

He pushed you down further into the bed by the nape of your neck and pulled your arms behind you in a strong grip. Anticipation rose in your chest and in the quick sounds of your breath as he fastened each cuff around your wrists. With a tight grip of his hand at the base of his cock, he slapped at your pussy, reminding you that it belonged to him. The arousal that vibrated there was intensified as Dave rubbed his hard, thick cock over your wet folds with a moan so loud it echoed up the high walls of your bedroom. He slipped inside with ease and with a few hard slaps of his hand against your ass. He’d reduced you to a mess of moans in your sheets.

“Always so tight and so wet for me,” he praised, moaning with each slow, deep thrust into your pussy.

Each measured thrust he gave you set off nearly every nerve ending you had on your dewy skin. He leaned over as your hands reached out behind you searching for his touch. Large hands massaged against your ass, your waist, until they found the perfect, but temporary destination of your tits. He took a hold of each one, massaging them in his strong, capable hands as his thrusts grew more forceful and more urgent. His hands moved up to your shoulders pressing against them with deep touches of his fingers into your skin.

“Ahhh, Dave, your cock is so good!” you moaned, feeling every ridge and vein as he kept moving for you.

“You crave it, don’t you?” Dave growled as he moved to grab you by your hair. “Can’t imagine life without me fucking you?”

With a strong pull of your hair in one and a pull of the restraints in the other, he pounded into your swollen pussy. The desire to answer perched at the edge of your lips but escaped only in a chorus of moans as he continued to slam himself into you. Letting go of your hair, his hands .pressed and rolled deep into your shoulders moving down the length of your arms until his fingers were digging into your hips. He lifted his hand and drew back, sending smacks that sent a string of reverberations through to your center and stinging back into his hand. Somehow you were both moaning as he left his mark: defined, red, and in the shape of his hand. He pulled at your restraints again, this time even harder.

“Firefly…,” you felt as Dave’s words began to falter the closer he inched towards orgasm, “answer me.”

“Yes, yes, please, I need your cock!!” you cried as he continued fuck into you with such force it made your headboard and bedframe rock. you just knew you’d be sore tomorrow.

The heat was gathering at your core, like tiny fires igniting and setting new fires through your abdomen, your chest, neck, and back. You didn’t know how much more you could take.

“It’s too much, please Dave, I---I can’t.”

“Not.”

Thrust

“Your.”

Thrust.

“Choice”

Thrust.

Leaning forward, he cruelly pulled out of you before you could come and flipped you over again onto your back. Crawling over you, he pushed your pelvis slightly upwards with his thighs. He hooked one arm under your knee and began to circle your swollen clit with the torturous precision of his thumb, rubbing, swirling, and swirling until he sent quivers outward through your entire body. Tears started to release from your eyes as your hands flexed and stretched beneath you, still in their restraints, desperate for any relief he was gracious enough to bestow on you. With quick slaps of his hard cock, he pushed into you once again. He met your pussy with the same power and urgency as he had when you were on your hands and knees.

“Fuck, you’re always so fucking tight for me,” he growled as his thrusts gained erratic moment. “Come all over this cock, wet your fucking cock.”

“Dave, fill me up, please!!!’ you screamed and moaned as you clenched your walls over his cock. ���FUCK!!!”

The walls of your pussy choked down on his cock as the apex of your pleasure rushed in. The futility with which you pulled your wrists from each other trying to break the restraints intensified your pleasure sending a red heat rippling over your body. His eyes were fixed on yours as a gasping groan left his lips as your walls contracted around him, the hot gush of his cum warming you from the inside. Your back and chest heaved as you tried to recover from the earthquake of your orgasm. With his cock still buried deep inside you, he pressed his lips to yours, losing himself in the taste of you before burying his face in your neck. The two of you trembled from the highest peaks of your respective orgasms. He released his cock from the comfort of your warm, wet walls, drawing in a breath and letting out a whimper.

“Turn over,” he instructed with a sigh.

Spent, aching, and fucked out, you rolled over to collapse onto your stomach using what little energy reserve you had left. The feeling of his hands in the merciful act of removing the restraints had you releasing a deep sigh of relief. Your arms dropped to your sides, your left wrist stinging only slightly from where you had fallen the night before. Dave lowered himself to the bed next to you and you peered at him through the strands of hair that still covered your face. Unexpectedly, he took his hand and brushed away the hair, pushing it back and laying it lightly down your back. Closing your eyes, you savored the gentle feeling, not knowing how brief it would be or if it would ever happen again. The feeling of his hand as it traced down your neck and down the dip of your lower back sent shivers and goosebumps over every inch of you.

He brought his hand to your face, once again examining the bruise Resnick had left on your face.

“What I said earlier---,” Dave began his voice steady and stoic.

“You said a lot of things, Dave,” you replied before he could finish.

“I mean it, you need to decide if you really have the stomach for this,” Dave warned, his voice stern and teetering on the edge of regret, “I can’t have people on my team who I can’t rely on and who I can’t trust.”

Opening your eyes, you propped yourself up and scooted closer to him, “What’s the point in even giving me a second chance?”

He breathed you in as you inched closer, your legs beginning to tangle in his, “I know what you’re capable of; your skills would fill a void in the team.” 

“I need the team to listen to me when I have the right intel,” you enjoined, running fingers along his forearm, “not just because I’m fucking you.”

“It’ll happen,” Dave assured as he sat up, leaning against the soft headboard of your bed. “Anyone who judges you by the person you’re with is a fucking idiot.”

The person you’re with. The person you’re with. The person you’re with.

You would have given everything to stay in this moment in time, just to hear those words again and again.

Dwelling on what he said would have driven you insane, instead you tried to refocus your attention on more professional matters.

“Applies to you, too,” you voiced as you sat up, kicking your legs in front of you to face him. “I can’t be responsible for people who don’t trust me and the information I supply.”

You pressed your chest to your thighs and rested your arms across your knees.

“Is that so?” his eyes were affixed to you as he pressed a hand to your ankle.

He massaged your calf up to your knee, pushing your legs slightly apart with a strong nudge of his hand.

“Come here,” he beckoned with his touch, gesturing for you to take your rightful place in his lap.

His hands kneaded and gripped the soft skin of your ass, as he guided you to sit over him in a straddle.

“I mean it, Dave,” you steadied your words by squeezing his thighs with yours.

“How about this: The day I don’t listen to you,” he started, looking up at you with his hand gripping the back of your neck while his thumb caressed your jaw, “if shit hits the fan, you can always tell me I told you so.”

You brought your hand to his, rubbing his forearms, his biceps, and shoulders with tender hands. With a nod, you kissed him, withholding any further discussion on the subject for the time being. While the answer wasn’t quite good enough for you, for now, it would have to do.

#juice collective #dave york #equalizer 2 #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #dave york apologist #murder daddy #suburban murder daddy

[wardenparker]

Killer Writing Masterlist

Dave York x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

After divorcing Carol so she could marry her soulmate, Dave York threw himself into his work. There is no way he could have predicted that the unexpected collateral damage on an op would turn out to be his soulmate. Now all he can do is keep you safe, and try his best to get you to not hate him as the two of you try to navigate a blooming relationship that started out with threats and a mean right hook.  

Explicit chapters marked with **  

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4** 

Chapter 5** 

Chapter 6** 

Chapter 7** (marked explicit for violence) 

Chapter 8** 

Chapter 9** 

Chapter 10** 

Chapter 11** (marked explicit for violence) 

Epilogue**

My Masterlist

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dave York #Dave York x reader #Dave York x you #Dave York x female reader #plus size reader #Equalizer 2 #soulmate au #canon typical violence #virgin reader #suburban murder daddy

[omlwhatamidoinghere]

Office Hours

Dave York x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Author note: my blog always has been and always will be 18+. MINORS DNI . I might turn this into a series...it depends on how well this does. I just kinda typed it and here we are so I apologize now for any mistakes

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; legal age gap (reader is esrly 20s), reader's father is Dave's boss, just to make things a bit more interesting😏

A quick Dave headcanon because of a writing prompt I saw🤤 you're paying Dave a visit in his office when a colleague comes in

"Come in"

He greets your knock on his door without a glance. The clicking of stilettos forcing his attention to your figure. "Mr. York, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" You've seen this look in his eyes before, your morning jog timed perfectly along with his morming coffee on his front porch. Pupils dilated, primal darkness searing into you. Your panties soak to the point of almost dripping down your thigh, past the hem of your pencil skirt.

"You shouldn't be here, sweetheart. I have a meeting with your father soon. How would he react to seeing his innocent daughter in the office of the man who lives next door? Seems a little off, wouldn't you agree, babydoll?" A nod from you sarisfies his need for a response. Rising from his seat, Dave's hands find support on his desk as he leans over, "So what happens if your father comes strolling through that door right now-" as if on cue, your father knocks on the office door. Scurrying to kneel under Dave's desk, he moves to the door to greet his boss. Both men shake hands and make their way to their respective seats, Dave almost kicking you as he pulls his chair in after taking a seat.

"Well, Mr. York-"

"Please sir, I've already told you, you can call me Dave"

You don't see much of the scene but you can hear the fake smile plastered on Dave's face as it takes every ounce of him to not tell your father all the things you've called him besides 'Dave' and 'Mr. York'.

What you are able so see is the strain in Dave's pants, almost busting the seem in his perfectly ironed work pants. Quietly undoing his belt as the conversation ensues, his hand comes down to grab yours, your father absolutely oblivious to the situation occurring below his employee's desk. The desire to follow his nonverbal orders ever present, the brat inside of you takes hold of the reigns anyway. His cock finally free from the tight confinement. Cherry red lips part to welcome him into your mouth, a cough coming from above, trying not to take away from the conversation.

You can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge, your father still holding his ear captive during his stupid monthlu review. A hand comes down to try and pull you away from his cock, only urging you to continue taking him dowm your throat.

Closer

Closer

Closer

White knuckles cover the armrests of his office chair when your father finally leaves, closing the door behind him. An explosion in your mouth, on cue with the click of the door.

"You dirty fucking brat..." a smile cracks across your lips, "...making me almost cum down your throat- oh do you like that? You like being my slutty little brat?" He moves his chair in more, pushing his foot right between your thighs. Extremely turned on from watching this powerful man crumble in your hands, your slick will surely gather on his shoe.

He grabs your chin, guiding your eyes to his, "Grind on my shoe. Don't cum until I tell you..." his voice lowering to a deep growl, "Be good for Mr. York and grind on his shoe"

#pedro pascal #dave york #david york #dave york x f!reader #dave york smut #suburban murder daddy #under the desk

[parkjammys]

reminder that agent whiskey and dave york were never bad guys and that they're just misunderstood and tried to get on with life the best they can

#dave york #agent whiskey #the equalizer 2 #kingsman: the golden circle #suburban murder daddy #stardust:txt #I WILL FIGHT ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE #pedro pascal

[nicolethered]

Him:

Me:

#pedro pascal #Dave York #suburban murder daddy

[juletheghoul]

For the DVD commentary ask, you KNOW I had to go with this passage from “Dulcis” 😈

Claire!! 💜💜

Oh wow, now that’s- wow yeah. Lmao.

So in this version of Dave, I imagined him being an excellent judge of character, to be able to really read people. I think he’d see you, this teacher who’s a little bit bored, a little bit underestimated and he’d run with it.

Dave likes a challenge, he likes to see how things tick. I imagined him being that kid that took things apart to learn how they worked, sometimes putting them back together—sometimes not. He’d see that there’s a little bit of interest, a little curiosity and so he’d test the waters; and boy do you respond.

He’s taken you apart, and now he’s trying to figure out how to put you back together, only with him in the equation.

Ask me about a fic

#julesanswers #ask games #suburban murder daddy

[kiwisbell]

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.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8

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

[suburban-murderdaddy]

🎶You understand, I got a plan for us. I bet you didn’t know that I was dangerous🎶 😏

#suburban murder daddy #daddy speaks #dangerous #dangerous daddy

[exquisiteserotonin]

Interesting...

Hello out there. Some of you might have just stumbled on my tiny corner of Tumblr. Today, I saw Equalizer 3 (don't judge me it was only $5 with a nice T-Mobile Tuesday goodie) and as you can probably tell, I am a Dave York apologist. I could probably write an entire diatribe of why I think Dave was wronged, but I'm not going to. I will say this latest movie still has me screaming that Dave needs justice. It also reminds me that I have been writing this little weird, Dave York-inspired fic and off-shoot [with an appearance of another Pedro Pascal dilf character]. I only have the first chapter written, it's not smutty YET and I'm honestly kinda scared to share it because of reasons that are probably stupid and have something to do with my fear that I'm not a good writer. I will say that the movie did inspire me to continue to move forward with it.

#suburban murder daddy #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #equalizer 2 #dave york #dave york appreciation #dave york apologist #should I share it?

[wardenparker]

Killer Writing - Epilogue

Dave York x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

After divorcing Carol so she could marry her soulmate, Dave York threw himself into his work. There is no way he could have predicted that the unexpected collateral damage on an op would turn out to be his soulmate. Now all he can do is keep you safe, and try his best to get you to not hate him as the two of you try to navigate a blooming relationship that started out with threats and a mean right hook.  

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8.7k Warnings: *Blanket content warning for self-esteem, self-image, and weight issues.* Daddy kink, breeding kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, sex for procreation, creampie/cum play, SO MUCH FLUFF. Summary: It’s move-in day after months of renovations, and Dave has a surprise for his soulmate. Notes: I had a little fun with the gif this week can you guys tell? 🤣 Thank you all so much for coming on this THIRD soulmate journey with us!! It has truly been so lovely to read along with your reblog comments and tags, and to screech with all of you in DMs over how much you loved this story. Dave and his sweetheart will always hold a very dear place for us and we’re so glad that you have loved them as well! 💗

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Epilogue

“Babe, do you have the box of kitchen shit?” Dave leans around the island and raises his voice in order to push the question through the house. It echoes through the empty space. Surprised when he opened the box to find toothbrushes and shampoo, he wonders if you mixed up labeling them. “Babe?”

“Hang on!” Your voice bounces from the front hall, off the living room walls and back to the kitchen as you carefully shuffle through the house with an enormous box in your hands that was meant for the kitchen but never got there. “I don’t think the moving guys could read my cursive,” you laugh. “This one clearly says Dishes not Dining.”

“Or maybe you just have doctor’s handwriting.” Dave teases, huffing when he sees you lugging the large box and moves around quickly to take it from you. “I would have come to get it.” He grumps at you, already huffy over the heavy stuff you have been dragging around when you could have just called him.

“You’re not my servant, baby.” Around the corner of the box, you lean over to kiss him quickly and look at the box he had opened. “Yeah, this one was probably at the top of the stairs, right? It says Bathroom, not Basement.”

“Yeah.” Dave glances over at the stack of boxes next to the door to the basement right off the kitchen. “I guess they weren’t lugging the rest of the shit down there after dealing with the safe.”

“God forbid they do what we paid them to.” Rolling your eyes a little, you move the bathroom box off of the kitchen island and reach for Dave’s hand. After six long months of extensive work, you’re finally standing together in your forever home. Unpacking boxes to set up the house that you’ll raise your children in. Sorting out how to fully combine your belongings the way you’ve combined your lives. “Happy moving day, handsome.”

“Happy moving day.” He smirks and leans in to kiss you. “You know…” He hums playfully. “We get the bedroom set up fast enough, we could break it in before dinner.” He tells you with a wink.

“The two most important things in any house.” You grin at him and happily let him reel you into his arms. “The place where we fuck, and the place where we fuel up again.”

“Might be the only places we need.” Dave jokes, hands sliding down to tuck under the band of your shorts. Humid Virginia weather and moving had convinced you that those shorts you had hated were necessary and of course he was taking advantage whenever he could. Squeezing your ass playfully and grinning at you.

“We’re gonna have to fuck everywhere,” you remind him, as though it’s some deep and ancient wisdom. “Gotta christen the whole house.”

“Every room.” He vows solemnly. “I want to be able to point to a spot and tell our kids ‘I fucked your mom right there’.” He tells you, eyes serious except for the playful spark in their depths.

“Please don’t tell our kids that.” The comical cringing face you make at him has both of you laughing, and you lean in to indulge in a kiss. “Tell them you danced with me everywhere. That’s much cuter and less scarring.”

“Birthdays will have to be sex anniversaries.” He counters. “Or we call them our little sex trophies.”

“Their birthdays will be anniversaries of being in labor for god knows how long.” Katie and Deirdre may have told you their birth stories over drinks one night last month and fully horrified you in the process. You didn’t touch Dave for three full days afterward.

Dave huffs and shakes his head. He knows the stories you were told. Hell, he was in the waiting room with the rest of the team each time. “We’ll make sure we get you the good drugs.” He promises.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” You tell him sincerely. “Come on, handsome. Let’s bring this randomly misplaced bathroom box upstairs and unpack the bedroom. Then we can have self-congratulatory sex in a freshly made bed.”

“Done.” Dave scoops up the box and starts for the stairs. “After that we can unpack your mugs.”

“Which will be an hour-long project on its own.” True to his word so many months ago, Dave had built a little set of mug-sized shelves for the kitchen counter to display all your Tea Distribution Vessels, as he likes to call them. It sits nestled against the backsplash above the kitchen counter just waiting to be filled.

"You do have a lot of TDVs." Dave jokes, as he carries the box up the stairs behind you. The entire house had been redone and all the things that Dave had imagined going into the home had become reality, along with your style blending with his. "But it's also just going to grow over the years."

The soft blue-grey paint on your bedroom walls had been the most debated color in the whole house but looking at it now, it was clearly the right choice. Whatever mix-ups the movers had had with the boxes didn’t affect the furniture it seems, because even your bedside reading lamp is perfectly placed on your nightstand. “Everything in this house is going to grow. And there’s plenty of room for it.”

"That's because you had to have the largest house on the block." Dave teases, although he hadn't really had to be convinced when the two of you looked at the house seven months ago. It was the first, and the last listing the two of you actually toured. You had fallen in love with the possibilities and Dave had enjoyed personalizing it for the two of you. If there just happened to be a hidden panel to hide easy-to-access weapons around the house, it was just fine with him. It also didn't hurt that he talked the owner down another thirty thousand because of how much work the house needed.

“And the sexiest soulmate.” You flash him a grin when he sets down the box that had accidentally ended up in the kitchen. “It’s the house that blood money built, and I intend to enjoy it.” Every cent that had ended up in that offshore account under your name went into fixing up this house and you couldn’t be more pleased with the result.

He huffs and levels a look at you. “I wish you had just kept that money and let me pay for all of the renovations.” He hadn’t been happy with your decision, tried to talk you out of it, but at the end of the day he had respected your wishes. All of that money plus whatever else was needed went into making the house exactly what the two of you wanted.

“I wanted to make something positive out of it.” You slip both arms around his waist and tip your chin back to look at him. “The best thing I’ll ever do is build my life with you, baby.”

"I know." He does know that. He had just wanted you to save it. To make sure you always had a good nest egg away from what he had, although in his mind, that was all yours too now.

“I promise I’ll put any profits from the book into savings.” Despite the positive encouragement from your brand-new literary agent and your little circle of friends, you’re trying to be levelheaded about the possibility of a successful first novel. It is the dream, but sometimes you have to cut a diamond just a little before it can shine brilliantly.

"Oh, I know you will." Dave chuckles, leaning in and kissing your forehead. "I just want you to be secure in knowing that you have options." He frowns slightly, thinking about his mother and how many times he had begged her to leave that bastard she had married. Because she had tied her finances to him and given him control over everything she had, she had been trapped. He never wanted you to feel like you were in the same situation even though he would never lay a hand on you in anger.

“I am and I do.” You assure him, nudging your nose against his chest and placing a kiss over his heart. “C’mon. Let’s get these couple of boxes unpacked and the bed made, and we can start the ritual of fucking on every surface in the house.

That might be the best idea you've had all day. Dave grinning and winking at you before he lets you go so he can flick out his knife and cut open the taped top of the first box. "Later, when we are done, we can christen the pool too." He tells you with a wink. "Skinny dip after the sun goes down, although the fence is tall enough that you don't have to worry about that during the day."

“You made sure of that.” He had been very careful checking local ordinances and regulations, making sure that the fence around your property would give the two of you the ability to indulge in the backyard if you wanted to. “We’ll relax and christen the pool tonight. I’ve been dying for a swim anyway.”

“Good.” He had also insisted that the tub you chose in the master bathroom could fit the two of you if he wanted to get in with you. “I guess we are either going to have to find a very ugly pool boy or I will just have to take care of it.” He jokes.

“I’ll have Katie send Scott over once a week.” You snort practically before the joke is even out of your mouth, and start pulling open a box marked Bedroom Mish-Mash. “Seriously honey, I can do some of the physical labor around here, too.”

“Shit…” Dave huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’ll see if Eddie down the street wants to make a few bucks.” He contemplates. “He’s leaving for college soon.”

“Not eager to see Kovac in a Speedo?” You giggle. “However you want to do it is fine with me. Eddie’s a nice kid. And he could use the extra money getting out to California.”

“Just don’t think he’s too nice.” Dave teases, although he knows that there is no way you would ever cheat on him. “And I don’t want to ever see Kovac’s hairy back again if I can help it.”

“God, babe. He’s seventeen.” The animated way you shiver in creeped-out disgust is only half for show. “Even if I was single that’s just downright gross.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I’ve heard some of the women at the country club. Those caddies and lifeguards are meat to them.” Despite his groaning, he had gotten a membership to the club and dutifully had a standing monthly golf date with your father. Often times, the rest of the guys would join, and it turned into a boys’ day. Your father was ecstatic when that happened.

“And it’s gross.” Some of the women at the country club had, however, gotten ahold of one of the press releases for your novel and quietly pre-ordered about two dozen copies amongst themselves though, so it was hard to be too harsh on them when they were literally supporting your career. “I hope he finds a very nice girl his own age and avoids those ladies twice his age like the plague.”

“He might not see it that way when he’s over eighteen.” Dave shrugs. “Although I find it highly hypocritical that those same women complain about men looking at their sixteen-year-old daughters in thong bikinis at the pool.”

“When he’s an adult it’s totally up to him and I would tell our son the same thing.” From the box on the end of the bed, you pull carefully folded sets of sheets, and the bedroom curtains you had had up in the apartment and start putting things away. “But the kid still has to ask permission to use the bathroom during class. That makes him a kid and it makes it weird. Either way, yeah. Ask the kid if he wants to make a little extra money. Better we offer it to him than someone with less than honourable intentions.”

"I'll talk to him." Dave promises and grabs another set of sheets to start making up the bed. The moving crew had set up the bed and he had already unrolled the carpet where it was going to be, so he didn't have to move anything. "So, I've been thinking...." He ventures, wondering how you are going to feel about his idea.

“Always dangerous.” You grin at him and continue fluffing the bed pillows in their clean cases. “What’s up?”

"I don't think I want to turn the room next door into my office." He tells you, tucking in the sheets and turning to look over at you. "I'm thinking about getting the contractor back out here to install a pocket door between our room and that room."

“What do you want to do with it, then?” Dave has graciously consented to let you convert the small pool-shed into your writing workshop, and in turn you had said he could use whatever room in the house he wanted as his home office. “Do you have another place in mind for your office?”

Dave nods. “I’ll put my office in the basement for now, but….” He stands straight and walks over to you, sliding his arm around your waist and turning you to face the wall that the two rooms shared. “I was thinking…” he whispers in your ear and kissing the lobe. “That we install a door and turn that into our nursery. Don’t even have to go out into the hall to reach the baby when they start crying.”

The image that conjures makes you hum softly, leaning into his embrace in that natural and intimate way that sends shivers up your spine no matter what else is going on at the time. “Preparing for the distant future, or are you starting to think you might want someone other than me to call you Daddy?”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger.” He teases, grinning even as his cock twitches at you saying Daddy. “I think maybe we should stop using condoms? The house is done, and your book is going to be a big hit. The company is starting to take off. It just feels right.” Since you ran out of birth control at the cabin, you hadn’t taken any more, he had just opted to use condoms.

“Are you sure?” Turning carefully in his arms, you put yours around him in turn and search his face. You’re sure that the lump in your throat and the way your heart is beating like a hummingbird are reflected in your face - he’s always been able to read you like a book and right now you know what’s he’s reading is excitement. “You’re ready?”

"I got confirmation that no one else will be coming for you." Dave hums quietly. Just because he was retired didn't mean he couldn't receive phone calls from old friends who just happened to pass along the information that the message he had sent to the North Korean government had been heard. Loud and clear. "So I'm ready. If you are."

“I am.” You have been, truthfully, since you hadn’t felt the aftershocks of what happened quite as acutely as Dave and the guys did as they tied up invisible loose ends. What you dealt with afterward was a lot of mental gymnastics and some nightmares that had fairly well faded by now. “I’m so ready.”

He smirks, pleased at your answer even though he was certain at what it would be even before he opened his mouth. "So what do you think about changing that room into a nursery?" He asks. "Just until we are done having kids and then we can turn it into my office. I just want us to be able to have the baby nearby and still have our privacy when I need to make you cum."

“Just when I thought today couldn’t get any better.” The way you smile makes your whole face scrunch up and your nose wrinkle as you dive in to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck to haul him close in the process.

Dave hums against your lips, smirking against them before he slides his mouth open to let his tongue flick against yours when he deepens the kiss. Tightening his grip on you and pulling you closer. Absorbing your moans eagerly and he's tempted to push the box off the bed and start trying right now. Everything else fades away the way it always does when Dave kisses you. Like nothing else ever mattered in the first place and he’s bound to prove that to you by banishing all other thoughts from your head. There isn’t a single place you’d rather be than in his arms anywhere, but the fact that you’re standing in your bedroom in the house you’re making into a home together makes it that much better.

He pulls away reluctantly, aware that both of you are panting slightly and if it keeps up, unpacking for the day will be done. "Sooner we get the bedroom unpacked, the soon I fuck you into our bed in our new bedroom." He murmurs, squeezing your ass possessively.

“No fair.” The pout you send him is absolutely pitiful. “How am I supposed to focus when I know you want to breed me?” You use the word deliberately, like a weapon aimed directly at his libido.

"Fuck." Dave hisses, reaching down and palming his cock to adjust himself in his own shorts. "Evil." He mutters, biting his lip and contemplating just saying 'fuck it' and that you can unpack later. That word sends a shiver down his back as he imagines just that, you full of his cum and wanting it to take.

“But you love me anyway.” You consider it a personal triumph anytime you can make him sound that needy, and merrily go about unpacking the rest of the box currently sitting on the end of the bed - the things that usually sit on your respective bedside tables being easily put back into their rightful places.

"I do." He begrudgingly admits, before he carts the bathroom box into the large en-suite and starts unpacking it. Putting your soaps and shampoo and conditioner next to his own in the walk-in shower makes him smile. He had insisted that a bench seat was needed in the glass enclosed space, knowing he was going to fuck you on it often.

The bulk of the work here is just putting clothing away, and the his-and-hers walk-in closet is filled to bursting before long. Dave’s suits hang opposite your own clothes like they were always meant to be there and you grin to yourself every time you go back in with an armful of things to hang or shoes to shelve. Even his tie rack is carefully waiting to be filled right next to your jewelry box. This is another place to christen - the bench that tucks under your vanity counter is definitely strong enough to hold both of you.

Dave meticulously folds towels, washrags, and hand towels and stores them in the linen closet in the bathroom. Already having brought the most important thing up, a pack of toilet paper, he unloads the box that has the contents of the medicine cabinet. Storing everything in the baskets you had picked out to make everything neat and organized. You had accepted that Dave liked things neat and had tried to accommodate him. Which he thoroughly appreciated.

“Hey baby?” The call comes from the main bedroom a little sheepishly, and you can’t help laughing when Dave appears again from the bathroom almost instantly. You had been trying to manage hanging the curtains yourself and are failing spectacularly. “I think I need some help.”

"Of course." He shoves the last basket into the closet and closes the door before he makes his way over to you. "You don't want to give the neighbors a show later on?" He asks with a grin, winking at you as he takes the curtain rod from you.

“I don’t think so.” Just because you know he’s joking doesn’t mean you’re not going to shake your head at him and roll your eyes like you do. “Only I get to enjoy that view of you.”

"Hmmmm." Dave chuckles and looks over at you. "Someone sounds a little possessive." Not that he minds at all. It's honestly a good thing that you don't want to share him.

“Of my soulmate?” You level him with a completely serious expression. “You’re fucking right I am.”

"Good girl." He winks at you and smirks up at the curtain rod. "Bet you that I can get the windows covered before you get naked." He challenges you, knowing that you've developed somewhat of a competitive streak since you've been with him. It makes him laugh when the guys look at you in shock when you pick up their gauntlets.

“Oh please.” A playful scoff answers him but the promise of getting him naked along with you as quickly as possible is something you’re happy to compete for. “You’re on, York.”

He chuckles, hopping up on the step stool and quickly hooking one end of the rod in the bracket, twisting his head behind him to see you shucking your shorts and panties in one swift move. He grunts, reminding himself to turn back around and not watch you with the fucking curtain rod in his hand. Reluctantly pulling his eyes away so he can finish putting the drapes up.

You manage to toss off your shirt and hop onto the bed just a half second before Dave turns around again, and your grin of triumph is positively silly. “I win,” you proclaim, crooking one finger at him to beckon him off the step stool.

"You do." Dave agrees seriously, stepping down and turning towards you with a glimmer of a smile. "So what's your prize?" He asks, eyes roaming over you and his cock twitches when you spread your legs for him to give him that stunning view of your cunt. While you still had moments of insecurity, in the safety of your bedroom, you're growing more confident in wielding your sexuality and he is fucking mesmerized by it.

“I believe there was a promise of fucking me into the bed that I’d like you to make good on, please.” A glorious smirk forms on your lips and you can’t help but add: “Daddy.” In that low voice you do sometimes that makes him nearly growl.

"Goddamn." His voice is rough, lust ridden, and he quickly pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. "You want me to fuck you boneless?" He demands, reaching for the button of his shorts and pulls it open. "Leave you laying there breathless, leaking my cum before I shove a pillow under your hips to have you lay there like that?"

“God yes.” Sounds like an incredible fucking use of your evening, to be honest, and you’re not about to be shy admitting it.

He chuckles and pushes his shorts and boxers down, letting his hard cock bounce out and jut up proudly. "You want me to fuck a baby into you, baby?" He coos when you shift your hips up and slide your hand down to cup your breast.

“Been wanting you to for months.” Not that you’ve said much, maybe a passing comment a half dozen times grand total in the last few months, because you knew he wasn’t ready. Now that he is? After every single room you unpack, you’re going to be on your back with him as deep inside you as possible.

"I know." He has been wanting it too, denying himself only because he knows that if someone threatened you again, he would rain hell down on them, surely creating an international incident in his fury to protect you. "Good things come to good girls who wait for Daddy."

“You keep talking like that and I’m not letting you get dressed for the rest of the weekend.” You reach for him easily, snagging his arm and dragging him onto the bed beside you.

He laughs, falling onto the bed and reaching out and cupping your cheek before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours hungrily. "Is my baby girl eager?" He hums, kissing along your jaw.

“Always.” Grasping hands keep him close, bringing him with you when you lay back in the freshly made bed. One hand slips between you, gathering some of your own arousal on your fingers before wrapping your hand around his cock and pumping it slowly.

"Jesus." He rucks his hips forward and he groans before he pushes you back and quickly clamors between your legs. "Do you— are you ready baby?" He asks, already eager to sink into your velvety walls and fuck you full of him.

Taking all of him without any preparation is always met with a little pinch, but fuck if it isn’t the best reason to gasp when he fills you. “I love you, Daddy.” It has a whole new layer about it with what you’re now embarking on, and that actually makes it all the sweeter.

"Fuck I love you." He drives his hips deep and grinds into you. "You always feel fucking perfect, baby girl."

“Just for—” Cutting yourself off with a moan, you revel in the fact that there are no neighbors sharing walls to hear you this time. You can be as loud as you want again, which was definitely something you had missed from the cabin. “Just for you, Daddy, fuck.”

His hands are bunched into fists, elbows burrowed into the mattress while he rocks his hips. "Can't wait until you make that a reality." He groans, smirking at the way your mouth drops open with another moan. "Make me a daddy."

“Fuck yes.” Your hips rock in rhythm with his, meeting each thrust with enthusiasm. “Gonna have you f—fill me up every, fuck, chance we get.”

Dave groans, even as he is smirking down at you when he pulls away from where he was kissing along your neck. "You're gonna be so gorgeous." He huffs, sliding one hand over to cup your breast and push it up higher so he can duck his head down and suck on it while he fucks you.

Your normal sense of humour would have you joking about ’Finally a good reason to be round’ but the spell of this moment is too precious to break. Instead, you’re a whining mess beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist like you never want him to be further away than a half-thrust. “Not gonna be able to keep your hands off me,” you predict breathlessly, as though he didn’t already have that ‘problem’ now.

"Never." Dave agrees, twitching deep inside of you with another rough thrust. "Gonna work from home." He pants. "Have you write while you sit on my cock. Have meetings with my fingers buried inside you." He growls at the idea, loving the image of spreading you out on his desk and keeping you satisfied while you are horny and desperate for him.

“Fuck.” Between his pace and the pictures he’s painting for you, you cling to him just a little bit more. “Yeah?” You rock your hips up, taking him deeper and your head drops back to the pillow again with a moan. “Gonna keep your kn—knocked up girlfriend - oh god - satisfied?”

He almost says something, corrects your wording while he buries his cock deep inside you. Instead he moans, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue and tucks his head into your neck and completely covers you when his arms push up underneath your torso and he lowers his hips to push you into the bed even more. "Yeah."

The closer to the edge he works you the more rambling your praise becomes, until the most coherent word from your lips as you move with him is his name. There are no thoughts in the world now except him, and that is exactly the way you like it. Especially in the plush king-sized bed you’ve shared for months - now in your brand-new home.

"Love you baby." Dave grunts, sweat rolling down his spine as he moves. "Gonna knock you up, right here. Now." He promises, biting on your nipple slightly and then soothing it with his tongue.

“Love you — s-so much.” The familiar spark in your core that only come from Dave makes your movements with him a little more frantic. “Fuck Daddy, I’m…I’m gonna cum.”

He growls happily, loving how you cum for him. "Good girl." He praises. "Cum for me. Soak my cock and I'll fill you up. Cream up that tight little hole and pump my baby into you." He hisses, feeling his own body start to tighten in anticipation of cumming. "Breed you."

For being something that you’ve written about so many times, the reality of it is so much better. If this turns out to be a kink you’re going to have a brood of York brats in no time.

Dave loves how you come apart for him. The way that you throw your head back, exposing that column of your throat while you cry out his name loudly. Feeling the way your cunt starts to spasm and your body shakes against him. The hot flood of your cum washing over his cock and making everything incredibly wet for the final few thrusts. "God baby." He pants. "So good."

“Cmon Daddy.” He’s so close, you can tell by the way he’s lost his rhythm, and you drag your nails down his chest to scrape over his nipples just right. “Put a baby in me.”

His eyes burst open and the groan of pleasure pours out of his chest. The sharp scrape of your nails just what he needed to push him over the edge, combined with your word makes him lose his mind. Dave whines, pushing deep and the small thrusts just push him deeper, cock painting your walls with his sticky seed as he gasps out your name raggedly.

There’s nothing but uneven breathing and murmured ‘I love you’s for a few minutes, as your hands stroke his skin gently and you pepper his face, neck, and shoulder with kisses. You’d forgotten the feeling of being full of him since it’s been months with condoms, and it makes you sigh happily to think — you might have just grown your family by one more member. But you’ll have to wait to find out.

He hums, sliding back gently and watching his cock slip out of your body, soft and coated with your combined juices. Your lips are swollen slightly, like they are every time the two you fuck, and he grins when he sees the pearlescent dribbles of his seed threaten to push out of your cunt when your walls clench but stays put. "Let me prop those hips up and I'll get you some water." He teases, reaching for his pillow to shove under your hips.

The bedclothes that you just laid out so carefully are rather artistically destroyed, and you pull the sheet up over you once his pillow is under your knees. “No protests,” you tell him when he’s about to open his mouth. “If I’m covered up, I won’t mind laying here longer and the longer I stay like this it increases the chances it will take.”

He doesn't say anything, but he does pout at you. Blowing out a breath but nodding as he climbs off the bed. He won't argue but he has no issue staring at your naked body all night. "I'll get you a bottle of water." He offers, leaning down and kissing your lips before he swipes up his boxers off the floor and slides them on. While the curtains are up in this room, they aren't up around the house yet and he doesn't want the neighbors already hating them. That can come later on.

“Don’t make me miss you too long!” You call after him, giggling a little with your own satisfied happiness as you watch his ass disappear down the hallway toward the stairs. It’s a little surreal, laying here in the bed you know so well but in a totally different room, and with yourself so full of both of your releases that you swear you can feel it.

When he’s gone more than just a few quick minutes you reach to grab your phone out of your shorts from where they are lying discarded on the edge of the bed. Pages upon pages of Pinterest nurseries have been calling your name for months but you haven’t let yourself look yet. Now, though? Now it is not only allowed but welcome. Forest motifs and menageries and whole nautical themes and various sports for parents who are die hard fans. It’s all so cute you want to coo at it, and you wonder how Dave will want to decorate the nursery or if he’s even thought about it.

Downstairs, Dave rushes to find the box that he had made sure that you didn't touch all day. He had labeled it 'Kitchen Shit' knowing that he was going to be the one to unpack all the kitchen equipment. Cutting the box open, he grins down at the book that he had the publisher of your book send him. A special copy they had been more than willing to provide. Taking it out and setting it on the coffee table with a couple of your candles, smirking to himself about your teasing when he had bought you more. Lighting them so that the fragrance starts to fill the air, knowing that he will bring you back down here soon. He grabs the water bottle he had promised and takes the stairs two at a time to get back to you.

“There you are.” When he appears in the doorway again a smile spreads across your face like wildfire. “I was about to come find you.”

"Sorry." He walks over and twists the cap off the bottle to hand it to you. "I got hung up." He doesn't offer more than that, knowing that you will assume that he was just unpacking something in the kitchen. Sliding into the bed beside you, he smirks over at you, your hips still propped up under his pillow. "Comfy?"

“Getting pregnant is going to be fun.” You laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips before you take a drink of water. “Wanna see the Pinterest baby nursery rabbit hole I fell down while you were gone?”

He smiles, having already anticipated your boards you would have pinned and ideas already floating around your head. You were a dreamer, the wants of your life seemingly all coming true now. Dave was a planner, a do-er, and the two of you seemed to complement each other without stifling. "I'd love to." He murmurs, turning so he can see your screen, hand creeping under the sheet to slide across your generous tummy protectively, like you were already pregnant.

“So, I’m only looking at gender neutral ones.” Nuzzling into him is a reflex now, and you tap your phone screen to bring it back to life. “Forests, safaris, zoos, nautical stuff, specifics animals and sports teams…then there’s the specific as hell stuff. Like Wonderland or Neverland. And somehow Old West is a baby room theme?”

"I can see it." Dave grins at your confusion and looks back at the screen. "Which ones do you like?"

“I think I like Neverland.” Flipping open a different tab of your browser, you pull up a few images of nurseries that have combinations of forest and coastal decoration along with themed maps as wall art and plenty of natural colours throughout, preventing gender from becoming the dominant theme. “If they like the lost boys, we can go heavy on the forest and treehouse stuff as they get older, pirate stuff if they like Captain Hook, or even mermaids or fairies if they like Tinkerbell or the Cove the best.” It may have seeped into your brain just a little bit in the last twenty or so minutes. Maybe. “And look at this.” A different browser tab has a page open to an online store selling an area rug with the design as a map of Neverland. “It’s just an idea, obviously. And we can do anything. But this is…it’s sweet. And it’s versatile.”

“I like it.” Dave nods, looking at the designs. “We can get someone in to paint murals on the walls, unless painting is also your thing?”

“Actually?” The smile on your face spreads excitedly. “My dad painted those murals on my bedroom walls at the house in Delaware.” Dave had loved the forest scenes and teased you about wanting to be a fairy when you were a kid. “I bet he’d love it if we asked him to paint for his grandbaby.”

"Then I say we ask him to paint the nursery." Dave had already asked your father to come up and stay for a week or so after the two of you finished moving into the house and setting it up. He had a party planned for the two of you that he knows you would want your father present at. It was surprising that Kate hadn't spilled the secret: the housewarming party is also going to be an engagement party.

“He’ll love that.” You bookmark the rug on your browser and flip back to the myriad of Pinterest pictures with a smile. “And he’ll like the excuse to come visit while I’m pregnant.”

"I have a feeling that your dad is going to be here often." He hums. "I invited him to the housewarming by the way. I didn't think you would mind."

“Oooh, that’s perfect! Thank you, honey.” Your relief at having a father and soulmate that get along is fairly palpable, and Dave gets all the bonus points and appreciative head in the world on the days they golf together.

He snorts and leans in to kiss your cheek. "Of course, baby." He hums, smirking to himself thinking of when you learn that he had planned this out: asking your father for permission to marry you months ago, actually asked the first time he had met the man. Although your father had made him wait until the second golf outing for his answer. Testing him to see if he was patient.

“I love you so much.” Leaning into his embrace, your head rests easily against his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat. It’s a gentle, sweet thing until your stomach rumbles and sends both of you into a fit of laughter at the almost cartoonish sound. “Maybe we should order dinner?” You laugh, knowing that the kitchen things haven’t been unpacked yet - and even if they had there isn’t enough food in the house to make a meal of.

"Yeah." He agrees quickly, ready for you to go downstairs so he can do exactly what he's been planning on since you determined the move-in date. "Let's get dressed and order whatever you want."

“Japanese?” More than a few nights sitting on the half-finished floors of this house during the planning and construction phases, dinner had come from the Japanese restaurant a few blocks away. The owner already knows your names and includes extra dipping sauces in with your appetizers.

"That sounds good." He smirks and pulls the covers off of you to slap your thigh playfully. "Make sure to order saké too." He tells you, knowing that he will want to have the Japanese liquor with his sushi. "And eat all the sushi you want before it's banned."

“Should I just order us a bunch of rolls to share and some crab rangoon?” You’re already pulling up the restaurant’s website and signing into your account where all your previous orders are saved, and so much of what you like overlaps that it makes things easy.

"That sounds good to me." Dave nods, picking up your clothes and laying them out for you to get redressed. "But order two of the spicy tuna rolls." He flashes you a grin. "I want one to myself."

“Got it.” A minute or two later you’re crawling out of bed to get dressed again, earning a chuckle from Dave when you pull on the ’I <3 My Army Soulmate’ t-shirt that Katie gifted you instead of the extremely sweaty and gross shirt you had been wearing while unpacking all day.

He chuckles and shakes his head, reaching out to pinch a nipple. "You like that shirt huh?" He asks, playfully. "It's the third time you've worn that since Kate gave it to you."

“I love you.” You remind him needlessly. “And I’m proud of you.”

“The army is behind me.” He reminds you, leaning in and kissing your temple. “You are my future baby.”

“If you don’t like it, I won’t wear it anymore.” But to you it’s a bit like if one of your old college friends had given him a t-shirt of your alma mater. It’s symbolic of embracing all of him.

“Absolutely not.” Dave reminds himself that you will sometimes take things differently than he means them. “I like it on you. Just wish I met you while I was still in.”

“Sometimes I think about if my parents had moved back to Rhode Island after college instead of staying in Delaware.” Slipping your hand into his, the two of you head for the stairs together. “Some accidental meeting, like you coming to my high school prom with another girl and us meeting that way. Or even at the beach.” You look up at him and offer him a dreamy smile on the stairs. “Maybe I’ll use that for the next book.”

"You should." Dave will always encourage your ideas. "And honestly? I want you to expand on your coffee shop story." He admits with a grin. He treasures that story that you had written for him for Christmas and has re-read it several times.

“That story is just for you.” You tell him honestly. Not even Katie has read it, not because you’re embarrassed of it but because it’s something that you made especially for Dave. “But if you like it that much maybe I’ll write you a little follow-up for your birthday.”

"I would love that." He tells you honestly. "My own personalized story."

Grinning up at him, you stretch to kiss him before turning down the stairs again. The faint smell of your favorite candles meets your nose, and you wonder if maybe he unpacked another box while he was down here getting water, but it’s very obvious what he’s done once you get a look into the living room.

On the coffee table, surrounded by your favorite scented candles - the ones you teased him about getting more of barely a week ago - is the very first copy of your book from your publisher. “Oooh, my god.” You’ve seen pictures of what it will look like, sure, but not an actual book in person yet. “When did this get here?”

"This?" He asks coyly, grinning at you. "This came about two days ago." He admits with a small shrug of his shoulders. "This is a very special copy that I asked the publisher for." He explains.

“Two days?” The pout you send in his direction is so exaggerated that your lip nearly folds in half. The cover is a cabin snow scene with two lovers pictured embracing, and the man is holding a gun behind his back. It’s a quintessential romance genre cover and you could not possibly love it more. The title, Murder Wears a Lab Coat, is scrawled across the top of the cover, and like a movie poster, the inside of the dust cover proclaims: ’Sometimes Chemistry Just Can’t Be Denied!’ But the very best part of the whole thing is something that most people wouldn’t even blink at. ‘by S.H. York’ wouldn’t raise any eyebrows anywhere, but it makes you grin. S.H. for Sweetheart. Although the character, Pedro, calls his girl ‘Angel’.

"Yes, two days." Dave scrunches his nose at you and reaches out to pick up the book, caressing the cover and taking a deep breath before he hands it to you. "I thought you would appreciate this, considering this was the story you were developing as we fell in love. It's our love story."

“Of course it’s our story. That’s why it’s dedicated to you.” The volume feels a little lighter than you expected in your hands, but it’s probably just a trick of your mind. The thing is so weighty and important to you that you expect it to be heavy as marble.

"Open it up." He orders you softly, waiting until you are looking down at it and opening the cover before he shifts off the sofa to kneel down beside you, making the transition smoothly so you don't notice him doing it.

It’s not as though you don’t know every single word inside this book. You put them all there yourself. But the urge to read through everything and cherish it all is strong, so you open the cover like he suggests. Flipping past the title page, you’re met with the sight of a hollow square cut out of your very first novel - inside of which sits a black velvet box. “Oh my god…” That box has been sitting in your father’s safety deposit box for almost your entire life. You’d know it anywhere. When you look over at Dave to try to sputter out a full sentence your jaw drops and tears fill your eyes almost instantly at the sight of him on one knee beside you.

"You are my soulmate, sweetheart." Dave murmurs, reaching out and taking one of your hands to hold gently. "I was curious about you from the moment that I recognized your tattoo. Hell, I've been curious about you my entire life, wondering what kind of woman that the universe had decided would be mine." He gives you a smile, squeezing your hand. "I have not been disappointed, in fact, I've been amazed at how wonderful of a woman you are. You are too good for me, but for some reason, you love me." He chuckles and reaches out to pluck the ring box out of the book and opens it. "Sweetheart, would you marry me?"

Of all the times you imagined this - every crazed and overblown scenario or all the different little slice-of-life ways you thought it might one day happen - Dave has blown them all out of the water yet again. He’s been better for you than anyone you could ever have imagined, no matter how active that writer’s brain of yours has been over the years. You, however, are much less articulate than your dreams. Hiccupping out an immediate “Yes!” through tears before diving forward to kiss him with every ounce of love you have in you. Your mother’s ring – your ring - can wait. This moment is just you and Dave.

Easily wrapping his arms around you, the hollowed-out book is crushed between the two of you and the ring box is held in his fist while he kisses you. Enjoying the joy and eagerness in your kiss, as well as the salty taste of your tears - only because he knows they are tears of joy.

“I love you.” Murmured against his lips is the best way to make that declaration, and it practically vibrates through you as you hold him against you. “I love you so, so much, Dave York. And I can’t fucking wait to marry you.”

"Well, that's a good thing..." He muses, pulling back to give you another grin. "Because I've already told everyone that our housewarming party is also an engagement party." He confesses.

“Everyone?” You can’t help but laugh, shocked that no one had spilled the beans yet. Deirdre and Ari are legendarily bad at holding in excitement about surprises. “That…that’s why Dad’s coming isn’t it?” You sniffle and press in to kiss him again. “How are you so perfect?”

"That's why dad's coming." Dave confirms. "He has to make sure that even though I've asked permission to marry you, that I'm not pushing you too fast." He huffs, rolling his eyes over your overprotective dad.

"And someday, when we have a little girl, you might find yourself just as dead-set on watching over her." The name Alice Diana has cemented itself in your psyches and you've definitely caught yourself referring to your future daughter by name in dreaming with Katie from time to time.

"No doubt." He snorts, fully aware that he would be an overprotective father. He knows exactly what kind of monsters roam the world.

You grin at him, eyes glistening with happy tears. "You're going to see me doing everything with my left hand out for about the next month solid. Every single person I interact with is going to know I found my soulmate."

"Well, first we have to put the ring on your finger." He teases, pulling the box out from around you and plucking the ring out to place it on your hand. "Finger me." He jokes, holding out his hand for yours.

"I think I said that to you this morning." Despite dissolving into giggles, you manage to situate your hand in his and shed a few more excited tears as he slips the ring onto your finger.

"You did and I did." He smirks and leans in to kiss your hand, rubbing the back of your hand. "I remember the neighbor beating on the wall again."

"It was a very nice apartment, but I already love this house." You tug him back up on the sofa to sit beside you, immediately snuggling under his arm. "The next-door neighbors at the apartment would probably throttle us if they had to listen to all the noise we're going to make trying to get pregnant."

"Considering you're ovulating, we might not be trying as much as you think we will be." Dave chuckles, tightening his hold on you.

The fact that he keeps track of your cycle is one of those things that surprised you at first, but you gradually came to think of as just very organized and very Dave. "It'll be celebration sex, then," you tell him matter-of-factly. "And that'll be just as frequent."

"Oh, you know that will happen." Dave assures you. "It's going to be open season, especially if you’re horny during your pregnancy." If you weren't, Dave would just have to jerk off for twelve months.

"If I'm not, we're both going to be extremely upset." You're snuggling into him for another kiss when your phone starts to ring, the phone number of the restaurant's delivery phone popping up on your caller ID. "I want to get it!" You insist immediately, practically jumping up when your phone starts buzzing. "First ever chance to do anything as an engaged woman."

Dave laughs, happy that you are ecstatic to be his fiancée. He watches you answer the phone with a smile on your face, looking back at him and sending him a wink. Less than a year ago, a standard job had brought him into your orbit. Hurdled him into yours and turning it upside down. You had gone from a terrified, meek woman who was horrified at what her soulmate was, to this confident, proud woman who was happy to proclaim him as yours for all the world to see. You have completely changed his life and he couldn't be happier. The copy of your book is sitting proudly on the coffee table, where it will be joined by many others over the coming years. All thanks to your killer writing.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives​

KW: @evyiione @graphitegator @bruxasolta @missredherring @writeforfandoms @sj-draws00 @whiskeyshoneybee @randeerenae  @pagannightwitch @what-iwish-you-knew @mrsparknuts @harriedandharassed

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dave York #Dave York x reader #Dave York x you #Dave York x female reader #plus size reader #Equalizer 2 #Soulmate au #Dave York pit #suburban murder daddy #epilogue

[parkjammys]

your daily reminder that Dave York did nothing wrong and was just finding a way to get on with life and support his family with the cards that he was dealt with after being treated shitty by the government

#dave york #the equalizer 2 #pedro pascal #stardust:txt #suburban murder daddy

[omlwhatamidoinghere]

Wanting to play out the song Master and Servant by Depeche Mode with Dave York....

#pedro pascal #dave york #suburban murder daddy #please break my back sir

[massivedreamer]

THREE DAYS

Pairing: Dave York x Cartel boss Fem!Reader

Summary: The greatest thing Dave York will ever learn is to be loved… and to love in return.

Rating: E

Word count: 6,304

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS, language and explicit content, no age gap, no use of y/n, use of a nickname, no physical description. Kidnapping and captivity (don’t worry, David's a big boy and it all ends up consensually), mentions of corruption, drugs, violence, prostitution, child trafficking, illicit activities in general, infidelity, invasion to privacy, masturbation (male/female), unprotected p in v (don't do it at home, kids), rough sex turns vanilla cause two baddies are in love, face riding, doggy style, fingering, squirting, overstimulation, cream pie, emotional orgasm. I think that covers it all.

A/N: This is some psycho killer rom com fever, I have no idea where it all came from but I'm a Pisces so there's that.

My first fic in a long, loooong time and my first Pedro's boys related tale. Encouraged to go back to the writing path by the lovely @lavendertales. English is not my native language, so please, forgive any trespassing. Written for the @pedrostories 's celebration (Did I make it before the deadline??)

Hope you like it and do let me know what you all think!

Yes, there's also a PLAYLIST

The kidnapping was the easiest part. Dave York´s daily routine must have been as predictable as his sex life with the wifey. It was disappointing, really. Your team had only surveillanced him for a couple of days and got his schedules and routes all figured out. For a DIA agent, not to mention a DIA agent-turned-mercenary, he had been sloppy. Lazy. The enemies gained through so many years of being a traitor and a greedy scumbag were all out there. Did he really think he was safe living his suburban life? Wasn't he scared his side job would have consequences at any point?

Did Dave York really consider the possibility of you forgetting him? 

Of course, you sent Chet. He was your chosen brother, your lieutenant, your most loyal dog. Even though he could have done it alone, he took three of the new boys with him. He had personally trained them and thought this task as their perfect baptism of fire. The jet would be waiting. Your newest runway for the Washington deliveries, paid by unaware constituents, would be ready for the illegal flight in which only Dave would be sent to California. To the mansion/dungeon they had just finished building according to your specifications, somewhere in the desert. 

-“Not again…” said Dave, rather calmly and through the hood once he could sit up and hear Chet´s voice. He could recognize that ridiculous high pitched male tone anywhere. “¿What the fuck does she want now?” 

–” I don´t know, York. And it's not my place to give a fuck. But I hope it hurts”. Chet turned to the driver and whispered instructions on how to get to the private tarmac, fast but inconspicuously. 

Dave chuckled and kept his cool, but on the inside, he began to worry. They had seized and crushed his iPhone as soon as they got him in the truck. Carol would soon start freaking out if he didn't answer her messages. Why the hell didn't he bring the satellite tracker today? He tried to guess where they were going, paying attention to the stops, the turns, the sounds. He could definitely recognize when they were passing Constitution Ave. But that was it. He had the feeling the directions Chet was giving the driver were solely to confuse him. After a while, the rhythm of the vehicle became monotone. They were cruising a highway. But, which one? Nevermind. It was obvious that the destination was in the outskirts of DC. 

- “Out, York!” 

Trying to deliver his most menacing voice, Chet yanked Dave by the arm and handed him to someone else. The highway trip was about 20 minutes and even though he was still with his head covered, it didn't take too much effort for him to realize they had arrived in some sort of an airport. She is definitely thriving. 

- “I guess we´re not going to Cozum…?”

Dave didn't have the chance to finish the joke. The needle did its job perfectly. You couldn't risk your favorite bad boy using his legendary photographic memory, not even from the air. 

A white room.

A bed. 

A chair.

One small window.

Sunlight.

What time was it? What day was it?

Shit. Dave opened his eyes and before moving a muscle, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He had to make sure he was the only one in that cell. Because that's where he was. You had put him behind fucking bars. He´d be lying if he hadn't considered the possibility of going to prison someday. But that you were going to be his judge, jury and executor? 

In the upper left corner of the locked room, there was a discreet, up-to-date camera that definitely recorded sound. Two speakers, matching the color of the walls, were hanging at each side of the bed. It was a California King Size. All of the sudden, Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You, Baby” started blasting through them. Dave sat up and some obscene flashes from the recent past slapped his memory. And, unexpectedly, fueled his groin. 

-”There´s not coming back from this. Did you know that, right?” – Dave spoke over the loud music, not sure if you were able to hear him. “You kidnapped a federal agent. You´re fucked!”   

Donna stopped abruptly but you continued the singing. You always had a lovely voice. In another life, you could have been a terrific singer. “IIIIIIII… love to love you babyyyy…!” 

“Did you change your number?” – you asked, with a fake curiosity. “I cannot seem to reach you anymore…” You sighed, almost moaned. 

“I only updated my spam call list” – Dave answered, nonchalantly. “What do you want, Killer Q?”

“ I can’t stop thinking about you” 

“ Awww...  You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby…” – Dave laughed. 

That laughter hurt. Look at what this motherfucker does to you. One year ago, you were the most ruthless woman that had ever set foot in the drug trafficking industrial complex. As a boss. And in the US, of all places. Your facade of a succesful businesswoman, though a cliché, was more than efficient. The reality was that you had become the cocaine Godmother, the meth Empress, the Goddess of opioid. Your name had started to be known across the substances’ world, with a reputation forged under seas of blood. Every single poor devil, with so little brain to disrespect you and everything you had to go through to get where you were, was either impaired or underneath some surface. 

And you were a witty bitch. While supervising the traditional kneecapping session reserved for dealers with dreams of entrepreneurism, you love to deliver some really funny lines. And yet, Dave York mocking you, left you speechless.

“Well, if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then I guess Muhammad must kidnap the mountain…” – You were back. 

“I thought we were done doing business” – Dave started losing his confidence. Not knowing what the hell you wanted started to have its effect on him. Deep down, and after all he had seen and heard, he had to admit he was a bit afraid of you.

“Business?” – you tried to disguise your vulnerability. “So, I’m just another deal to you, huh? 

“Yes…" –Dave looked at the ceiling – "And no? I thought you and I were benefiting from each other AND having fun.” 

There was a silence that, by no means, you intended to float so heavy in the air.

“Well, I guess for me… it turned into something more than entertainment…” 

You had to close the mic to drink from the Evian bottle. You hadn’t planned to spill your truth in the first minute of conversation but there you were. Finally, admitting it. Out loud.

Were you going to say the word though? One thing was for sure: you had never felt like this. Let's be honest: a 13 year old, lured out of her miserable home, from a miserable town, having her soul ripped by men and their huffs and grunts, every single night, for a decade, was never meant to be the fairytale princess archetype. And other 10 years of her life, just surviving, lowering her head, listening to the important conversations, connecting with the right people, even escaping slavery through a marriage of convenience with a kingpin, didn’t contribute much to her personal knowledge of what love was. Or is? 

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything?” – you demanded. 

“What do you want me to say?” – Sat at the edge of the bed and in the absence of the woman confessing such feelings for him, Dave just kept staring at the wall. “That I still don’t know why I’m here?”

“Oh you do…” – you sounded darker – “Think”

“Wait… Do you wanna have sex with me, Killer Q? Is that it?” 

Now you were the one laughing. 

“Oh my God… Men. Why are you all so basic? – You were enjoying this – Do you really think that if I only wanted to fuck you, you’d be in that cell, without me all over you? C’mon, try harder, York…” 

“Do I really have a choice…?” Dave mumbled.

He sighed and stood up, his brain trying to come up with what scheme could be the closest to the one in your mind. You made it clear it wasn’t sex. Money, maybe? Extortion. You were infatuated and planning to send some incriminating material to Carol. You surely could have set up the equipment to record your encounters. Vegas? Last Spring? That’s when Donna played over and over, right? Memorable. 

You watched through the monitor and smiled at the sight of the supposedly cold mercenary, slightly blushing. 

“What do you feel for me, Dave?” 

“Right now, I hate you.” 

“I doubt that, baby… I got a better idea. It’s getting late, I’m tired and I need to go to bed. It’s sad we can’t share it yet. We will. But first you´ll have to seriously examine your actions, thoughts and, most importantly, your feelings in the recent time" – you took a long pause – "so you can be more honest with your responses in the next three days we’ll spend together. Night night, David” 

"What? Wait! Three whole motherfucking days here?!” Dave was equally outraged and concerned. “I’m hungry! And…” - he hesitated and lowered his voice – “What about going to the bathroom and…?”

Two sliding doors opened almost in unison. One, small and by the bed, produced a tray with some delicious seafood dish, a glass of Chardonnay and a generous portion of Creme Brulee. The other entrance, bigger and near the main gate, showed him a luxurious bathroom, with a change of comfortable clothes and toiletries.

“You have two hours until the lights are off”

Day ONE

Daylight bathed the cell and Dave was surprised by how soundly he had slept. It must have been some residual effect from whatever tranquilizer they gave him before getting him in the jet. Or was it maybe that he felt comfortable? Bullshit. He was the renowned CIA agent David York and this was a dangerous situation. Even infatuated as you claimed to be, you were a threat. And, come on… you didn’t mean anything to him. He’s had his pretty decent share of affairs and he had come to terms with his cheating asshole condition. You were no different from the parade of office girls who begged on their knees for one more night of cuffs, lube and discarded condoms, right?

Right.

Still in bed, Dave looked longingly in the direction of the food door, mentally begging for a black coffee, no sugar, scrambled eggs and bacon. Not knowing the time was slowly driving him crazy. He trusted his appetite and the sun elevation angle to say it was close to noon. Of who knows what day but it was something. He went to the bathroom and freshened up.

“Uhmm.. Hello?” — Dave talked to the air, in the hopes you presented once more, vocally. Not that he was particularly interested in hearing your voice again or anything. “I could use some breakfast, you know? By the way, dinner last night was awesome. If you tell me where we are, I would highly recommend this place on TripAdvisor!” 

Nothing.

Nada.

Wait.

There was something.

Suddenly, and as if he was in a real hotel and some nextdoor honeymooners were doing what honeymooners usually do in hotels, Dave started to hear some lewd sounds coming from somewhere nearby. At first, it was barely audible, which made it difficult to pinpoint the source. But it rose to a crescendo, getting higher, clearer. Hotter. Dave realized it was not coming from any place near the cell but from the speakers crowning his prisoner bed. 

“Give it to me, daddy…! Ohh…Fuckfuckfuckfuck… Yesyesyesyeyes!”

It was you. You were fucking some random dude and broadcasting it live and in stereo. For him to be the only audience.

"Ooooh Gooood…Yeaaah… Harder! Please! Please! Pleaaaase! I’m so close! Make me come! No one can make me come like you, daddy…!” 

Dave was standing in the middle of the room, hands on the hips, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. If this was your strategy, it was beyond pathetic. The skin slapping skin sound was getting louder and faster. You sounded so satisfied, kept moaning and begging. Dave had to admit that the guy was doing a great job. He wasn’t saying a word, he was just panting and grunting. There was something about him though. The noises he was making, the pace he was fucking you… The only sexual activity Dave had eavesdropped in his life was his dorm roommate, back in college, 25 years ago. And after all that time, he still recalled it was a lousy job. So, even though there were no parameters to be based on, in this case, Dave could strangely tell, just by listening to his performance, that for this guy it wasn’t just sex. What a loser, putting so much care into making you come, probably watching your face in ecstasy, proud of himself, thinking you’d adore him afterwards…

You came. Hard. 

“What are you doing?” – Dave was done.

A giant screen popped up from one of the walls, revealing some truly NSFW scenes. So it was not just audio after all. There you were… and Dave York, fucking you senseless, chasing his own high in that Colorado cabin, last time you were together. 

“You mean, what are we doing?” – you sounded so full of yourself. 

“Take it off” – He was watching the video, weirdly mesmerized. - “Take. It. Off”

“Oh but here comes the best part! - You imitated a little girl who didn’t want to go to sleep.

“Take it off. Or I will “ – Dave grabbed the chair and walked in a menacing way towards the screen.

His movements in the video were frantic. His beautifully formed butt, hammering between your legs, was the star of the piece.  He was about to watch himself reaching orgasm, with a woman who wasn’t his wife. What a piece of shit he was.

“Ooooh fuuuuuuck… unnngh… I fuck…ing.. I... fucking LOVE YOU…”

Dave dropped the chair and the screen went to black. It’s not that he didn’t remember saying that. The problem was that he had been trying to forget that he said it. He composed himself.

“You gotta be kidding me…” – he chuckled and calmly returned the chair to its place – “Really? What’s your point with all this?” 

“I think it’s quite obvious, David” – you lit up a cigarette and reclined in your leather armchair. 

“You know? I thought you were crazy, but with this, you’ve exceeded my expectations”  – Dave didn’t try to conceal his rage anymore – “Do you really believe that the shit we say during sex is meaningful?!”

“I have a question for you, Dave. If this thing between us was nothing, why didn’t you stop calling me? Because let me remind you that it was you who looked for me. Not the other way around” 

You were right. He desperately tried to find a plausible answer to your question. “Well, I guess it´s because you´re a great fuck, Q.”

“I am. In fact, I absolutely excel in bed. ” – You paused – “And yet, none of all the men I’ve been with, not a single one of those motherfuckers really wanted to see me again after a couple of times” 

Dave remained in silence.

“Oh but you were only ‘having fun’ with me for, what? Almost 2 years now? – Yes, you were counting –  “Until you cut me off completely, last week. Excuse me for only being sensical at reading this situation, York"

He had to admit you were right.

 “So tell me… What happened? Little Carol found out about your feelings?”

“Don’t you bring Carol into this…”

“Oh but she already is! What was it? – You fake a gasp – Did you say my name while making love to her tenderly…?”

“Shut up!” – Dave almost growled. 

“Sorry” – you said, sincerely.

“What?” 

“I don’t want to antagonize you, Dave. It’s just…”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why you kidnapped me…” 

“You gave me no choice, Dave. Look, I know you think I’m a heartless woman. I myself thought I was. This is my desperate measure, to my desperate times. I love you. – You fought the impending tears with all your strength – And call me crazy all you want, but I know for sure you love me back. That’s why you ghosted me. It scares the shit out of you feeling something like this for someone like me.”

Dave couldn’t think of any explanatory response. Because, in fact, he had none.

The little door suddenly opened, showing a bistec with a colorful salad, his non-optional lunch offer for the day, that went uneventful after your mic turned off.   

Day TWO

Nothing had happened since the dawn of that second day. Dave hoped you were having second thoughts and maybe were planning on releasing him. He also questioned himself if that’s what he wanted. After a quick shower, he noticed night had finally fallen in whatever place this majestic prison was located. He had no clue what time it was and, honestly, he didn’t give a fuck anymore. While laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, which was the only entertainment he could find, Carol and the girls suddenly came to his mind. What would they be doing right now? He felt for them. Even though he had long come to accept that he didn’t love Carol anymore, he truly valued her. She was a great woman, a perfect mother, and at this point, a resilient wife. And his daughters… They were the most beautiful beings he could have produced and the only decent footprint he will leave on this Earth. What would they think of him if he divorced their mom? Dave mentally punched himself for considering that.

Complete darkness swallowed the cell. Of course, it was getting late for the daily event. All lights went dead except for the big screen that suddenly started showing some CCTV images. It was Dave’s street. 

“Have you been to my home too, Q? Pfff, I don’t know why I’m surprised…”

There was not a comeback from your part. 

After a few minutes, it was clear that the footage was an edition from different days, but at similar hours. Dave realized that in those cuts there was something concerning. The same man appeared  to be jogging, but discreetly glancing at his house. Everyday. He was wearing different sporty outfits and anyone could think he was simply a neighbor trying to be fit. But for the trained eye of Dave York, it was easy to understand that that guy was something else. Something dangerous.

“Do you remember the job I got you, 6 months ago, for that Qatar minister? You and your men failed, Dave. They launched an investigation over the dude. And he eventually had to resign. Guess what? He isn’t the forgiving type. He came to me and asked for your personal inform…”

“You put my family in danger, you fucking psycho?!” Have you lost your mind?

“Do you really think that your family would still be alive had I done that, York? 

“Q, you have to let me go” – Dave didn't want to joke anymore – “I need to warn them. Please, let me just do this and I promise, I swear on their lives, you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Please.” 

That pleading made you fall even more in love with him. 

Dave kept watching the footage, terrified of what could be coming next. The video was fast forwarded and he could see as the jogger, who was running his usual target street, crouched and pretended to tie his shoelaces. All of the sudden, he disappeared behind a white van that passed by him and slowed down right where he was. He never reappeared after the van kept on going. A knife was left abandoned on the pavement. Exactly 15 seconds after that, the Mercedes with Carol and the girls turned around the corner, coming back from school. Now Dave remembered the night his wife had commented how weird it was finding that knife in the middle of their street. Dave didn't think anything of it.

"Sometimes I ponder how easy and convenient it would've been for me to let that "tragedy" to happen"

"What about Al-Salim? He could send more people…"

"He fell into depression. And sadly took his own life back in Qatar, the very afternoon this healthy man suffered a heart attack, at the entrance of the George Washington hospital. Dark coincidence, don't you think?"

Dave was at a loss for words for the longest moment. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you’d done for his family. For him. 

"I guess… you don't need my services anymore. It seems like now I can hire you for this kind of job. Thank you, Q" 

The screen went dead and it was pitch black again. Dave didn't know what to expect anymore.

"Aren't you curious about how I hacked your security camera?  And your home intranet, DIA agent?" – your tone was playful again.

Your voice wasn’t coming through the speakers anymore but from right outside his cell. Like in a theatrical performance, the beam of a projector somehow lit up only you and your body. There you were, no make up, loose hair, sitting on a kitchen chair and wearing nothing but a white long dress. The powerful lightning made you look like a sexy specter. 

“How are you Dave? Comfortable, I hope” – You crossed your legs and adopted the pose of a therapist who was about to have her first session with a new patient. 

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it” – Dave was not lying. 

“I suppose you do. Tell me, do you also sit in the dark at home, late at night, when you Google me?

“Oh, please… Don’t flatter yourself, Killer Q”

“Please, your Honor! I have some unmistakable evidence to substantiate my case…”

You stood up and the projector revealed, over your curves, recordings from a computer screen, where your name appeared, over and over again, in searchings with a variety of word combinations that ultimately lead to the same topic: your romantic life. Your name + the terms “boyfriend”, “dating”, “partners”, “love life”, “marriage plans”, “past relationships”. 

 Dave felt his face on fire and thanked the darkness for concealing it.

“That could be anyone's computer”

The images of the hacked screen then changed to a divided layout of his deceitful puppy eyes, his hands on the keyboard in which he was entering the terms, all matching the dates and times of the searches you previously and sensually had helped showcasing. 

“I think that’s your computer, agent York.”

You got up and came closer to the cell, took down the dress straps, one at the time, and let it fall to the floor. You could barely see Dave but you could sense his eyes roaming your naked body. Neither of you said a word. You ceremoniously came back to the chair and sat again, feeling the wetness that had been accumulating since he had thanked you for saving his family. 

“I just know it, Dave. Please, just say it” – you begged with hooded eyes.

The projector was now bathing you with a soft shade of pink, matching the glistening between your legs, on full display for your prisoner to see. When you started circling your clit, your nipples rock hard even before getting undressed, you knew you were not going to last. On the other side of the bars, Dave was breathing heavily and his bulge began pulsing. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t give in to the need to pull his cock out and get himself off to the magnificent scene he was witnessing. He had always thought your body was glorious, even with your scars. Maybe, because of them. 

“Baby… Mmmm… can’t you see? This is… all… yours… Oh… I… am yours…”

You were stabbing your cunt with two fingers, curving them at the right place, at the right rhythm. The sounds you were making, increasingly wetter, desperately faster. One foot on the ground, the other stepping on the spindle, you had definitely used that wooden chair for sinful exercises before. And your moans echoed in the room where Dave was. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, gulping and palming himself, fully erect and finally doing what he very much had resisted. You could hear him and it turned you on even more. Almost standing up, you went back to your clit, frantically rubbing it, keeping your eyes fixed in Dave’s direction. When he saw you come, it was like looking at some goddess sculpture, with a gaping mouth expression, frozen in ecstasy for a few seconds, screaming his name right after. Spitting his hand and fisting himself, once, twice, thrice, Dave spilled his seed all over the tile floor. Panting and slightly sweating, still in the dark, he watched you approach the cell again, still naked and with a satisfied grin on your face. Your hand, still covered in your juices, went straight to grab one of the door metal bars and smudge it with your flavor. Then, you picked up your dress, gave Dave one last look and left. Everything went dark again. But before any light would turn on and gave him away, Dave rushed to the door and licked what you had left for him.   

Later in the shower he had to take care of himself for a second time.  

Day THREE

A huge smash woke Dave from one of the best sleepings he had had in a long time. The lack of proper rest in the past 48 hours had been highly balanced out by the self pleasure activities shared with you the previous night. In his haze, he could hear that there was some commotion out there but, again, he was unable to determine the source. “What is it gonna be today…” He rubbed his eyes and then rolled them. 

Dave stood up and walked to the door, grabbed the bars and listened closely. There were two voices. They were arguing. And it didn’t sound pretty. “You don’t understand! It’s not because of you! That was definitely your voice. “Why the fuck do you even bother? With him? I always stood by you, you ungrateful bitch…!” 

Chet. 

Wait. Was that a lovers’ quarrel? Dave was baffled. He had always thought your loyal lieutenant was a rampant homosexual.  “Chet, stop it, please!” You sounded more and more scared, on the verge of tears, almost. Dave’s heart started racing, his knuckles turning white while squeezing the bars of the door. It was like Chet was bringing the whole house down. Glass crashing, furniture flying, walls being punched. Then Dave heard a slap and a muffled gasp. And he lost it. 

“Cheeeet! You coward piece of shit, leave her alone!!! You want me??? Here I am!! Come and get me, fucker!!!” 

Dave started furiously kicking the bars, of course, to no avail. He searched and searched, for some sign of a door opening device, while he kept hearing your screamings. He scanned the cell and looked at the chair. The window. He probably was not going to be able to break it, or fit into it but at that point anything was worth trying. He stepped on the chair when suddenly everything went quiet. Fearing the worst, he stepped down. The screen turned on and there it was your face. Dave York never thought the day would come when he’d get to see you in such a state. Your hair in disarray, reddened puffy eyes, bloody lips and sheer terror plastered in your expresion. Still so beautiful. You were whispering to the camera installed in the control room from where you clearly operated all these days, looking to your side every five seconds, afraid of Chet entering any minute. 

“I’m so sorry Dave! – you were sobbing but quickly tried to get yourself together – “There’s a panel… uhm… hidden, on the inside wall… it's the right side… No! Sorry! Sorry! Left side by the cell door! You give it a little push and…” – you froze and glanced at your flank –  “It will show a big red button…You push it and it will open the door. Please, you gotta help me, please! He’s gonna kill me, Dave…! Forgive me, I was so stup…”

Suddenly, a giant hand grabbed you by the hair and yanked you out of the frame. The screen went dark.

Dave heard three gunshots somewhere nearby.

He rushed to the door and followed your instructions. Once he was free he ran like a madman. He didn’t recognize himself, feeling a desperation so uncommon for a cold mercenary like he had been for so long. It was corridor after corridor, and they all looked the same. The walls were slightly curved, lacking any pictures or decoration. The little windows above his head, just like in his cell, provided great lightning, but he couldn't help thinking it was like being inside a pantheon. He tried one door, then another. And another. They were all locked. It resembled a mental facility, Greek style. At last, Dave reached a T turn and when he looked, it was a long corridor on both sides. But to the left there was something he hadn't encountered so far: an opened door. In fact, it was ajar. Dave came to the frightening realization that Chet could still be around, armed. While he only had his bare hands. He cautiously entered and came across your control center. A dozen monitors, a camera, a microphone and a tumbled armchair. Some screens were still transmitting video from different parts of the house and Dave instinctively looked for the one broadcasting from his dungeon. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you, laying still on the California King. Dave didn’t stay to check on your state through the monitor but ran through the door and raced the corridors again, trying to remember the path back to the place he had been for the past three days. Were you passed out? Or were you dead? Focus, Dave. Hurry up. 

“Wow. For someone who only had fun with me, that’s… pretty moving, baby”

Dave had run so fast the last part of the hallway leading to the cell, that he virtually bounced on the ending wall. It would’ve been almost comedical if he hadn’t launched like an animal to the now closed jail door. When he desperately looked inside it, there you were. Unharmed, gorgeous, laying on your belly holding your head with your hands, looking at Dave with innocent eyes. Naked. He was trying to catch his breath, holding the metal bars, looking down. A smile, one that you had never seen on him, appeared on his face when he lifted his head and gazed at you. 

“Let me in” – Dave said in a deep whisper. His smile was gone and his eyes were almost black. 

“Have you had enough time to think about our conversations…?” 

“Let me in” 

“You know? I’m not so sure… What are your plans to spend this lovely afternoon in this cozy space with… me?”

“I want to eat”

Your cunt pulsed at those words. Dave looked indeed like a vampire.

You stood up and went to the opening panel, taking your time, walking painfully close to Dave, cold metal as the only barrier preventing him from pouncing on you. You finally gave a push to the red button and the cell was open. Dave stood still, leaning on the threshold. 

“This isn't what I signed up for when I joined the DIA”

“What?  Consorting with criminals…?”

“Falling for the fiercest of them” 

Dave charged and lifted you in one powerful move. And you held onto him for dear life, your mouth colliding with his, so happy you could cry. You locked your legs around him while he carried you until you both crashed against the nearest wall. Dave stopped for air. He caressed your cheek and took a good look at your face, every inch of it, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He once again tried to devour your lips but you put your fingers on his mouth. 

“Wait... Can I ask you something?

“Fire up” 

You both giggled.

“I don’t want you to fuck me…” 

“But…” 

“I want you to make love to me”

Dave's perplexed reaction turned to a sassy one. 

“How many orgasms do you think you can handle?”

“Five”

“I like those odds” 

He put you down, laid back on the bed and went upwards in the direction of the headboard. 

“Up, Q”

You moaned loudly when you sat on his face and Dave started his attack on your pussy. His tongue had been there hundreds of times now. And yet it felt like it was the first time he was licking and sucking your folds like that. 

“Oh my.. God… Dave… Keep going, like that, please, oooh please…!”

His brown eyes alternated between being open and fixed on you and closed due to the pleasure. The noises he was making, how your juices began dripping down his stubble, the way he was gripping your thighs, everything had you riding him like there was no tomorrow. 

“Dave, baby… Unnngh… I’m… Mmmmcoming… Please, make me come…”

Instead of fulfilling your wish, he pushed you away, making you lose your balance and falling on your back. But you didn’t even have time to protest since Dave was on you again, turning you around, on all fours. You felt his still clothed erection grazing your ass. 

“Are you ready to receive my love, Q…? – He cooed in your ear. 

“Yes, yes, YES!”

“All of it?”

“Give it to me…” –you sounded almost pathetic. 

You heard him taking off his shirt and sweatpants and then slapping his cock. Ass up, your wetness was now going down your legs. Proudly licking his lips, where he could still taste you, Dave teased your entrance with the tip of his length and you squeezed the sheets in desperation. You cried his name when he entered you and couldn’t breath when he started his thrusting. Slapslapslapslap. His big hands sank in your flesh, keeping you in place so your face was pressed to the mattress, muffling your whimpers. Dave then lifted you, tenderly embracing you from behind and also reaching your clit and circling it with expertise. 

“Are you close, baby? Hmmm? Talk to me…” 

“Yes baby, I think I’m… explode… am” – you weren’t coherent anymore.

“Lay back…”

He gently pulled you back, making you lean on him, both now seated on the bed.

“Open your legs, Q. Open them wide”

You obeyed. Dave put one hand on the bed for support and the other one went straight between your legs. When you realized what he had in mind, you granted him more access, placing your hips forward. 

 “Two. Or three?” 

“Three… is my lucky… number” 

He then started fingering you. He went in and out frantically, making sure he was properly hooking his fingers to get to the patch of heaven inside your vagina. Your eyes went to the back of your head and you were unable to make any sound. Dave wished there was a mirror in front of the two of you so he could witness your cute O face. All of the sudden, a loud squelching echoed across the room and Dave grinned in anticipation. 

“Here it comes, baby. Alright baby, alright, baby. Come on now” 

“Ooooohhh mmmm... Ghhhhhhhaaaaah!!!!!

You felt indeed like something had exploded out of you. It was liquid pleasure like you had never experienced before. It kept on leaking, down your legs, down the bed, down Dave´s hand. You weren’t sure how to feel or what to do next. Dave continued encouraging you, kissing your earlobe and cradling you in his chest, waiting for you to get down from your high. When you were back on Earth again, you turned around and looked him in the eye.

“Love me, Dave”

He flipped you over, kissed you lovingly, fist himself a couple of times and entered you. His pace was now slow, with a calm he had barely known in his whole life, in any aspect of it. How long he’d pretended you were merely a substance trader who happened to cross his path of illicit choices. You kept your eyes open. You wanted to make sure he was there, that he was real. That he was David York. The mercenary, the federal impostor, the cheating husband, the lover you never thought you deserve. That this wasn’t another of your sex fantasies at night. 

“I love you, Killer Q”

Dave increased his rhythm. 

“Say it again”

“I. Fuckin. Love. You”

“Come for me, daddy”

Dave thrusts became erratic, his breathing increasingly difficult. You held his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m here, baby. Look at me. Give me everything you got. Fill me in”

Those words did the job. Dave groaned deep and long, as he spurted his hot load inside you. But he was not finished. With what was left of his magic, he intended to make you come one more time. In and out, in and out, in and out, just at the right angle, to burn your clit one more time. 

And it happened that you burst into tears as you orgasmed. Dave kissed them dry.  

“Don’t cry, Q.” – Dave stared at you adoringly –”Thank you”

“For what…?” You used the pillow case as a Kleenex.

“To show me what an idiot I’ve been all this time. I really deserve being hurt by Chet. Hopefully, he’s not around...”

You laughed.

“He’s with one of the new boys”

“Training him?”

“I don’t think so…”

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