Dave York - Tumblr Posts

rare

summary: dave just wants to help you with those awful cramps.

rating: E [oh my god this is PURE E; there is no back story; PERIOD SEX, so that means BLOOD, PIV, oral fem receiving, so many bodily fluids, squirting cause y’all know me, somnophilia, he’s only a little mean; he does ignore you saying stop at one point BUT THERE IS A SAFE WORD IN THIS COUPLE’S LIFE it’s just not here; faithful Dave, soft Dave needs his own warning]

pairing: dave york x fem reader

word count: ~2100

note: AGAIN, THIS IS PERIOD SEX. THERE IS BLOOD. THERE ARE CRAMPS. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. shoutout to @starlightmornings for beta and encouragement, and to @danniburgh and @wyn-dixie who are both directly responsible for whatever the full fuck happened here, i am not sorry.

REBLOGS ARE LOVED AND APPRECIATED <3<3

taglist | masterlist

~~~

A sharp noise jolts Dave awake. He feels you moving against him, hears you moaning. At first he thinks you’re touching yourself. Not that he’d mind it if you were—you’ve just never been so brazen about it. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks a little closer; eyes shut tight, mouth slack, and your hands aren’t anywhere near your pussy. 

A nightmare, he realizes.

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@ Pedro Pascal pls reject me so I can move on🙏🙏

two lives

Summary: Dave never planned to cheat on his wife. He never planned to fall in love with another woman. He never planned to live two separate lives. And he never planned to be attending the funeral of the love of his life after their mission went wrong.

Pairing: Dave York x OFC (can be read as reader insert)

Wordcount: 2.4k+

Warnings: character death, grieve, angst, mentions of smut, amnesia

A/N: All I’m gonna say is, I’m sorry. I wasn’t planing on writing this like that.

Masterlist

*Taglist in Reblog

It all happened too fast. It was supposed to be an easy job. In and out. In one moment they were talking about what they would be having for dinner. In the next moment she was shot. He had only turned around for one second. One fucking second. Where the fuck did that shot come from? Nobody was supposed to know they were even here. Closing his eyes he breathed in deep holding her as she fell to her knees.

“Dave…”, she choked and he felt like he aged 10 years as her hand reached for his face.

“I never told you I loved you….”, she whispered before she closed her eyes.

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Y’all every notice that Pedro’s mustache is a little bit thinner right above his lip, and every time I see it all I can think about is that scene from Parks and Recreation where Ben says “You shaved off part of your mustache?” and Ron is like “I didn’t shave it off. It rubbed off. From friction.” And every time I think that I always say “Hell yeah it did!”

Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s ever thought that 😭

Read… just go read everything on this list 😍 You won’t regret it

STORY MASTERLISTS!

Something to Fight For Series (COMPLETE)

For readers 18+ only please!

summary:

After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever. The only problem is your best friend Maria is dating his brother and their construction company has been hired to renovate where you work. In an effort to support your friend, you’re thrust into the unwanted job of babysitting Joel’s young daughter one night. As time goes on you’re not expecting to find a confidant in Joel Miller but when you do, you wonder how you ever survived without him.AU LOU universe with no outbreak. A slow burn slice of life love story with smut.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21: Epilogue

Vignette #1 - After the Holiday Party

Vignette #2 - Joel Learns to Text

BRAVO! TAKE A BOW Series

Summary: As a struggling actress you’re amazed when you land a role in an indie film you’re dying to be a part of. What you’re not expecting is to develop feelings for your mega famous and often exasperating co-star Dieter Bravo

1- Audition

2- Chemistry Read

3- Table Read

A Little Sun

As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way. (plot prompt inspired by 'Daddy Dieter' by @absurdthirst on Ao3 - read their story, its really wonderful!)

First Trimester

Second Trimester

Third Trimester

Post Partum

CODE BROKEN Series (COMPLETE)

For 18+ Readers only!

"You broke into my house," Joel says moving his gaze from your eyes back down to your mouth as his wide hand grazes his belt buckle. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite." You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this? [AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

Part 1: Go your Own Way

Part 2: The House of the Rising Sun

Part 3: Tainted Love

Part 4: I will Survive

Part 5: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Losing our Minds Together

For readers 18+ only please!

summary:

As an artist by trade it's only natural that you'd agree to give your young neighbor Ellie drawing lessons. You just weren't counting on her stoic father Joel Miller getting under your skin... or becoming your muse. [AU LOU universe with no outbreak. A slow burn slice of life love story with smut, romance and more.]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Dare to Surrender (COMPLETE)

for 18+ readers only!

summary: “First to come loses.” You can’t stand Javier Pena but when Steve Murphy makes an off-hand remark that gets both you and Javier’s competitive sides going, there’s no telling how far you’ll go.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

So Much to Lose

For readers 18+ only please!

summary:

Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart. note: Featuring Dark!Joel

Chapter 1 : Patrols

Chapter 2: The Doe

Chapter 3: You Make the Rules, Remember?

Chapter 4: Lessons

Chapter 5: Home for Dinner

Please, Mister Miller?

for 18+ readers only!

Summary: After being dumped by your longtime college bf, your roommate Sarah Miller invites you to her hometown for the holidays. There you meet her dad and decide you need to know if he’s as good in bed as he looks. (General warnings: Infidelity and unprotected p in v)

Please, Mr. Miller?

Movie Night with Mr. Miller

Mr Miller's shortbread

Lights with Mr. Miller

Running Errands with Mr. Miller

Goodbye Mr. Miller

Daddy Morales

for 18+ Readers only!

Summary: A distraught Frankie drives you home after babysitting. You cheer him up.... and then you keep cheering him up all over town. (General warnings: Infidelity and Daddy kink)

Part 1 - Drive Home

Part 2 - Pit Stop

Part 3 - No More

Part 4 - Too Late

Part 5 - The BBQ

ONE SHOTS

Say, Thank You. [Dave York x F!Reader] (Rated 18+)

After driving you home from babysitting his kids, Dave York has a proposition for you that you just can’t refuse.

A Secret Kind of Pain [Frankie Morales x f!reader](rated 18+)

Poker night over at Benny’s tests the amazing burgeoning relationship you have been hiding with Frankie Morales.

FALLING IN LOVE

How I imagine these characters fall in love. Rated: G

Joel Miller

Javier Peña

AHHH!!!!!! Holy fuck did not see that coming at all. GIVE ME MURDER DADDY!

🥵🥵🥵

Kryptonite | Dave York x Reader | One Shot

Rating: EXPLICIT/Mature

Summary: Running into Dave York changes your life and unleashes a new part of yourself.

Inspired by Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Tags: dark!Dave York, infidelity, Germany, song fic

Warnings: infidelity, violence and descriptions of violence, death (not Dave or reader), descriptions of blood, murder, self defense, explicit smut (p in v), oral sex (both m & f receiving), heavy groping, choking, smacking/hitting in a sexual manner, knife play, power dynamics, use of “daddy” in a sexual manner (minimal), consensual sex, possible dub con, cream pie

Notes: I wrote this one for the LOML @janaispunk for Christmas 🫶, though you won’t find it filled with Christmas festivities! Huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to my ideas, reading through it, and being an overall huge encourager!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO WARNINGS ON THIS ONE

Words: 7160

THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND DARK THEMES. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT

“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.”

Dave York isn’t a bad guy. If one were to give him a chance, he would explain how he’s actually one of the good guys. He’s simply standing up for those who have been wronged by the fucked up system that abandoned the ones who do the dirty work. It’s all conjecture. How he rationalizes it all away. How he lets himself sleep at night, and go home to his wife and beautiful daughters. He does this for them. He isn’t a bad guy.

Yet, even he starts to see through his bullshit. He won’t admit it, but it’s getting harder to sleep at night. Tonight is one of those nights. That’s how he finds himself wandering the streets of a German city he can’t remember the name of.

The air is just verging on chilly, the breeze whipping at his typically well-kempt hair. He usually keeps to the shadows when he’s managing his side business, worried about being picked up on a camera, but it’s late now. He keeps out of the street lights, the stars shielded by the light pollution.

He inhales deeply. This time tomorrow he’ll be on a flight back to the States and slide into bed next to his wife. He’ll wake up, make lunch for the girls, and take them to school. The perfect all-American family. Dave loves them. His girls are his world. He is doing this for them. Every smile and giggle makes this all worth it. Alice and Molly deserve the world. Sometimes, he wonders if his wife knows. Carol hasn’t said anything, but sometimes he catches her just staring at him. Logic says she just loves him. How many times early on in their life together had he done the same thing? How long has it been since he looked at her with that awe?

If he’s honest, Dave doesn’t give his marriage much thought anymore. It’s something that’s just there like two planets orbiting each other but never intersecting. It’s something that’s just part of the persona of Dave York. The version of him his friends and family know. He is starting to wonder if that man still exists. He’s found himself feeling freer during his “work trips” than he does at home.

If it weren’t for his girls…

Dave can’t finish the thought as he collides with a woman in a blue dress and billowing feather boas wrapped around her neck. You.

“Oh shit!” Dave’s hands shoot out, steadying your form, one on each shoulder.

You let out a soft snort quickly covering it with a giggle. “Oh my god.” You try to sober but fail before another giggle takes over. You buzz with the carefree energy of someone a couple drinks into the evening but not wasted.

Any words forming in Dave’s head die there. Your eyes sparkle with mischief. Your smile leaves him stunned. He’s seen his fair share of women even as a married man, but never crossed the boundary of infidelity. Dave doesn’t label what is about to happen as infidelity because right now he isn’t Dave York from Arlington, Virginia, father to two and husband. Right now, he’s Dave York private gun for hire, or Patrick Smith born in Pennsylvania if you looked at his passport.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Dave’s hands don’t move from your shoulders. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Dave flashes a smile, the same one he used to pick up Carol years ago, but she’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I should be more aware of my surroundings. Especially with such a beautiful woman about.”

Your cheeks flush with heat. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not from the alcohol in your system. Dave has never been above sweet-talking to get his way during his time with the agency. “You’re American.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Dave winks. You laugh. Dave swears he could listen to that sound every day if given the chance. “But are you with anyone? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here all alone.”

You tilt your head to the side, life glowing in your eyes. Whether you’re always like this or it’s all alcohol-induced, Dave doesn’t know, but he wants to find out. He needs to know.

“And I’m supposed to trust you, Mr. America.”

He chuckles, looking up at the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to you. He can’t stop taking you in. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his stifling life. He smiles, the first time he’s felt fully himself in possibly years. “My name is Dave.”

You glance between his hand and his face, sussing out if he is trustworthy. He seems so, comes across as genuine. He’s a bit older than you, but handsome nonetheless with big brown eyes and the sincerity of a well-raised child.

You inhale deeply, choosing to be a little wreckless for once and jump head first into something. What’s the worst that could happen? You take his hand.

“I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”

It’s probably a stupid choice, but Dave gives you his number. His real number. He doesn't have enough time to see you again before he leaves Germany and he isn’t ready to let this go yet. He escorts you safely to your apartment, chatting idly over the 10-minute walk and the 30 minutes you spend on the front stoop. As he goes to leave, you stand on tiptoes, pressing your lips against his. In return, he pushes you against the front door, hands roaming up your sternum. You giggle at him like a smitten schoolgirl and hand him your phone.

Dave has a second number. He could’ve given you that one. He probably should have, but he wants easier access. He risks it. Dave is not a careless man, but he leans into the easiness of it in the moment. He kisses you again before leaving, much more chastely this time. He promises to see you next time he’s in town. He tells you he does business in Germany often. It won’t be long.

His veins buzzed with electricity the whole walk back to his apartment, his body alive in a way that feels almost supernatural. As he crosses the threshold, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number. Dave knows who it is before he looks at the text.

Over the next two weeks, Dave finds himself instantly reaching for his phone with each ping. The time difference is a pain in the ass but sometimes works in Dave’s favor. Like when Carol is sound asleep and you’re wide awake across the sea.

When the call comes through from a contact that they’re ready to move in on a target in Germany, Dave almost jumps up in celebration. He’s never hit the tarmac with his bags packed so fast. He tacks on a couple extra days to visit you.

Those extra days can’t come soon enough. He always prides himself on his ability to compartmentalize. He can tune out the rest of the world, get a job done with the precision of the assassin he is, and return to life as if nothing happened, but this time, he finds himself rushing through the process, eager to get to the finish line, eager to get to you.

However, when the night of the hit comes, he slips right into Dave York The Killer, cold, heartless, robotic. The crew is smaller this trip, the target not as high profile, but still a big payout. He forces himself to stay steady, forces himself not to speed through his progressions. The team doesn’t notice a difference in him. He takes that as a good sign. The target is asleep, alone, thank god.

Dave slides the knife into the victim’s chest. He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find a particular beauty in it. The firm pressure, the slice of the knife, the crimson blood. It’s always a rush, the planning, the practice, the kill, and Dave enjoys it all. This particular hit sends an extra rush of pleasure through his veins.

He takes the train to get to you, fighting the urge to show up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Dave York is not a patient man, but he somehow manages, pacing his hotel room still as he buzzes with the high of the night’s hit and the excitement of seeing you in the morning. You recommended meeting at a small cafe, but as Dave lays awake with the sun peeking through the curtains, he decides to surprise you at the apartment.

Dave has to force himself not to rush, which seems to be becoming a theme with him. He makes himself a cup of coffee in the hotel room and sits down drinking every drop until he can’t stand to wait any longer, leaving his hotel 30 minutes before he needs to.

Dave could’ve taken time to enjoy the city in daylight. He spends so much of his time in these destinations under the cover of darkness, missing the beauty, but he doesn't. He wants to believe he keeps to his training, keeping an eye out for someone following him and staying out of the view of cameras, but the truth is, he’s completely unaware of it all. His sole purpose is to get to you.

When your apartment building comes into view, he finally slows, aware of how early he is. Hell, he’s supposed to meet you there.

One of your curtains is open, giving him a faraway view into your apartment. Dave has fully accepted that he’s verging into creep territory, but he doesn’t care. It’s been two weeks since he’s laid eyes on you. That’s two weeks too long for him.

He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of you, patience dwindling within a few minutes of waiting. The anticipation grows into anxiety. Did he come to the wrong building? That’s impossible. Dave never forgets places, even if he did, he would never forget yours. Are you home? Did you forget? He studies the window searching for any evidence of life. Has something happened to you? Oh god, has someone connected the two of you? Figured out his whole facade? He has half a mind to break down the door and go in guns blazing.

His phone pings. It’s the only thing that could break his concentration. Your name pops up, granting him instant relief.

See you in 20?

He smiles, glancing back up toward the window. You are okay. Everything is okay because Dave is a smart man. He knows how to cover his tracks, and you are a sacred treasure he wants to keep all to himself. He will hide you away, protect you from it all.

He catches the subtle flutter of the curtains. The world around him becomes nonexistent as his full attention is pulled toward the window. She moves into view, head whipping around as you search for a specific item. He smiles, all of the anxiety leaving his body.

Instead of responding via text, he hits the call button. The dial tone plays against his ear. She moves out of view, no doubt searching for her cell.

“Hello?”

A smile overtakes his face. Dave can’t remember the last time one did so effortlessly. “Look out your window, Darling.”

His voice sits low in his chest, sending shivers through your body. You pull back the curtain. Dave waves down below. “Are you stalking me now?”

“It’s not stalking if you showed me where you live.”

You bite back your smile, heat gathering in your cheeks. “We were supposed to meet there.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Give me two minutes.” You say and the line goes dead.

Dave watches you zip away from the window. The swinging of the curtains is the only indication you were ever there. His chest tightens as he waits. Dave York considers himself a patient man, but he checks his watch for the 5th time in two minutes.

Then your door swings open. You come barreling toward him, a smile plastered to your face. It’s contagious as Dave chuckles, spinning you around like an episode of The Bachelor. His lips are warm against your cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine as your feet plant on the ground. Dave’s warm brown eyes meet yours. “How can you miss someone you’ve hardly seen?”

“How can someone not miss you?” He laughs, fingers weaving with yours.

“You lie, Dave.”

“I could never lie to you.” He winks.

Dave holds your hand all the way to the cafe. He pays for your meal. He’s engaging, charming, making conversation, desperate to know everything he can about you. You’ve never felt such intention from another person.

After the cafe, you walk through town, hand in hand in broad daylight. The conversation continues to flow as naturally as a river. Dave is captivated. There’s no other word for it. He wants you. He never wants to leave. He thinks he may need you for survival.

You steer your steps toward your apartment. There’s a time and a place for subtlety. Today is not that. Dave picks up on it, catching the dilation of your pupils, feeling the shift between you.

But when you make it to the door, Dave plays the gentleman, asking when he can see you again. You cut him off with a kiss, tongue quickly delving into his mouth. His large hands plant solidly on your hips. You pull him inside. Dave remains respectful, but commanding. You eagerly submit to him. He stays the night.

“After all I knew it had to be something to do with you.”

Dave is losing it. One might argue that’s a bad thing. He’s not so sure as his mind is overrun with flashes of you. He’s quick to check his phone each time it dings. He knows better than to assign you a specific tone, but he wants to, even knows which one he would choose.

His team is building quite the reputation in the gun for hire business. They’re turning down jobs, having to play the cautious game of balancing their time between murder and families. They can’t arouse suspicions. They take turns staying stateside, sending in different crews depending on the job and need. Dave accepts every job within a quick train ride of you. He goes on each one. Sometimes it’s just him. Those are the easiest. He doesn’t even need to tell the team. It makes it easy to slip in, add more red to his ledger, and run to you with his hands dripping, metaphorically of course.

He can never stay more than the weekend, usually no more than a night, but you take every moment. He’s a drug you crave, an addiction you can’t kick. In fact, you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if you never get more than a stolen night here and there, you’ll take whatever you can get running your hands over his toned muscles, tracing the scars littered over his body, some new and red, some old and faded.

It gives him an air of danger that sends a rush through you each time, like there’s darkness embedded in each scar and it seeps into you. The feeling should unnerve you. It doesn’t.

You want to ask, but you bite your tongue. They seem almost glaring compared to the person you know. Dave is sweet and gentle. The most violence you’ve seen in him is the intense fly hunt you went on last weekend as it buzzed intently around the two of you on the couch. You wonder about the stories behind each nonetheless. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

He leaves again. He always does with the promise of returning soon. He can’t give you a date. He never can. His phone rings as he walks out the door. You catch the flash of a couple on his screen and a woman’s name drops from his lips. He doesn’t know you see it. Carol.

“But still your secrets I will keep”

You’re drenched. Sweat gathers across your naked skin. Dave thrusts into your dripping pussy, cock soaked in your juices. Your moans marry together, echoing off the walls of your apartment at 2 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.

You called out of work when he appeared on your doorstep without a warning. He seemed broody, crashing his lips onto yours with more force than you were used to, setting your body ablaze in a new way.

Dave’s hips snap into yours with greater force than usual, his grip a little tighter, but it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expect it to. You like it, this rough side, the way his large hand pins both your arms to the mattress. “You’re taking me so good, Darling. Like a good little girl.”

His words strike a chord within you. Your walls tighten around him. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers run through your sopping folds, flicking at your clit with skill and precision. Your back arches. You feel like you need to crawl out of your skin. “I’m almost there.”

“I know, baby.” He keeps pace, pushing you closer and closer.

The invisible line snaps as waves of pleasure roll over your body. Dave keeps going, so close to his own release. He’s relentless, prolonging your own orgasm.

“I want to finish inside you. Fill you up like a dirty little whore.” Your cunt clenches around him. You’re not sure why his words affect you the way they do, but you love it. He moans. “Please, Darling.”

“Yes,” You hiss, feeling as if your orgasm has started over. “Please, fill me up.”

“Fuck!” Dave thrusts into you. Once. Twice. And then he buries himself into you, filling you with every drop he has.

Once the high settles to a mild thrum and you’ve cleaned up, you sit on the bed, fresh sheets below you, watching Dave as he gathers his things off your dresser. The sex was different this time, good, mind altering.

Dave has yet to put a shirt on. There’s a scar along his back that disappears beneath the waistband on his jeans. You’ve seen it before. You know all his scars, and you’re gathering his secrets too.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” Dave says, back still turned to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he turns to you, with worried eyes. You saw a piece of him today that no one has seen before. Of that, you have no doubt.

“No, I liked it.” A small smirk quirks your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying some new things.” Heat pools in your belly again. That same darkness flashes in Dave’s eyes. You want to pull it out and learn it.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

He pulls on his shirt, turning his phone back on. Your heart drops, popping the bubble. “You can’t stay.”

Dave sighs. You catch the guilt hanging off of him. “I’m sorry, Darling.”

“It’s okay…”

Dave bites his lip. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I-”

“I know you’re married.” It rolls off your lips without a second thought. You’re not sure where it comes from.

Dave’s face pales, tongue going dry as sandpaper. “Darling-”

“And I don’t care.”

The color fills his face again as he steps over to you. “How do you know?”

You shrug, laying back on the bed. “She called you when you were leaving last time. I did my research, Dave York.”

Dave isn’t sure what to think. In his line of work, it’s scary to know you found him on the internet. It’s a safety issue. If something ever happened to Molly and Alice… but he’s trusted you with much more than anyone else.

“You mean it? You don’t care?” He searches your eyes for any doubt, but finds none.

“You’re the one traveling across the ocean to see me. I also think you’re not just ‘working for the government’.”

There’s a deep growl low in his throat. He oozes evil like your favorite book to movie villain, sending shivers through your body. He cups your neck, using force to pull your lips to his. It’s hot and needy like he didn’t just spend the afternoon buried inside of you. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, fighting with yours. He grabs your ass kneading it in his palms.

Then, he pulls away, voice gravely in your ear. “One of these days I’m going to tell you every single evil thing I’ve done, and you’re going to like it.”

You gasp, toes curling. He keeps eye contact with you, searching for any sign that you might reject him for it. You don’t ask. You don’t scoff. You believe him. You’ve seen the slivers of evil before, felt them. You’re beginning to wonder if they’ve seeped into you too.

Then he’s gone, disappearing like a ghost.

“I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.”

Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your heart pounds in your ear. You can’t tell much in the dark, except there’s a man in your apartment, clad in black, and it’s not Dave.

You clutch the kitchen knife to your chest, thankful for Dave’s obsession with keeping things sharp. His boots are steady on your hardwood floors, leaving you to wonder if you’re safe huddled in the corner, or if you should sneak up behind him. Dave taught you to attack only if you are sure you can land a debilitating blow by surprise. You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not an assassin. You’re pretty sure Dave is.

Then, you see your chance. A small opportunity where you know you’ll be hidden in the darkness, not exposed by the open window. You know which floor boards to avoid.

You expect it to go by in a blur, but your mind feels clear. The exposed point on his neck calls to you like a beacon. The artery. He’ll bleed out before he knows what’s happening. Dave’s voice echoes in your head.

Your knife sinks into his neck, slicing skin and tissue like it’s softened butter. You pull the knife out, it drips with crimson blood. He tumbles forward, your lamp shattering into a million tiny pieces as he falls forward.

“You bitch!” He manages to his feet, blood spurting out of his neck. He tries to cover it with his hand, but he’s already losing color in his face. He stumbles toward you. You easily step out of his path, sinking the knife into his chest cavity. It’s more difficult, but you know when you hit his lung.

You watch him fall to the floor, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon as he coughs and sputters. He’s trying to speak, but can’t. You cock your head to the side, watching it happen, watching the life drain from his eyes, listening to his final breaths. You did that. You took down a man bigger than yourself with two quick blows, without hesitation.

You can feel the thick, red blood dripping off your fingers, soaking into your clothes.Your chest heaves. The knife clatters to the floor. You turn your hands over. You should want this off of you, scratching at the skin to remove it. Instead, you just stare in awe.

Dave appears, heart racing as he takes in the scene. He was gone for only a few hours. A quick job in a neighboring town. “Darling?”

You don’t respond, still inspecting your coated hands. He puts a hand on your shoulder, desperate to know that you’re okay. You jump, eyes blow wide.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I woke up and he was here… I just- I did what you taught me.”

Your eyes focus on him. He’s in weird clothes- tactical gear. He probably killed someone tonight too.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap back down to your hands. Are you okay? You don’t remember getting hit or knocked over, just the steel blade sinking into flesh over and over and over.

“Darling, look at me!” His hand wraps around your neck and your back hits the wall.

Your eyes snap to him. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the deafening silence that coats your apartment. His eyes are dark. Darker than you ever remember seeing them. You think, maybe, there’s a hint of cruelty floating in them.

“You’re okay.” His eyes scan over you to assure himself as well. He reminds himself that blood is not yours.

Your eyes drift back toward the body. The body that used to house a person with a life and family and-

“Look at me.” Dave’s voice is commanding, forcing obedience. The other side of him is coming out. This is not the Dave you know. It’s the one you’ve caught glimpses of. The one he told you about. This Dave is a monster. A monster you should run from.

“You did nothing wrong. He would’ve killed you.” His hand presses into your neck again. “You did the right thing.”

You thought this moment would break you, losing your Dave, but this Dave is yours too. You thought the monster would scare you. It’s everything you’ve ever stood against, but you want the monster.

A thrill shoots through you, unlocking a deep urge. The world should be blurry, hazing like the TV shows when someone experiences a trauma, but it’s buzzing around you instead. Your senses feel heightened.

Dave says your name. You look up at him. Time stands still. He knows you know. It’s a question of if you will accept it. You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him. He shouldn’t tarnish you, but he catches that look. It’s everything he feels after a kill. The adrenaline rush, the buzz of life through your veins. Maybe he didn’t tarnish you. Maybe he unlocked something in you. Your bloodied hands tangle in his thick hair as he surges forward lips colliding with yours.

This is wrong, so wrong. Another man’s blood is literally on your hands as they tangle in Dave’s hair. You should be disgusted with yourself. This is wicked. You’ve run from the wickedness your entire life. Now you feel like you should have embraced it. He bites your lip, so hard there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. It only spurs you on. A familiar ache grows in your core. Your teeth nash against his, meeting each of his tortuous movements.

His hand squeezes your neck just enough to make your head go dizzy. You should hate this. You should despise this, but your cunt clenches again. “You like that don’t you?”

He loosens his hold, the blood rushing back quickly. It’s a new rush, crashing over the edges of your heightened senses. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you never want it to stop.

His rough voice presses to your ear as he caresses your exposed neck reminding you how fragile your own life is. “The little slut likes when I get rough.”

You whimper at his words, your underwear growing wetter with each passing second. His knee presses between your thigh, granting some tension to your aching core. You move your hips against it. “Not so fast, Darling.” He tightens his grip on your neck, pressing you further against the wall. “You think just because you killed him you’re in charge now?”

Another whimper falls from your lips. An involuntary tear seascapes the corner of your eyes, beginning its descent. Dave’s eyes flicker to it, head cocking to the side. His eyes look different- wild verging on insane. You should be scared, but it’s still Dave. You trust him. Then his tongue is against your cheek, wiping it away with a long, slow swipe. Your nipples pearl under your thin nightshirt.

He whispers in your ear. “I'm in charge. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good.”

He produces a knife out of thin air. It’s one you’ve seen before. He’s sharpened it at your kitchen counter. He brushes the tip along your collarbone. Your eyes track its every movement. It’s not enough to cut you, but enough that you can feel how sharp it is. Your heart thuds harder, but your hips move against his knee of their own accord.

He clicks his tongue, forcing the knife down in a single swift movement. You cry out, expecting to feel pain, only to find your chest exposed and your nightshirt torn down the middle. He hand gropes your breast, squeezing it like a stress ball. A gasp falls from your lips as his finger runs over your nipple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

By your neck, he leads you in front of him to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut, pressing you against it. He produces the knife again, running it through your pajama shorts. The scraps fall to the floor, leaving you in the delicate lace pair of underwear you wore in anticipation of Dave’s arrival.

His tongue clicks appreciatively. The tip of the knife traces over the lace. You whimper, eyes falling closed. He falls to his knees.

“So pretty.” Dave presses his mouth to your clothes cunt. He works his tongue over the thin fabric, pulling it between his teeth. It’s just enough to tease and not enough to provide relief.

“Dave.” It comes out so hoarse you don’t recognize your own voice.

He grins up at you, pulling the knife through your underwear with a rehearsed flick of his wrist. They join your shorts on the floor. You’re bared to him while Dave is fully clothed.

You catch the blood in his hair, splattered on his clothes. It’s drying on your skin now. You know you should be repulsed by it, but the thought of what you did still makes you buzz to life.

“Stay right there.” He eases to his feet. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

He turns on the shower, pushing the hot water all the way. As steam starts to fill the room, Dave removes his clothing item by item. He’s not making a show of it per se, but he is commanding, concise. He pulls another knife from his belt and sets it on the counter. Your breath catches and he makes eye contact. A whisper of a smirk plays on his lips. “Standing so still for me, darling.” You squeeze your legs together, feeling the familiar squelching between your vaginal lips.

You eye the knife a moment longer, biting your lip. Something about it calls out your name. You’re not sure if you should grab it and find the nearest person to plunge it into or if you want Dave to use it with you, on you.

Dave catches the glimmer in your eyes as you eye it. A newfound excitement tugs in his belly. A whole new world is opening before him. One where he doesn’t have to hide all this shit from you, one where you might enjoy it too. You’re not shutting down after killing that man, his body cooling on your living room floor. You liked it. He likes it.

He kicks off his boots and socks. His pants follow. Your eyes travel over his body. The scars make sense now. You still don’t know what Dave does, but you know it’s bad. There’s a small band across his ankle that houses another knife. You should hate him for all of this, kick him to the curb. Instead, your cunt is soaking, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted him more.

He chuckles as you eye the knife on his ankle. It’s the only thing he wears other than his briefs now. His dick bulges, usually pulling your attention, put you can’t pull your eyes away from the knife.

Pulling off his underwear, Dave comes back over to you, pressing his body against yours. His teeth scrape over the veins of your neck and he bites down on your earlobe as his hand tangles in your hair.

You release a soft yell. You barely recognize the man in front of you, but it doesn’t matter.

He grips your thigh, hiking it over his hip, running his dick through your sopping cunt.

“You like my knives, Darling?”

You nod as pleasure plays like a movie across your body.

He gips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” It barely comes out.

His brows raise in amusement. “Would you like me to use them?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You say it as a statement.

Flashes of his softer side show before he clamps them down. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes.” It’s almost a yell.

Without hesitation, he grabs the knife off the vanity, pressing it to your neck. “On your knees.”

You obey coming face to face with his hard cock. The knife stays against your delicate flesh.

“You know what to do, baby.”

Again, you obey, taking it into your mouth. The knife is cool against your neck, the only reminder it’s still there. You don’t know how it never pierces your flesh either by dumb luck or expert skill.

Dave’s hips thrust forward, almost triggering your gag reflex. Tears fall from your eyes. Curses sputter from Dave’s lips as he uses your mouth. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You breathe from your nose, forcing yourself to nod.

“Shit!” Dave curses, pulling out of your mouth. “I’m going to paint that pretty pussy of yours.”

Your cunt clenches as a small moan tumbles from your lips. He chuckles, hand closing around your neck once more as he ushers you into the shower.

The water is hot, burning against your skin as if it might melt your skin off. Dave holds you under the water. Your breath catches as your body screams out. The water beneath you runs red as the blood washes from your skin.

Your back hits the cool tile wall granting relief from the scalding water. He lathers soap over the parts of your body still stained red, fingers occasionally brushing under your breasts, tweaking nipples.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Even covered in blood.”

You whimper again, senses overloaded from the trauma, the rush, the teasing. “Dave, please.”

“Please what? You have to use your words, Doll.”

Your walls constrict again, desperate to be around something. Your arms and legs are heavy with need. He’s never used that term with you before. It should be degrading. It is, but it sets another wave of pleasure. You wonder if it’s possible to orgasm virtually untouched. If it is, you’re close.

“Fuck me.”

His tongue clicks as he floats around yours, almost taunting you. He grabs your boob, hard enough it should hurt. It does a little, but pleasure overrides the pain.

“Ask nicely, Doll.”

His finger trails over your collarbone traveling between your breasts and down across your hip. Your thighs squeeze. His palm slips around as he grabs the back of your thigh, kneading it.

“I said.” His words come out like a punch. Concise. Almost sharp. “Ask. Nicely.” He pushes your thigh over his waist, forcing your supportive leg to your tiptoes.

You feel his cock near your entrance, brushing your pussy lips. You moan, hips bucking. He pushes against your neck, running your head into the tiles behind you. “You little slut. You think you can just take it.”

You gasp. “Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Daddy.” It tumbles out of your lips before your brain catches up.

He thrusts his cock into you, sheathing himself fully, hitting the deepest parts of you. Then he’s gone, making you feel empty but only for a second until he enters you again. His hand squeezes tighter around your neck. You come for air as he continuously splits you apart thrust by thrust, pulling out almost fully each time.

Your moans are loud, drowned out by the steaming shower. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Dave pays you little mind, shows little care as he continues with a brutality you’ve never encountered, a brutality that only makes you soak his cock. He doesn’t slow. You don’t want him to. He never touches your clit, but you're propelling forward, chasing that high in a way you never have.

The pitch of your voice steps up. The spasm starts in your stomach traveling down to your core as you flutter around Dave’s cock. Your supporting leg shakes. Still, he never eases up, working you through your orgasm.

It hits you like a punch to the gut, a scream piercing the air. Your scream. Dave doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stutter. He keeps pace, chasing his own release.

With each thrust, you yell. You hear the squelching of your sopping cunt against his dick over the roar of the shower. His continuous movements extend your release until he finally buries himself inside you, coating your pussy with his cum. “Such a perfect little doll for me.”

You let out a final whimper as he pulls around, dropping your leg. Your knees buckle. You barely keep yourself upright, legs tingling and shaking.

Dave kisses your cheek. The softness causes a sense of whiplash. He glances over your body, making sure the blood is cleared from your skin and hair. He rinses the blood from his hair as your brain slowly returns to the world. You expect to be exhausted, and you are, but there’s still that low buzz deep within your body.

You killed a man. You took a life. You should feel bad. There’s a fucking body in your living room, but all you can think about is the rush. You liked it. Watching Dave, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s no doubt to you that he’s taken lives before. You wonder if he knows how many.

The water stops. Dave dries you off with the soft bath towel. He helps you into his soft white t-shirt and tucks you into bed.

“I need to make a call.” He kisses your head and shuts himself in your bathroom. You hear him on the phone, but his words are muffled by the door.

You lay on your back, sheets cool against your hot skin. Staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the blood dripping from your hands, hear the piercing of the knife. You heart rate picks up. What would it be like to do that again? Would you feel the same rush of adrenaline? Would it feel better?

Dave comes out, tossing his cell on the nightstand and sliding under the covers. His hand covers yours.

“What about…?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

You don’t ask. He probably knows people. His fingers drift over your cheeks and jaw. They skim lower, following the same path down your neck as your arteries. They feel cool against your skin, drawing patterns where you anticipate bruises tomorrow.

“Did I hurt you?”

He’s almost back to the Dave you know, soft and kind, but you still catch the edges of his dark side. He’s more of a blend now. You think you might be getting the real, true Dave now.

“No,” you shake your head. There was pain. You’ll be sore tomorrow, sport a few scrapes and bruises, but it doesn’t feel like he hurt you.

Dave kisses your forehead, fingers tracing your collarbone now. A question forms in your head, gnawing at the corners of your brain.

“Dave?”

“Hmmm?” He sees distracted, entranced as he follows his hand over your skin, skimming the tops of your breasts. Your nipples tighten making you curl your toes with a familiar tug of desire. How are you ready to go again after that?

“What if I liked it?”

His eyebrow quirks. “The sex?” he pinches your hardened nipple making you gasp.

“All of it?”

His palm stops. The pitch of his voice deepens. “All of it?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, Doll.” He cups your breath, teasing your nipple more. His breath is hot in your ear. “Tell me what you like.”

“I-” Can you really say this out loud? Will it blacken your soul? Or is it already charred and damned.

“Tell me.” He smacks your chest like a parent might smack their child’s hand away from an electrical outlet.

Your pussy clenches as you squeeze your legs together. He smacks your other breast in the same manner. You gasp, practically yelling out your answer. “Killing him.”

The air stands still. For a second, you expect a look of disgust to cross Dave’s face. Instead, a smirk grows. “You liked that?”

You nod, not able to say anything else. Dave climbs on top of you, kicking away the covers. He pushes his hand up your sternum, kneading your breast before running it back down. He repeats the motion, rotating between the two. Moans grow in your chest. He bites your earlobe.

“Did you like the way the knife slid into him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dave growls in your ear.

“Yes, Daddy,” you repeat between moans. Your sopping hole drips onto the sheets below you. Dave’s motions steadily grow in intensity.

“Did my doll like the way her body felt alive? Like you absorbed that bastard's energy.”

Tears drop from your eyes. You want him again. You need him again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Does my doll want to do it again?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You practically scream. You should be ashamed of the answer. You should be ashamed that there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in your being.

“Fuck,” Dave says, shoving your legs apart. He pushes his cock inside you again. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you will.”

Dave moves inside you. It’s not as violent, not as torturous as earlier, but it’s just as satisfying. The promise of more ignites a fire inside of you.

Dave takes you to the brink, pushing you until you pass out from exhaustion, spent, used, and sated.

“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.”

When you wake up the next morning, the body is gone. The lamp you broke is replaced and a new area rug is delicately placed in your apartment. Not a speck or splatter of blood can be found anywhere. Dave stands in the kitchen gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He cooks eggs on the stovetop and a steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter.

You wrap your arms around him. He hums. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, heart beating against your palm. “I like the rug.”

“Me too.”

“Kryptonite”

Give me alpha!Dave!!!! 🫠🫠🫠

Stay with me

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader 

Word Count: 9.7k

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Omegaverse), Alpha!Dave, Omega!Reader, mentions of prejudices against Omegas, canon-typical violence, suspense elements, watch me make shit up about a/b/o to suit my needs, heats, rutting, knotting, scent glands, biting, compulsion (the thing with the voice), LOTS of sex, soft!Dave gets his own warning, enemies to lovers, Penny gets VERY vague about whatever the hell the DIA does, the plot is not the point of this fic

Summary: You’re Dave York’s ‘favorite’ analyst at the DIA. You’re also an Omega. When you go into heat during an emergency situation, can the two of you keep your mutual attraction from coming to a head?

A/N: Yeah, I don’t know where this came from. I truly think @leslie-lyman and I share the same braincell; she wrote 12k of Alpha Max and then the week after I was hit with an Alpha Dave idea and here we are. Thank you Les for egging me on, tolerating the constant depraved screenshots. Thanks for @pedropascalx and @honestly-shite, my two ‘Hot for Dave’ besties who ALWAYS encourage Dave filth. Now I promise I’ll go work on my stupid book. 

Masterlist

“The intelligence shows–”

“I fucking know what the intelligence shows, I’m looking at it,” Dave barks.

It’s not that Dave York is the type of Alpha to be an asshole, to be brash, inconsiderate, even violent. It’s the job that makes him this way; the years of military training that have muted his empathetic response, for better or for worse, in favor of emotionless calculation. It helps, when making life or death decisions.

Not so much when it comes to social interaction.

The man snaps his mouth shut, and Dave grimaces inwardly. It was probably the wrong thing to say. The head of Intelligence was an Omega; even on suppressants, as nearly everyone is these days, Dave can still sniff it out. It’s considered crass for an Alpha to shout one down–it fucks with their instinct to shrink away from an Alpha’s command, and no Omega wants to appear lesser at work.

Contrary to popular belief, Dave does not take Alpha suppressants. One of the military’s more creative trainings for Alpha special forces was to throw them in a room and pipe in the scent of Omega in heat.

For weeks at a time.

That sort of forced desensitization has left Dave with an unusually strong ability to resist Omega pheromones and a tight leash on his Alpha tendencies. They only really come out in times of high stress, when his tone of voice  can come out harsher than intended, or he accidentally uses Compulsion when giving an order instead of just… giving the order. Still, he's hardly the most aggressive Alpha at the DIA, a breeding ground for ex-military types in the first place.

Dave tries again. “Who wrote this report?” 

“One of our new analysts, she–”

“I want to talk to her,” Dave says abruptly. “I have questions.”

The Omega nods slowly as he backs out of the office. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Dave sinks into his desk chair with a sigh. This report is the last thing he wanted to see cross his desk. No one wants to hear that the call is coming from inside the house, so to speak, and this analysis points to a mole within the DIA, feeding classified information to outside organizations and compromising all of their operations. 

A few minutes later, someone knocks on his door, and Dave looks up. “Come in,” he calls out.

The door opens, and Dave is hit with the strongest smell of Omega pheromones he’s smelled in the longest time. He raises his eyes in surprise as a woman enters his office with a stern expression. “You wanted to see me?”

Dave frowns at her for a moment, at a loss. He’s never seen an Omega off suppressants, especially in the office like this. It must be incredibly inconvenient, having everyone gawking, right? He doesn’t understand–is there a medical reason she can’t be on them? 

“Sir?” she arches one perfectly-penciled eyebrow at him.

Dave clears his throat. “You wrote this?” 

“Yes,” she answers. “Is there a problem with my analysis?”

“You misunderstand,” Dave says. “I agree with the report. I want to know how you know.”

— — — — — — 

That had been Dave’s first of what would become many interactions with the woman who is quickly becoming his ‘favorite’ analyst. She’s the only person who doesn’t mince words around him, who’s brutally honest, almost cutting in her assessments, and doesn’t seem to acknowledge or care that Dave is an Alpha. 

In turn, Dave makes an effort to treat her the same way as he would any other Alpha around the office. Not that she needs his help–she carries herself with a haughtiness that would put most Alphas to shame. He's seen her face down conference rooms full of them without batting an eye, or purposefully not stepping demurely to the side to let an Alpha pass in the hallway, as many Omegas do out of habit, resulting in a few awkward shoulder-checks that Dave has observed with an amused smile.

Most Alphas around the office don't know what to make of her, and treat her with confusion at best, and outright hostility at worst. Dave–as much as he’s tried to stop himself, or, more accurately, stop his Alpha–is starting to view her as his. The long hours she’s spent in his office going over her intelligence reports have left him feeling possessive, even territorial, over his analyst.

"She's one of those 'Out and Proud' Omegas that think they're so fucking special just because of their designation," Dave overhears in the breakroom one morning, and for the first time in a long time, he has to stop his Alpha from reacting–grabbing the man's shirt and shoving him against the wall with a growl. 

“If she’s so proud of being an Omega, why is she so fucking standoffish?” is another scathing comment Dave has heard around the office. “Her designation is Omega. If she’s as proud of it as she claims, strutting around here with all those pheromones on display, she should be more demure.”

Dave doesn’t give a shit whether she’s demure; in fact, he likes that she’s assertive. She’s a challenge, his Alpha purrs. Dave likes a challenge. 

“Can I ask a question?” Dave asks, unable to help himself one morning when she’s sitting across from him in the spare chair in his office, an open report draped over her crossed legs..

She looks up from the report questioningly.

“You don’t take suppressants,” Dave says.

“That’s not a question,” she points out, and Dave smiles.

“Why?” he asks.

“I personally believe that Omegas should be allowed to exist in public whether or not they are on suppressants,” she responds quickly, in what sounds like a very well-practiced speech. “I’m part of a group of Omegas that refuse to take them in order to show that we’re perfectly capable of existing alongside Alphas, and that we deserve to take up space.” As she speaks, her voice becomes louder, more impassioned. Her chin tips up as if she’s challenging Dave to disagree. He doesn’t.

“Of course,” Dave says. “But isn’t that… inconvenient?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“Is it inconvenient for me to exist in public?” she retorts with a scoff. “No, it’s not, thank you very much, and when it is, it’s because some asshole Alpha with outdated views on Omegas thinks they know something about it.”

“I don’t think that,” Dave counters. “I just mean, doesn’t it put you in danger?” 

“So I should suppress who I am instead of, y’know Alphas not being violent?” she snaps, rising to her feet.

Dave blinks up at her in silence, unsure of what to say. 

“Excuse me,” she says briskly, and walks out of the room.

That… hadn’t gone how Dave had intended.

— — — — — — 

You’re struggling to focus. The Threat Vulnerability Matrix you’re studying keeps blurring, and you blink rapidly to focus on the computer screen.

You keep thinking back to your meeting today, at the wounded expression in those pretty, dark eyes. Even after two months of working with the man, you don’t know what to make of Dave York.

Dave fucking York. An Alpha if there ever was one–abrupt, aggressive, and dominating. And yet, there’s something about him that you can’t put your finger on. He treats you the same as he treats everyone else in the office (which means he’s an asshole to you, but he’s an asshole to everyone, that’s the point). He doesn’t treat you like a subordinate, he doesn’t treat you like a piece of meat, and he doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass–which is the worst of the three, honestly. 

There are times when the two of you are in his office and he’s grilling you incessantly about the smallest detail in your latest report, and Dave will suddenly look up and smile at you with warmth in his eyes. Why? If you examine the evidence too hard, it appears that Dave York… likes you. 

But then he has to go and do something shitty, like question your decision to be off suppressants. Dick. 

Because of your position in Intelligence, you know things about Dave York that you shouldn’t. The man isn’t just the quintessential Alpha–he’s a killer. You’ve read the classified reports, read the things he’s done in nauseating detail. He’s ruthless, violent, and unforgiving. Typical Alpha behavior. Regardless of how those pretty brown eyes and plush lips make you feel when you steal a glance at the man, you’d do well to stay far away. 

Besides, a man who is so very much an Alpha would want nothing to do with you. You know what they say about you in the office. Assertive. (That’s one of the nicer ones.) Stuck-up. Rude. A fucking bitch. You don’t fit their expectations for an Omega, and they hate it. You don’t fit in any box, really. That’s why it was so refreshing when you’d found your tribe at Omega Out Loud. You could be yourself without having to feel like you were doing something inherently wrong. You have plenty of Omega traits, sure, but you also have a lot of qualities that would be more common in a Beta, or even an Alpha. As a result, many Omegas don’t think you’re Omega enough, and Alphas generally don’t see you as an attractive mate. 

You’re a real hit on dating sites.

It’s fine–you’re too attached to your work to spend much time worrying about whether you’re mate-able. In fact, that’s where you are right now–in your cubicle at 8pm, working late. 

You’d be at home in your pajamas already, but your heat is due any day now, and you usually take a few days off leading up to it as well in order to avoid any uncomfortable situations at work. It’s a little bit more of an inconvenience, but it’s worth it to be able to feel like you’re being true to yourself. No one ever mentions the fucking side effects of suppressants: Mood swings. Weight gain. Heart problems. High blood pressure. Sexual dysfunction. Why is it always assumed that Omegas want to be on them?

An uncomfortable twinge in your abdomen reminds you of why. Oh right–your heats. As much as you hate to admit it, Dave really was right–being off suppressants can be dangerous. If you run into an Alpha right now, your twin pheromones might cause both of you to act in ways you normally wouldn’t. An Omega that’s almost in heat is a fucking beacon signal. Get it here! And during that time, you’re frustratingly susceptible to an Alpha’s influence. As the slick starts to gather between your thighs, your inhibitions lower, and you start to crave something to ease the ache–a toy, your fingers, an unsuspecting Alpha with deep brown eyes and pouty lips and wavy hair and–wait, where did that come from?

You shake your head rapidly and continue typing.

You don’t focus for very long before the building lights flicker ominously, and your computer abruptly switches off. A power surge, perhaps? Frowning, you stand up, casting your eyes around the empty floor. Weird. It’s dark outside now–you hadn’t realized how late it was getting. Well, your computer randomly turning off is as good a cue as any to hurry home to where your nest, copious amounts of snacks, and your favorite knotted toys are already waiting for you.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you head toward the nearest elevators. You almost push the ‘down’ button, but something makes you stop, your finger hovering in the air as you look up. The numbers. They’re moving. The elevators are in use, all four of them, traveling down to the first floor and then up again, heading this way. Signals in your brain start to go haywire. Something isn’t right about this. You head to the window and look down at the entrance to the building. 

It’s being swarmed by unidentified people wearing black.

You can see their assault rifles from here.

A sudden stab of pain in your core makes you double over, your fist hitting the glass of the window. Shit. Want to know one of the best ways to trigger an early heat?

Stress.

Suddenly, the symptoms hit you like a freight train. Body sweats, cramps, light-headedness, you name it. You struggle to stay upright as you watch the tide of assailants entering the building.

You have to hide.

Any Alpha will be able to scent you out behind closed doors, so you have to choose somewhere with limited points of entry. Somewhere where you can potentially create a seal where air cannot escape. What in this building could be used to create a seal? You cast your eyes around in desperation before they land on a nondescript door labeled Maintenance. You drag yourself gingerly over to the door, and open it, rifling through the shelves for something you can use. Paint thinner? Sandpaper? Bleach? Screwdriver? Caulk? 

Caulk! You grab the bottle and shut the door, applying an inelegant line of sealant to the seam. You go over it once, twice, three times, four, before the bottle is empty and you cast it aside. Honestly, if any air escapes at all, you’d be surprised. It’s not pretty, and it’s probably overkill, but you have a feeling it’s going to work. 

It’s not a moment too soon, because as another wave of equal parts nausea and arousal hits, you hear voices as the intruders step off of the elevators and into the Intelligence department. 

It’s only then that you realize you left your messenger bag–and your phone–sitting by the windows. 

— — — — —

The call comes when Dave is at the gym.

“Sir?” the voice says. “There’s been a breach.”

Thirty-six hours of preparation later, and Dave York is slipping, silent and undetected, into the DIA offices, followed by a handful of his most trusted men. He’s covered from head to toe in black clothing, his favorite gun held aloft in front of him as he moves up the stairs to Intelligence. They make quick work of dispatching the guards along the way. They always make the same mistake–appointing their weakest links as guards. Half of them barely even saw him coming. 

The main office floor is a bit more of a challenge. The open floor plan makes any offensive position vulnerable, and Dave and his team are exposed and outnumbered the moment they open the door. Still, there’s a reason this team is the best at what they do. Before long, all the intruders are down and the floor is silent once more. 

“Sweep the area,” Dave orders under his breath, not wanting to break the eerie silence. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up–something isn’t right. He can feel–wait. He sniffs the air.

“You smell that?” he asks the Alpha beside him.

“Smell what?”   

Dave shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Someone is here. And not just someone…

Dave has been completely fixated on that smell for months. He can smell it on his clothes when he leaves work, he can feel the ghost of it on his skin even after a shower, he can call it up at night when he lies awake in bed. It’s an obsession for him. He can’t stop thinking of her–’his’ analyst. 

He would know her scent anywhere.

She works here, of course, so it wouldn’t be unusual for her scent to linger on her office chair, but that’s not where Dave smells it. 

It’s coming from that door. 

Frowning, he moves over to it and shakes the handle.

Locked. 

Holding his gun loosely–just in case it’s a trick–Dave steps back and slams his foot into the door.

— — — — — 

Can someone die of arousal? 

It seems like a stupid thing to ask, but as the time in your self-imposed prison ticks on, the question keeps coming around to haunt you. Each cramp is becoming more and more painful, each wave of nausea stronger, the sensation of emptiness more and more unbearable, to the point that your entire body physically aches and your hands are shaking.

You’ve tried to seek relief with your own fingers, but without a knotted toy filling you up, all it does is provide a seconds-long moment of temporary relief before the ache returns, stronger than before. You’ve managed to make a little nest for yourself out of some (hopefully) clean towels and shop rags, and you’ve discarded your pants and underwear as you try fruitlessly to work yourself through it. 

You can’t die from an unassisted heat… can you? 

You lose track of time. You know it’s probably been hours, because you’re also becoming incredibly hungry, but how much? Eight hours? Twelve? Twenty-four? It’s hard to mark time with no stimulus, no outward change that you can mark.

You fight down a frightened sob. This isn’t fair–you’re trapped in a maintenance closet trying to silently work through a heat unaided by any toys while people with guns are trying to hack into your systems. You can hear them trying–and they’ve as of yet been unsuccessful. If only you weren’t an Omega, you could stop them, somehow. If you were a Beta, or even better, an Alpha, you wouldn’t be shaking and dizzy from arousal in a storage closet, you’d be able to escape, to alert someone, to try and do something to thwart them yourself. 

Instead, you’re stuck. 

You think of what some of your fellow activists at Omega Out Loud would say. Your Omega is part of you. Be proud to be an Omega. Wear your designation with pride. You fight down a little moan as the cramps start to hit. It's relatively easy to embrace it in a work setting, in front of a bunch of Alphas who think they know better simply because of what they are. It’s much more difficult when your heat is interfering with a life or death situation.

You drift in and out of awareness, alternating between not-really-sleeping, rubbing your clit frantically, and being curled in a ball shaking with silent tears. 

Maybe you should go on suppressants, after all. 

You’ve completely lost track of what the hell is happening outside of the four walls of your prison when the door handle suddenly rattles, and a curse is muttered. Oh fuck. Oh shit. You’re in no condition to defend yourself. Even if you grab a spare hammer and hurl it at the intruder, your shaking hands and dizzy head all but guarantee you’ll miss. You can barely even hold the thing, much less throw it with all of your strength with the intent to disable your foe. 

Bam! 

The loud, jarring sound of a boot connecting with wood makes you drop the hammer anyway, sending you scooting backwards. 

Bam!

That kick dislodges most of the caulk that you’d applied around the seam of the door.

CRACK!

The third and final kick sends the door flying inward, and you scramble back into the corner at the sight of the man entering the room gun-first, swallowing the nausea and shame at being so utterly helpless during your heats. This is what your Omega turns you into, you think with a frustrated sob. You’re barely able to move, much less defend yourself, and you hate it. You’d been hit with the man’s scent abruptly when the seal on the door broke. An Alpha. He’s an Alpha, he’s found you, and you are so fucked. You look up at him, some sort of plea for mercy on your lips, before you stop. 

“D-Dave?” you whimper, your voice hoarse.

Dave’s eyebrows pinch together, his mouth pursing into a surprised oh as he takes in the scene–a makeshift nest of towels, the scent of Omega heavy in the air, and you, half-clothed and cowering in the corner of the room, one hand over your abdomen as it cramps with pain, the other held aloft in a gesture of surrender. 

“Oh my God,” he murmurs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Him. Why does it have to be him? Dave fucking York. You can smell him, and to your utter disgust, you want him, your Omega fighting for any kind of relief, from any source.

No. You bite back a grunt of pain. “Get away from me,” you cry out through clenched teeth, your voice wavering. 

“How long have you been trapped in here?” Dave asks, ignoring your desperate command.

“Get–please,” you try again. “I can’t–”

“Stop.” 

It’s a command, from an Alpha. So you do. Your mouth closes abruptly, but you don’t stop glaring at Dave defiantly.

“How long have you been here?” he tries again.

“F-few days?” you murmur. Another flare of pain courses through you, and you gasp, doubling over, clutching at your abdomen. “Fuck!”

“And how long have you been in heat?” Dave asks, his voice softening.

“I was–It was already coming on when–-when they got here,” you answer.

“And you stayed hidden?” His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Door…” you say weakly. “I put… caulk.” You gesture weakly at the empty bottle on the floor by the entrance. Dave purses his lips, looking impressed.

Your heat had been almost unbearable before, and now that an Alpha is here in the room, it almost feels like you’ll die if you don’t get relief. A few tears course their way down your cheeks as another cramp hits. 

“Do you not have anything to–?”

“No!” you cry out. “Does it fucking look like I do?”

The pain hits a crescendo, and you curl into a ball. “Shit, shit shit–” 

“Omega.” The word is barely audible, Dave says it so gently, but your Omega sure as hell hears it. You stiffen, quieting.

“It’s only going to get worse.”

Your temper flares again. “Are you just going to–hnng–stand there and… p-point out the obvious?” you grit out through the pain.

Dave doesn’t respond. He watches you for a few moments longer, then, with what appears to be herculean effort, starts to back away. 

Your Omega breaks.

“Apha, please,” you whimper, before you can catch yourself. 

It’s the phrase he’s waiting for; Dave suddenly at your side, lifting you into his arms and placing you gently back into your makeshift nest. 

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, “I don’t know if you’ve gone through a heat without help, artificial or not, but I’ve seen it used as a torture technique before, and I’ve never seen anyone who hasn’t broken.”

“Oh god–” you start to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Dave urges. “I’m going to help you.” He reaches out to touch your arm, and you flinch away with fear, eyes wide. He looks pained, but he stops, his hand hovering just above your skin. 

“You don’t need to be afraid.” It’s not an order. The man puts zero compulsion into his voice, and yet you find yourself relaxing under his gaze. 

“Can I touch your arm now?” 

You stare incredulously at Dave. His hand is hovering inches from your arm. As an Alpha, he must have ironclad restraint in order to stop himself from simply reaching out and taking an Omega in heat, but the only outward sign of discomfort you can see is a vein on the side of his neck. His eyes are black pools, boring into yours, but his lips are soft and relaxed. He remains patient, waiting for your consent. For your trust. Slowly, you start to nod. 

Dave’s hand on your forearm sends a wave of relief coursing through you, and you crumple, slumping against him, your hands grabbing uselessly in your desperation. 

“Shh, okay,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m going to help you. Slow down.”

“Please, it hurts–” 

“I know,” he says, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Stay with me.”

“Dave…” 

“I’m here.” 

You feel his hand gently sliding up your inner thigh to your weeping cunt, and your hips buck of their own accord at the feel of Alpha’s touch. A finger slips inside, then two fingers, and it already feels far better than you were able to do yourself, making you sob in relief. 

“Good girl,” Dave soothes you as he starts fucking you slowly with his fingers. “Good Omega. I’m going to make you feel better, okay? I’ll make it stop hurting.”

You nod and bury your head in his chest, breathing in his scent. It’s been so long without relief that you come almost immediately, clenching around his fingers and causing another wave of slick to gather on his fingers.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so wet, Omega. Can you do it again for me? You went far too long without any relief, honey. You’re going to need more than one for it to stop hurting.”

You nod in agreement. Dave’s fingers don’t let up, thrusting in and curling up against your sweet spot over and over again while you whimper and babble nonsense into his chest. 

“Good girl, I’ve got you,” Dave keeps talking you through the unbearable heat. “Just relax, I’m going to take care of you. It’ll stop,” he soothes. “It will. I’ll let you come as many times as it takes.”

You come twice, then three times, on Dave’s fingers, but it’s not enough. Now that you have this, you want more–your Omega needs more. 

“Alpha, please, I need–” 

“What do you need, sweet thing?” Dave asks. “You need my tongue?”

You shake your head rapidly. “I need–she needs–oh, fuck.” You duck your head in embarrassment.

“Tell me.” It’s a compulsion, but you’re not sure if Dave had intended for it to be. His Alpha instincts have to be screaming at him right now. You aren’t sure how he’s remaining so incredibly calm. He grimaces at his own tone, but doesn’t say anything further. 

“Your knot, Alpha.” Even if he hadn’t ordered you, you would have told him anyway. 

Dave hums low in his throat. “You need more?” he asks. “You need another finger?” You feel another one of his thick digits slide into your heat, and you moan wantonly, but it’s not enough. You need him. 

“No,” you whimper. “It’s not enough. I want you.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Dave murmurs, shaking his head against your temple. 

“Why?” you whine.

“You’re in heat,” he says simply. “You’re not in your right mind–neither of us are. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You fall apart again around three of Dave’s fingers with a strangled gasp and a wild buck of your hips, but your Omega reminds you that you’re empty, empty, empty…

“Alpha, please,” you say again. “I want it, I do. And… she needs it,” you admit, unable to meet Dave’s eyes. “I–I feel like I’m not going to get through this without it. W-Without you.”

“You don’t understand,” Dave says, his voice low and dangerous. “This is already very difficult. I’m already holding myself back. If I give you my knot, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back any longer.”

“Good. I don’t care. I don’t want you to hold back,” you say immediately. “It’s been days, I let it get too bad, I’m too far gone.”

Dave growls low in his throat. “I’ve kept this at bay for years,” he grits out. “I don’t know what will happen if I let it go. I’ll lose control. I’ll hurt you.”

Yes, your Omega cries. Yes, yes, yes—

You realize you’re saying it out loud as well when Dave interrupts your last ‘yes’ with his lips crashing into yours with a pained cry. 

Everything happens quickly after that. The rest of your clothing is discarded, along with Dave’s, and the two of you are molded together in the nest of blankets and pillows. He hisses when you reach out to grasp his cock, and you suddenly realize why he’s concerned about hurting you. If this is the size of his cock, what will his knot feel like? Your eyes flick up to him in trepidation, but Dave shakes his head, his jaw tense.

“You asked for this, little Omega,” he says softly.

Dave enters you in one, swift thrust. 

You throw your head back as he breaches you–far bigger than his fingers, both longer and thicker. It’s already too much, but your Omega finally feels sated after days of the burning sensation of being so incredibly empty. 

Your hands scrabble for purchase on Dave’s shoulders, and he doesn’t slow down, punching into you again and again and again until you’re gasping for air. He looks down at you with a smirk, watching you struggle–trying to squirm away from him and push yourself further onto him at the same time. 

“Come.”

This time, the compulsion is purposeful. Dave throws all of his intent behind the command, and your Omega obeys, clenching around his cock as he fucks you through it. 

“Good,” his Alpha purrs. “Again.”

You gasp in surprise as another climax follows, your Omega unable to disobey, even though the overstimulation is almost painful. 

You can feel Dave’s cock starting to swell as his knot rises. Tears are already squeezing out of the corners of your eyes as the pressure increases, and Dave’s nose scrapes against the swollen gland on your neck. Bite it, your Omega urges. Bite it, bite it, bite it–

“One more time,” Dave urges, dropping the edge from his voice. “You can do it. One more time for me, honey.”

You immediately shake your head. “T-Too much,” you whimper. 

“I need you to come while you take my knot,” Dave insists. “It will make your heat go away faster.”

“I-I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

“Don’t make me do it,” Dave says, his lips quirking upward with amusement, but you already know he’s going to.

His lips still brushing against your gland, Dave gives you one more command.

“Omega… come.”

Your back arches with the force of it, clamping down on Dave’s knot as it grows. Dave’s teeth start to scrape against the skin of your neck, and you throw your head back in invitation without thinking. Bite it bite it bite it—

At the last second, Daves mouth moves and he sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead as he comes with a deep groan. You sink with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief that Dave, a man you hardly know, didn’t accidentally mate you in the heat of the moment, but disappointment because your Omega very much wanted to be bitten.

You can’t focus on either emotion for long because Dave’s knot hurts in a way that you didn’t expect, even knowing the size of his cock. You whimper and squirm, starting to panic at your inability to move, but Dave is there, talking to you quietly and soothingly.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice far softer than it had been before. “I know, it’s a lot. It’s a lot, but you can take it. Look at you,” he purrs. “You’re all stretched out on my knot. It’s hard, huh? I told you I would hurt you.”

Your Omega is blissfully silent for the first time in days, but you’re starting to wonder whether you’d make a mistake in asking for his knot. You bury your head in Dave’s shoulder as the tears come.

“Breathe,” Dave instructs. “Breathe, little Omega.”

You think you might sleep. You drift in and out of awareness, only able to focus on the overwhelming feeling of fullness. It feels as if Dave’s knot will never go down, that you’ll be swollen with it forever. Eventually, it starts to hurt less, but you can’t tell if the knot is actually receding, or if you’re getting used to the feeling of him stretching you past your limits. 

When the little crease of discomfort on your forehead goes away and you relax into him fully, Dave starts to talk.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asks quietly.  

“I was staying late,” you answer. “My–I knew my heat was coming in a few days, and I was trying to get caught up on work before I took a few days off for it.” Then they came, and I–I couldn’t evacuate the building,” you answer. “I misjudged. I was already so close to being in heat; I obviously couldn’t be in public. I hid myself in here and sealed the doors.”

“Why here?” Dave asks, amused. “Why a storage closet?”

“That’s where the caulk was,” you murmur. “I was running out of time.” 

Dave hums and rubs his nose along your scent gland again, making you shiver pleasantly. “Plus, no windows,” he points out. “Less ways for the scent to get out.”

“Exactly,” you say. 

“Smart girl,” Dave praises. 

“I didn’t really have a plan beyond that,” you admit. “I didn’t have any of my toys, I was just trying to get through it with my fingers, and it wasn’t enough–I felt like I was going to die.”

“Shh,” Dave whispers. “You did so well, my brave girl.”

When his knot goes down enough for him to finally slip out of you, Dave announces that he needs to get you out of here.

“You haven’t had anything to eat in here,” he observes. “And I’m not going to let you go through the rest of your heat hungry, in a storage closet.”

“I can’t move, they’ll know, they’ll see–”

“Oh, honey,” Dave tuts. “They’re all dead.”

— — — — — — — — 

Dave half-carries her through the office–where his team is cleaning up the aftermath of their operation tonight.

She flinches slightly at the sight of the bodies scattered about the floor, but otherwise barely reacts. She’s still somewhat delirious, and Dave can understand why. If the reports are correct, the building has been occupied since Thursday. It’s now Saturday night. He’s never seen an Omega go three days into a heat completely unassisted. She must have been in terrible pain, and yet she stayed quiet enough to go undetected, suffering through her heat in silence. 

Fuck, he’s so attracted to her.

The Alphas on his team whip their heads around when they detect the scent of an Omega in heat, but with one look from Dave–his hand curled possessively around her and his eyes black coals–they avert their eyes and go back to their work. 

They make it to Dave’s car without incident. 

“Tell me where you live,” Dave orders quietly, pulling up the map on his phone.

She recites her address in a monotone, her eyes falling shut as she tips her head back on the headrest. She must be exhausted–but another wave will come sooner rather than later, Dave is sure of it. 

She dozes while he drives, and he hates to wake her when they arrive, but he shakes her shoulder gently.

“We’re here.”

She blinks slowly, looking at Dave with parted lips and hooded eyes. “Alpha…” she murmurs.

So it’s starting again.

“We need to get you some food,” Dave says, getting out of the car and coming around to her side to lift her up. This time, he pulls her properly into his arms, inhaling her scent as he brushes his nose against her temple. 

It’s hard not to lay her down right inside the door and give her his knot again with the little whimpers and moans she’s making, but Dave grits his teeth and walks into her kitchen instead, setting her down on the countertop. 

“It aches,” she whimpers, grabbing onto Dave’s wrist like a vice. 

“I know,” Dave answers softly. “But you’re eating first, it’s been three days.”

“But I need–” 

“No.” Dave puts all of his intent behind the word, and not just for her. It’s for him, a reminder to himself that he has a responsibility to take care of her and not just rut into her over and over until his Alpha is sated. Except she’s looking at him like he’d just slapped her across the face, and he realizes he’d probably been too harsh. “What can I get you to eat?” he asks, opening cabinets at random until he finds the glassware. 

“I’ve got heat snacks in there,” she says, waving her arm at a cabinet behind him. He retrieves a few granola bars and fills the glass with water, and returns to her.

“Eat all of these, drink two full glasses, and then–” Dave cuts himself off, clearing his throat. 

Even after he’s already filled her, it feels awkward to say it out loud. And then I’ll fuck you again. They both know what the end of the sentence was going to be, so he doesn’t bother continuing, and she occupies herself with the granola bars, taking big, enthusiastic bites interspersed with long swigs of water as if she hasn’t eaten in days. She hasn’t, Dave reminds himself. God, she’s strong. Whoever had said Omegas were the weaker sex were imbeciles–she went through a hostage situation with no food for three days, having to stay completely silent during an unassisted heat that must have been intolerable by the time he’d found her. 

The moment she’s done with the third granola bar, Dave gently grabs her face with both hands and presses his lips to hers. 

“Oh!” she makes a muffled sound of surprise. “Alpha–”

“Dave,” he corrects. “Don’t call me that–call me Dave.”

“Dave,” she says immediately, her wide eyes searching his face.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck, like that.”

“Dave, please,” she whimpers. 

“Hang on–” Dave grabs three more granola bars and two bottles of gatorade from the fridge. “You’re eating again right after,” he announces. 

“Yes, Alpha,” she drawls lazily, a small, dazed smile on her face, already drunk on her own pheromones. It’s incredibly cute. 

She enters her bedroom with a relieved sigh, moving forward and collapsing onto her bed, where a much larger and more comfortable nest is waiting for her. For them. She scrubs her hands over her face and lets out a groan that has less to do with pleasure and more with the relief of being somewhere where she feels safe. Dave feels off-balance for a moment, unsure if he has a place here, but then she looks over at him with a question in those sultry, half-lidded eyes. Alpha?

Dave smiles and walks forward, climbing over her on the bed and pressing his body against hers. Omega. She lets out a little gasp at the contact and arches into him, seeking more friction. 

“Patience,” he scolds teasingly. 

“Been three days,” she growls, clenching her teeth. “You don’t get to tell me to be patient.”

“Touché.” Dave grinds down on her roughly, making her cry out. “Then you won’t be opposed if I give this to you exactly how I want?”

“Depends on how you want it,” she retorts, although she’s already pulling at her shirt. 

“I’ll show you how I want it,” Dave grunts, sitting up to yank her pants and underwear off in one swift motion. “Turn around,” he orders. “Get on your knees for me.”

She’s nodding rapidly, her breath coming in pants as she obeys. Dave gives in to the temptation to grab her cheeks and spread her apart, showing him every inch of her glistening pussy. 

“Fucking perfect,” he growls. “You’re so wet; you’ve been waiting so long for this, honey,” he says, his voice honey-thick. “Let me give you what you’ve been needing all this time.”

Despite his posturing, Dave still enters her slowly, giving her plenty of time to adjust to his size. He rubs her lower back soothingly until he’s buried to the hilt and she’s letting out those pretty little whimpers that tell him she wants him to move. 

Well, Dave thinks with a smirk. He can do that. He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in, giving her his cock in long, hard strokes that immediately send her to her elbows as her arms give out. She moans wordlessly into the blankets, taking every punishing thrust with an arched back, her hands clutching uselessly at the sheets. When she starts pushing back onto him, Dave grabs her cheeks again and spreads her open the same way, using his grip to pull her back onto his cock. The new angle makes her wail and he feels her core starting to tighten around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on, come for me again. Come for me and then I’ll give you my knot, little Omega.”

She keens.

“Oh, you like that?” Dave teases. “Desperate little Omega wants my knot?”

She nods frantically into the covers, and Dave’s smile falters. 

“It hurt you before, silly thing. It made you cry. You sure you want that again?”

She mumbles something unintelligible into the sheets.

“I didn’t hear that, honey, say it again.”

“L-Liked it,” she pants.

It’s Dave’s undoing. His knot starts to swell as fucks into her once, twice, three times, and stills as the pressure in his cock reaches a breaking point and he’s fully seated within her.

“Good girl,” Dave whispers as it stretches her. “Good girl, you’re taking it so well. My good girl–my Omega.”

She whimpers and squirms just like the last time, a few more tears of discomfort escaping her eyes. Dave keeps murmuring to her, watching her face intently, seeing her lower lip tremble even as she sinks with palpable relief. Her Omega needs it, even if it’s too much, and his Alpha is practically triumphant that she wants his knot even though it hurts her. 

Still catching his breath, Dave lowers down and pulls her slightly on her side so that they’re both resting flush against each other, his knot still pulsing deep inside her. He places his hand on her lower abdomen, and fuck, he can feel the swell of his knot against his palm. He drops his forehead to her shoulder and hisses a curse under his breath. Down, Alpha. Dave swallows and presses a kiss to her skin before reaching for the food.

“Have some more,” Dave says, handing her a granola bar. 

She bites her lip, fighting down a whimper of discomfort. “RIght now? While we’re–”

“Please?” Dave asks softly. “Do it for me.” 

She finishes off all of the snacks he’d brought, plus the two gatorades, while his knot still pulsed thick and hot, refusing to go down. Good. The longer he fills her, the longer she’ll go without needing him again, and she can get some much needed rest.

“You should sleep,” Dave says.

“Mm,” she grunts. Her eyes are already closed.

Dave closes his eyes too, pulling her closer still. Just before sleep pulls him under, she speaks again.

“D-Dave?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this—I–” she swallows thickly. “I’ve never had an Alpha help me through a heat, and–fuck,” she cuts herself off again. 

“Where’s the assertive woman who yelled at me because I was ‘reading the data wrong?’” Dave teases.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Stupid Omega shit has me all… discombobulated.”

Dave chuckles. “Thought you were proud of being an Omega,” he counters. “That you deserve to take up space. Isn’t this part of taking up space?”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

“Damn you,” she whispers. “You used my words against me.”

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Dave says, fighting tooth and nail against his Alpha to keep the compulsion out of his voice. 

“Is this–is this just because of wh-what we are?” she asks, her voice wavering. “Our biology? Or is there–”

No, Dave immediately thinks to himself. No, no, no. Never just that. He opens his mouth to speak and then, inexplicably, loses his nerve. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t say what was on his mind, no matter the circumstance, but he finds himself second-guessing the words before he says them. He never second-guesses.

“Do you want it to be just that?” he asks softly.

“I–” she takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want that,” she says. “I don’t want this to just be scratching some primal urge, I want–” 

Frustratingly, she doesn’t finish, but Dave has the answer he needs already.

Tightening his hold around her, he presses his lips against her scent gland when he speaks. 

“It was always just you.”

— — — — — — 

You aren’t sure what wakes you. It could be the overwhelming need to pee after two large glasses of water and two gatorades. It could be your Omega starting to claw her way to the surface again, letting her desires be known. You’re still in your heat, after all. Or even still, it could be the fact that it feels as if a goddamn furnace is at your back, beads of sweat starting to pool between your shoulder blades as your body tries, in vain, to lower the temperature. 

It could also be the snoring in your ear. 

You smile to yourself as you look around the room. It’s daylight now–you must have slept through the night, although you don’t know what time Dave had rescued you, or when you got home. 

His cock had slipped out of you sometime during the night, and your hips shift back against him reflexively. You need it again. You need Alpha.

At the feel of your ass pressing back against his cock, Dave stirs, grunting softly as he wakes. 

Dave. Had you imagined last night? Not the rutting–the ache between your thighs assures you that was real. But what came after… It was always just you. Is that truly what he had said? You can still hear it–the exact timbre of his voice, the way it vibrated low in his chest, the feel of his lips forming the words on your scent gland, but it still doesn’t feel real. It was always just you. 

The subject of your ruminations lets out another soft grunt, his hand coming to your hips, guiding you back against him, then again, and again, until you’re rocking rhythmically together.

“That’s it,” Dave urges, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. “Does someone need me again, little Omega?”

“Yes,” you grumble, still half asleep even though your Omega is very much awake.

“Ask nicely.”

“Alpha, I need you,” you pout, pushing back against Dave.

“Try again.”

“Alph–” 

Dave growls low in his throat.

“Dave,” you breathe, and his grip immediately tightens on your hip. “Fuck, Dave please. I need you.”

“Me?” he asks, although the tip of him is already lining up with your cunt.

“You,” you answer, and Dave slides home.

This time, your coupling is unhurried–although Dave’s grip is still rough and bruising, his thrusts still deep and overwhelming, but his lips are soft and tender on your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your scent glands until you’re a panting mess.

Dave sucks his own fingers into his mouth and reaches down to rub little circles on your clit. 

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, and although it’s meant to be condescending, you can still hear the hint of genuine feeling in his words. “Going to be sore after this is over.”

You nod in agreement but push back harder on his cock.

“Fuck, you perfect thing,” Dave groans, his teeth biting down slightly on your gland–not enough to leave a mark, to properly mate you, but enough to feel his intent. “Fuck, I want–oh, honey–” 

“Please,” you whine. “Yes–yesyesyes–do it, please.” 

Dave’s thrusts speed up as he makes a broken sound of pleasure into your neck. You cock it to the side, inviting him in. Bite it, your Omega urges for the second time during this heat. Bite it, bite it–

For the second time, Dave’s mouth finds the meat of your shoulder instead, sinking his teeth into your skin with a rough groan. His knot swells again and you hiss at the mixture of pleasure and pain. It’s more of a stretch than any toy you’ve ever tried, but it seems that you’re finally adjusting to it after the third time. Hell, you don’t even cry. 

Dave’s hand finds yours and slides it sensually down your body–over your breasts and down to the soft swell of your stomach.

“Feel me there?” he asks, pressing down slightly.

Your breath catches. You can–there’s an unnatural fullness to your belly, a hard bump deep inside where Dave is filling you with his seed, over and over and over. Suddenly, your Omega rears her head, overcome with the idea of being filled, of being his, being Dave’s, of being his Omega and not just someone that he’s helping through a heat.

“Dave, why–” you begin. “Why didn’t you–” your hand moves up to your scent gland, where Dave had chosen not to mark you in the heat of the moment.

“I want you to want it,” Dave replies softly.

“I do–”

“I want you,” he repeats, firmer, “to want it. You. Nothing else.”

An avalanche of recent memories crashes through your mind. Don’t call me that–call me Dave. It was always just you. I want you to want it. 

He’s been telling you all this time: it’s not just an Alpha and Omega thing. It’s him–it’s you. The both of you.

“Dave,” you whisper, a shaky smile appearing on your face. “It was always just you, too.” 

Dave buries his head between your shoulder blades, but doesn’t say anything further. Finally, he says, “What would you like for breakfast?”

You giggle at the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“You can’t just have granola bars all weekend,” Dave argues. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Are you asking me how I like my eggs?” you say with a playful wink.

“Tell me, or I’m making you what I fucking feel like making you,” Dave grumbles, apparently annoyed with your silly joke. 

You are still very hungry. “I like pancakes,” you offer. “And sausage. And bacon. And eggs, any style really. I’ve got toast, and peanut butter, and–”

Dave’s hand comes down on one cheek with a satisfying slap, and you squeal in surprise.

“Shut up,” he grumbles–with absolutely no malice in his voice. “When my knot goes down, I’m making you whatever the fuck I want.”

‘Whatever he wants’ turns out to be a little bit of everything–pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, some frozen fruit that he found in the back of your freezer–all prepared while you sit at the kitchen table, feeling a little silly, drinking the coffee that had also been made by Dave.

“Eat up,” he says, putting a heaping plate down in front of you.

You gape up at him. “You didn’t need to–”

“Eat.” Dave throws a hint of compulsion into his voice, but it has a playful tone to it–as if he’s doing it only to tease you. You used to hate being compelled, but you find that, with Dave, you actually like it. He always seems to use it in a way that’s caring–like when you’re being obstinate for no reason and he’s had enough, or when you’re feeling too overwhelmed to accept the help that he’s freely giving. 

You’re starving. You dig into the plate with gusto, devouring every bit until nothing remains. You smile up at him.

“That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?” Dave asks, a smile teasing at his lips.

“No, Alpha,” you pout playfully.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Good. I think–I think it’s lightening up,” you say. “It doesn’t feel quite as urgent this morning.”

“Good,” Dave says. “It’ll probably be over before the day is up.”

“It’s been a hell of a heat,” you say with a sardonic laugh. “Not sure I ever want to repeat those first few days ever again.”

“What about the last few?” Dave quirks one eyebrow at you.

You duck your head, smiling shyly. “Remains to be seen.”

Dave huffs a laugh through his nose. “You’re hard to please.”

“Am I?” 

“Mmhmm,” he grunts, stepping closer. “I need more practice.”

“Your knot just went down,” you protest, swatting his chest.

“I could go again,” Dave counters.

“Well I can’t,” you grumble. 

“No,” Dave agrees, giving you a far-too-tender kiss on the forehead. “You can’t.”

Instead, you spend the morning curled up on the couch, reading a book with your legs draped over Dave’s lap. His own choice is propped against your knees, his free hand resting on your thigh. He glances at you every so often, although you pretend not to notice. Your mind starts to wander as you read, and you start wondering about whether Dave has ever helped anyone through a heat before, whether he’s marked anyone before, whether he’ll want to see you when the fog clears and the two of you are back at work.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Dave remarks wryly.

“I’m reading,” you say quickly.

“No, you’re not.”

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask.

“Nope, I’m a virgin,” Dave drawls. You roll your eyes.

“Helped an Omega through their heat,” you clarify. “You know what I meant.”

Dave nods. “A few times, mostly out of necessity.” He looks over at you. “You’ve really never gone through your heat with an Alpha?”

You shake your head. “Believe it or not, I’m not much of a catch,” you deadpan. “At least, not to an Alpha. I’ve been with Betas, mostly.”

“Not a catch?”

“I know you know what the Alphas say about me around the office,” you tell him. “It’s pretty much the same everywhere else, too.”

“They’re idiots,” Dave remarks.

You stare at him challengingly. “What do you think?”

Dave is silent for a few beats, the two of you watching each other, apparently waiting for the other to snap.

“I think it’s time for lunch.”

“Dave!”

“I think you’re incredible, is that what you want to hear?” Dave says, his voice rising in volume. “Do you want to know how many times I’ve gone home with your scent on my skin and fucked my hand, wishing it was you? Do you know how fucking hard it is not to mark you as mine?”

Your mouth falls open at the outburst. There are a hundred things you could say–I like you, let’s go on a date when this is over, will you stay until tomorrow, can we go back to bed–-but the thing that comes out of your mouth is, “Do it.”

Dave searches your face with a small frown. “You understand what that would mean?”

You nod. “I want it.”

With surprising speed, Dave grabs you and pulls you properly into his lap, so that your legs are on either side of his hips and he’s pulling you down on him, kissing you messily.

“Not gonna make it to the fucking bed,” Dave mumbles against your skin as he hastily pulls out his cock. “Any objections to that?”

You shake your head. “I want it here.”

“Good girl.” 

It’s frantic–the two of you grasping, panting, fighting to get closer. Your nails dig into Dave’s back and he groans low in his throat. He guides your hips, helping you fuck yourself on him, slamming you down on his cock over and over again.

“Tell me you meant it,” Dave growls.

“Meant…?” you repeat in a daze.

Dave licks your scent gland rather than giving a verbal response.

Suddenly, you’re very clear-headed. The brain fog associated with your Omega taking over during a heat immediately dissipates, and while your Omega is very much along for the ride, it’s all you when you open your mouth to speak. 

“Yes, Dave.”

Dave grips your neck roughly and jerks your head to the side, baring you to him. He inhales deeply, scenting you one last time before his teeth sink sharply into your gland.

The pleasure is explosive. Dave has spent the last two days showing you exactly how good your heat can be with an Alpha, but no orgasm so far has compared to how it feels with Dave’s teeth buried in your scent gland. You buck helplessly against him as he holds you still, the pleasure-pain of the bite and his growing knot making you dizzy and weak. It seems to have a similar reaction on Dave–he’s lost in it, groaning loudly, his face buried in your neck and his hands pulling you down on his knot, seating himself even deeper.

Dave’s teeth don’t release from your gland until his knot swells to its largest and he’s filling you with his seed yet again. His lips drag from the throbbing bite mark up to claim your lips, smearing the little tinge of blood on your neck up to your mouth. It’s feral, it’s depraved, and you love it. 

“Mine,” Dave growls against your lips. “Mine, mine, Omega.”

“Don’t call me that,” you tease with a watery smile, throwing Dave’s request back at him.. “Call me by my name.”

Dave does, murmuring it over and over as you come down from your high. You realize you’re trembling with the overwhelming release of pheromones, and Dave makes soft shushing noises, rubbing up and down your back to soothe you as you slump into his chest. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” you say with a giddy laugh after you’ve calmed down.

Dave hums softly in response. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you argue back. “You just grilled me about my reports for thirty minutes.”

“Fair,” Dave agrees. “Maybe it was the second time I saw you.”

“I called you an idiot that time,” you remind him. “You read the fucking graph wrong–”

“I remember,” Dave grumbles. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“That’s when you wanted me as a mate,” you say skeptically.

Dave pulls back, arching one eyebrow in challenge. “Problem?”

Your face slowly spreads into a smile. “Not at all.”

— — — — — —

Six Months Later

“As you can see from the data, the threat of attack has decreased from 42 to 37 percent, which–”

“Actually,” someone across the crowded conference room interrupts, “I think that can be attributed to a number of factors, including–.”

“Are you… are you attempting to explain my own reporting to me?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at the Alpha. 

The man glances over at Dave nervously, and Dave can see the fear in his eyes. He’s just insulted his mate, and he expects Dave to come rushing to her defense. 

Instead, Dave crosses his arms, leans back in his chair with a neutral expression, and waits.

“What are you looking at him for?” his mate snaps. “Look at me. I’m giving the report.”

The other Alpha jumps, tearing his eyes from Dave, whose eyes are now glimmering with amusement. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles, looking down at the conference table. 

“Let’s continue,” she says, stealing a fond look back at Dave before turning back to the presentation.

This man. Feel like he’d be the best one for self defense training!

Just hope we don’t all get too distracted 👀

After last week's shenanigans at the @pedrosummercamp, Hikemaster Frankie has recommended everyone take a self-defense class. He's given me a list of names to consider, and so I ask you, Scouts:

ACK! This was amazing! 🤩 Absolutely loved all the riddles!

Riddles

18+ account - minors do not interact

dave york x f!reader

Word Count: 3600ish+

Rating: E Summary: You realize your husband may not be who you think he is (the most typical Dave York summary) - no kiddos in this universe and Dave was never married to Carol.

Warning: established relationship, teasing, flirting, praise, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, semi-public smut (private balcony opera box baby!!) smutty flashbacks

Random Comment(s):  I know nothing about the Opera and Vienna. Researching this made me feel like my boyfriend needs to take me to this hotel. Right? Readers dress was inspired by Lupita Nyong'o’s 2014 Oscar Dress. Also, the riddles I use in this story were TOTALLY leveraged from the world of Google. There is a Chuck Bass quote in this story, you’ll recognize it when you see it.

xx

Vienna, Austria

Dave had surprised you with tickets to Vienna for your birthday. He knew that it had been a dream of yours to attend the Vienna State Opera since you were a little girl. He had truly outdone himself by booking a suite in the Hotel Sacher Wien. The suite stretched across much of the top floor allowing you to enjoy the comfort and amenities of the hotel, but with privacy and peacefulness. The first day you got here your jaw dropped when you saw the top-floor views. As you stepped out on your patio, you were greeted with stunning panoramic views of the cityscape. You could see iconic landmarks such as St. Stephen's Cathedral with its towering spires, the Danube River winding its way through the city, shimmering in the sunlight, and the majestic Schönbrunn Palace surrounded by lush gardens. The city skyline stretched out before you, dotted with elegant buildings and bustling streets. You couldn’t believe that Dave stayed in places like this all the time, you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Your job barely required any travel as you worked for a non-profit foundation in Boston, but Dave traveled extensively all around the world.

“Dave, this is so beautiful,” you gasped when you felt him pull your back to his chest and wrap his arms around you as he licked at your neck.

“I’ve got something more beautiful right here,” he murmured before he picked you up and threw you on the giant king-sized bed and fucked you over and over again until the both of you were too spent to do anything else but lay in bed the rest of the day. There was no sightseeing on the first day of the trip. You didn’t care because he was one of the most beautiful sights anyway.

You were doing your nighttime routine as you got ready for bed tonight. You two had been here 4 days, and tomorrow was the night you would watch “L'Elisir d'Amore” at the Opera. You had noticed that your Dave had seemed especially… distracted tonight. If you were being honest with yourself, you felt he had been slightly distracted this entire trip. Dave was a DIA operative so he tended to keep his emotions guarded and hidden. You assumed his job naturally made him paranoid, since he was cautious and strategic in his interactions, always watching and analyzing the people around him.

When you first met Dave a few years ago, it felt like he was so mysterious. It had thrown you off since you had grown up being an Ambassador's daughter and had been used to the discretion required in roles like this since you had grown up with the Foreign Service. But, you had never dated someone as reserved as Dave who didn’t let his guard down… ever. It was probably the military training in him. Over time he became more open with you, allowing you to see a deeper, more intimate side to himself, but at the end of the day, he was still a fairly guarded individual with others.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tightened the belt on your robe and found Dave sitting on the patio, sipping a glass of wine and watching the city come alive below.

He felt your presence before you sat down next to him and turned his face towards the palm of your hand to place a quick kiss on the center of it.

“Hi, handsome,” you murmured against his neck before placing a soft kiss behind his ear.  

His eyes were fixed on the horizon as his brows pulled together in thought.

“Is everything okay?” you asked

“Everything’s fine,” he quickly told you.

“You sure?” you gently pressed, rubbing your hands lovingly up and down his chest.

Dave’s eyes fell briefly closed before he finally turned to look at you to lean forward and crush his lips against yours. You whimpered at the sensation of his lips on yours because you loved kissing Dave, he had a way of always making you feel drunk off him. You pressed your lips harder against his feeling that you were already losing control when you started to feel yourself get dangerously wet.

His cell phone rang and he pulled away from you looking frustrated since you could see that he was already very hard and straining against his pants. When he took a look at his screen, you could have sworn his jaw set in a harsh line.

“Sweetheart, I have to take this. I’ll be back,” he said as he quickly squeezed your hand and stood up to go inside your room. You turned around and noticed he picked up his hotel room card, put on his shoes, and ended up leaving the hotel room.

It was odd, but you also knew his job required privacy and strict confidentiality protocols in order to protect sensitive information. You decided to focus your attention back to what was in front of you. At night, the city really lit up, casting a warm glow over the rooftops and creating a magical atmosphere. You could see the flickering lights of cafes and restaurants and heard the faint strains of music drifting through the air.

But now you were distracted. Why was work calling him if he was taking paid time off and currently out of the office?

xx

You had dozed off last night when you realized that Dave’s call was going to take much longer than anticipated. You didn’t remember what time it was when you felt the bed dip and felt Dave caressing your hip, his lovely fingertips tracing the edge of your panties as he kissed your shoulder and whispered you goodnight.

You woke up and stretched lazily and rolled over to feel the pillow beside you and realized Dave wasn’t there, but there was a note left on his pillow.

My perfect girl turns a year older today. Let’s play a game. I have blades but I’m not a knife. Want to cool down? Give me a whirl…

-DY

It was a riddle, he knew you loved them. You had shared on your first date that you and your family would play a lot of brain teasers and word association games while you were growing up. You smiled running your fingers over the note. He had given you an easy one.

There was only one fan in the hotel room, and it was in the living room. You walked over to quickly flip the switch and let the breeze hit you while you saw a piece of paper fall from the top of the fan. You bent over to pick it up. It was a certificate to go downstairs to the hotel spa and get yourself a massage and facial. You looked at your watch and realized that you had to move quickly, your appointment was soon.

After your 2 hours at the spa were finished, one of the receptionists handed you a card to read. You were giddy, it was your next riddle.

I swirl, I twirl, fine and neat. I'm not made of skin or snow. I come in many styles and hues, and can make you feel like new.

-DY

This one would be harder to locate, but you had told Dave that you would probably buy a dress for tonight's show a few days ago. You remembered telling him that when you had passed by a shop not too far from the hotel. You quickly left the spa to go to the store and were greeted by an attractive male staff manager.  

“Hello Mrs. York,”

You raised your eyebrows at him in surprise.

He chuckled. “Your husband showed me a picture of you and said that my job today is to devote my attention to finding you the perfect dress for this evening. Would you like some champagne?”

You smiled at him brightly. “Please, and thank you,”

You spent the next hour drinking, swapping stories with Killian about the men in your lives, and trying on a few dresses. You hated shopping, but this experience had been more fun than usual, and you were trying to soak up your “Pretty Woman” moment as long as possible.

“Holy shit, that’s the dress,” Killian said with his glorious accent once you put on a dress his colleague had handed to you.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and decided he was right. Also, when you looked at your watch, you realized you needed to get back to the hotel to start getting ready.

“Did Dave leave a note with you by any chance?”

“He did, he said you get a head start this time and that your next clue is somewhere in your hotel room,” Killian responded while he checked you out and handed you the note.

You waved goodbye to Killian and his staff and opened up your note once you stepped outside.

Born from the sun’s kiss and earth’s tender grace. I age with patience and care, a treasure concealed, my essence rare.

-DY

You walked up to the hotel and quickly hopped in the shower to ensure you would make it to the Opera by 7:00 PM. Once you were done getting ready, you started searching the room for the item and you found the bottle of wine hidden inside the decorative vase on the table in the dining room.

You picked up and read the bottle, Weingut Schloss Halbturn Cabernet Franc. It was the bottle of red you two had drank last year at a DIA gala event and you had told Dave how much you had loved the taste since it had been bold and structured. Taped to the bottle was your final riddle of the night.

Meet me here tonight. Make a wish, but don’t take a drink.

-DY

xx

You walked to the famous Opernbrunnen fountain and went to the standing in the grounds of the State Opera House. You stepped out wearing your dress that had a plunging neckline, a full skirt with pleats and a long train, all made of a shimmering light blue fabric. You were wearing minimal jewelry, letting the dress speak for itself and your makeup soft and natural, with a pop of color on your lips. You stood in front of the fountain in awe, it was just as stunning as you could have imagined.

You felt somebody tap your shoulder and turned around to find an utterly fuckable man in front of you.

Your husband looked delicious as always wearing a three-piece single-button tuxedo with a black contrast peak lapel. “You’re simply stunning, Mrs. York,” he motioned with his finger for you to twirl around for him, so you did. “Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty,” he murmured, motioning to your dress.

The comment made you want to cry, but you didn’t want to mess up your makeup. “You look pretty handsome yourself, Mr. York,” you said as your lips met his for a quick hello. “Thank you for today and all my gifts. But, I missed you today,” you pouted.

He hummed, pressing his lips more insistently on yours. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart,”

He pulled out of his pocket an individually wrapped Bouchard chocolate. You beamed at him. He knew your vices all too well.

“I know you much you love dark Belgian chocolate, so I thought you could have a snack before the show,” he smirked.

“But, what if I wanted something else in my mouth?” you teased.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body tightly to his. Dave brushed his lips along your ear as he rocked his hips against you.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” his voice was low, raspy, and it sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you whispered shakily as he pressed his impressive erection against you harder to prove his point. You moaned when his hands moved down your waist, to your hips, and back down to cup your ass.

“Let’s get inside before I get arrested for fucking you in front of this fountain, yeah?”

You giggled while he continued to grip your ass.

“Ready?” He asked

“Yup,” you replied, popping the P for dramatic effect as you both turned to go inside.

xx

“Dave,” you whined, pushing his hand away when his fingers slid high up your thigh and grazed your panties under your dress during the second act while you two were sitting in a private balcony box,

He brushed your hair to the side, and kissed your neck, “I just want to see what’s under this dress,”

You laughed. “Dave come on, the other private balcony box isn’t that far away from us,”

You knew it was a weak protest and that you didn’t sound serious at all.

“But, baby, you’re wet. I can feel it, and I can smell it.”

You inhaled slowly, your chest rising and your lips parted at his words.

“You know how much I love your pussy. Fuck, I wish my tongue was inside of you right now,”

“David,” you moaned.

“Fuck,” He loved it when you called him by his full name. It was because he associated it with sex. You only called him David behind closed doors.

He slid his hands under your dress again and then slid his fingers into your panties, stroking his index and middle finger along your slick, hot center.

He watched your tongue slide out to wet your dry lips. He was winning. You spread your legs wider, demanding his attention.

Then finally he slide his fingers through your soaked pussy.

You moaned throwing your head back, giving into the pleasure as his fingers inched deeper inside of you. Your moans turned into keening cries as he continued and your hips rocked against his two fingers. You realized your moans were starting to blend with the sounds of the characters Nemorino and Adina. The opera singers were delivering powerful performances that enhanced the intensity of David circling your clit with his thumb quickly in harmony with the music.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

David's words were blending with the "Prendi, per me sei libero" duet currently happening in the background.

“Y – Yes, I’ll be good for you David,” you whimpered as he continued to pump his fingers inside of you working you steadily towards release.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of the night, licking every inch of you,”

The image he had implanted in your brain made you clench around his fingers harder.

“Oh, I can feel that you like hearing that. You’re being so fucking good for me, my good girl,”

“I’m so close,” you cried out closing your eyes.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he told you as he moved faster, hitting your more sensitive spot.

The music continued to swirl around you, enveloping you in its spellbinding beauty, as you were swept away by what you were feeling.

“Open your fucking eyes, and look at me while you come,”

“Oh fuck, David,”  you opened up your eyes to see the absolutely wrecked look he had on his face. You bit down on his shoulder, as hard as you could when you felt your body explode and you felt yourself convulsing around his fingers with your release as the final notes of the opera echoed through the hall and the audience erupted into thunderous applause.

He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head towards his mouth to pull you in for a deep kiss. He slowly pulled out his fingers once he saw you had calmed down with your breathing and put them in his mouth to lick them clean.

“You taste so much better than Chocolate, baby, But, I’m not done with you yet,” he said with a wild grin.

“Mmm,” you breathed. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

He kissed you softly. “Both,”

xx

You woke up the next morning to a lovely ache between your legs and Dave was still completely passed out. After the show ended, you two were originally going to grab a late cocktail, but you were both aching for one another after Dave’s performance in the balcony opera box that you went back to the hotel immediately. As Dave undressed you, you couldn’t help but feel like something was slightly different. He was always insatiable for you, but last night there had been a desperate urgency and longing in the way he kissed you, touched you, and buried himself inside of you on the floor because he couldn’t wait to get on the bed. It was almost as if he was coming back from war and needed your touch to feel like you were really here.

“I love you,” you said as you felt intense pleasure building inside your belly while he thrusted inside of you deeper and deeper.

“Say it again,”

“I love you,” you repeated.

“Fucking again,” he said possessively.

It wasn’t like him to need the validation. It was out of character for him to request reassurance.

“Fuck, you’re everything to me David, I - I love you so much,”  you moaned out pushing your hips upwards, wanting to feel his cock buried deeper inside of you.  

“That’s it, you can take it,” he growled as he as he drove into your soaking cunt over and over again on the floor at a brutal pace. “Let me feel you come on my cock, baby,”

You felt your orgasm course through your body and then David quickly joined you as he emptied himself inside of you.

You two laid together quietly while he rested his head on your chest and then he put one of his hands over your rapidly beating heart.

“God, I fucking love you,” he whispered.

You looked at your phone and noticed you had received a text message from Carol who was married to one of Dave’s colleagues.

Carol: Did you and David hear the news? Susan Plummer was murdered yesterday in Brussels. They think it was a robbery.

She had sent you an article link as well. The article explained that details were still emerging but so far it was suspected that she was stalked by a robber to be attacked and stabbed with a knife in her hotel room.

You were shocked, Dave worked closely with Susan and they had known each other for many years. You quickly got out of bed and were about to call Carol on the patio when you bumped into a chair in the dining room that dropped the pack of Bouchard chocolates on the ground from Dave’s tuxedo jacket.

You couldn’t help but keep staring at the packaging of the chocolates that had scattered below you. You picked one off the floor and inspected it closely. Your father had been the Ambassador of France and a respected diplomat, so you had spent some of your childhood living there. You distinctly remember that whenever your parents craved certain Belgian chocolates, you all as a family would make a road trip out of it and go to Brussels or Bruges. You remember your brother one day being annoyed at the idea of leaving since he was trying to hang out with his friends.  

“Dad, this is like 3 hours away, we can get chocolates here in Paris,” he complained.

“I’m craving Bouchard. And, you can’t get Bouchard anywhere, only in Brussels. It’s made there and only sold there.”

“What a wonderful fun fact,” your brother said sarcastically.

“I’ll let you drive,” your father bribed.

Your brother's eyes lit up, realizing your father was going to drive his Ashton Martin instead of using the chauffeur service that was offered to him through his job.

“Deal,” your brother said.

“Shotgun!” you screamed.

Your parents chuckled as you all left the residence.

You had been so distracted last night that you hadn’t even thought to question how Dave could have found Bouchard in Vienna. Because why would you?

Vienna to Brussels was approximately a 1 hour and 45 minute flight. And you hadn’t seen David all day yesterday since he had set you up on your mini birthday scavenger hunt.

You felt a throbbing headache beginning to form and felt a profound sense of unease as your brain started to spiral.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The constant travel and lack of predictability in his schedule all the time with work.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The times he would sometimes come back home with injuries that he brushed off as accidents.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The isolation and uncertainty you felt at times about his whereabouts and activities.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The way he fucked you last night with so much raw intensity. A silent declaration of his devotion.   

You closed your eyes. Deep down, you knew that you had always questioned the true nature of your husband's work. But, you didn’t want to believe that his suspicious behavior meant what you thought it could mean. There had to be a reasonable explanation for the situation.   

As you slowly picked up your feet to walk back towards the bed, you looked at your husband's sleeping face and thought back to the first riddle he told you on your first date.

I am the whisper in your ear, but you refuse to hear me clear. I speak the truth you try to hide. What am I?

Denial

And that’s when you realized what this birthday trip really was. It was his alibi.

xx

Additional Comments:

Okay, also you can totally buy Bouchard outside of Belgium, but I just needed to create that illusion for the story. Also, I’m not as smart as reader. My ass would have bumped into the chocolates and just popped one into my mouth… and thought nothing of it. Oops?

This is so beautiful and bittersweet!

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight. 

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life. 

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book. 

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens. 

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime. 

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.  

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for. 

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head. 

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started. 

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness. 

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden. 

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love. 

I loved this so much!!!! 😍😍😍😍

Love me some soft!Dave 🥰

The Prenup (dave york x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

dave york x f!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Rating: E

Summary: You and David York are two of the top divorce lawyers in Boston and are on opposite sides of a high-profile divorce. Both of you are at of the top of your game and have never lost a case. How will you navigate your feelings, as your personal and professional life intertwines?

Warning: sexual tension, flirting, mentions of divorce, mentions of infidelity, mutual pining, smutty flashbacks (oral – f receiving, and p in v sex), emotional cheating? language, sexual touching, nipple play, smidge daddy kink (papi), dirty talk, praise, oral (f – receiving), implied p & v sex

A/N: This is my contribution for Shortie's AU Challenge. I am channeling my inner Shortie; she always blesses us with long one-shots and so I decided to make this WAY longer than necessary. In order not to spoil too much, I include more of my thoughts at the bottom of this one-shot. P.S. David York is slept on in this fandom. We need more Dave. Justice for Dave. He’s not the Pedro boy that gets the most engagement but you best believe I inhale Dave York content. I can at least promise that this story is less angsty than my Riddles one-shot.

@punkshort

xx

Boston, Massachusetts

"Order in the court! I expect professional behavior from both counsel."

You leaned over the table, a smirk tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. Your eyebrows arched in playful defiance. "Your Honor, I find it hard to believe that my colleague can actually think my client's request for a fair division of assets is unreasonable. The prenup clearly outlines significant financial disparities."

There was a slight curl in your lips, as you shot a glance at David.

David folded his arms, leaning back, his posture exuding an air of confidence that only amplified your irritation.  "Oh please. The prenup was signed willingly. This isn’t some poorly drafted agreement meant to confuse an unsuspecting spouse. You're making it sound like my client ambushed yours with a signed blank check."

His tone was casual, but his piercing stare ignited a flicker of annoyance in you.

You rolled your eyes, curling your fingers into the palm of your hand to keep calm. "In clear language, the prenup asserts that the assets acquired during the marriage should be shared equitably, especially given the increased at home contributions my client made."

You leaned in slightly, trying to assert your point, and fighting the reflex to slap David across the face. He was insufferable.

David leaned forward, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, as if he thrived on the tension. "Increased contributions? Or should we say—you’re overstepping the boundaries of what was agreed upon, possibly driven by desperation? How does it feel to lose control over such a simple matter?"

His arrogance made you want to roll your eyes again, but it only infuriated you more to admit how effortlessly attractive he was, the way his eyes glinted with challenge.

Judge McCall sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need you both to stop this sparring. Focus on presenting your evidence and keep your arguments above board, please."

You smirked, unable to resist a final jab, your voice smooth with a hint of sarcasm. "You’re right, Your Honor. I wouldn’t want to outshine my opposing counsel with simple logic and reason."

It felt satisfying to deflate his bravado, even if only momentarily, as you savored the incredulity that flickered across his face.

"Logic? That's rich coming from you. But I appreciate your attempt. It’s adorable." David said with a cocky grin.

Your irritation spiked, a mixture of anger and unwelcome attraction flooding your senses.

"I will hold this court in recess until both of you can conduct yourselves like the professionals you claim to be." Judge McCall recited, his authority cutting through the tension with an audible snap.

The gavel struck down, echoing through the still air, and David shot you a playful glare, a smirk still taunting his lips. You had never lost a case in your entire career, and neither had David. You both knew the courtroom was only part of the battle, and the real game was just beginning.

xx

The door to your office opened with a soft click, and the ambiance shifted as David strode in with an air of confidence. His tailored suit trailed the sharp edge of professionalism, but the way he leaned casually against the doorframe suggested an unspoken familiarity with the space.

"You know," he began, his tone light yet persuasive, "I think we both know how this could end. I hate to say it, but dragging this out in court might not do wonders for your reputation." He raised an eyebrow playfully, his voice dropping into a more intimate register. "I wouldn't want to see you embarrass yourself,”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his audacity, a blend of annoyance and intrigue igniting within you. “Are you suggesting I just roll over, David, I thought you were my opposition, not my advisor,” you shot back, with a playful tilt of your lips.

He took a slow step closer, the tension thickening as he casually brushed a nonexistent speck off his sleeve. "Oh, I'm just saying," he replied, maintaining eye contact, "sometimes less is more. Why put on a show when we both know the outcome will be the same?"

The words hung in the air, laced with subtext, and you felt the familiar heat rise within you. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, an instinctive response to his proximity. He walked further into your office, the heels of his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. “Let’s talk about the upcoming court date. It would be much more—shall we say—expedient for both of us if you considered settling,”

You met his gaze fiercely, your heart racing despite yourself. “We’re not settling,” you said as you broke the gaze and focused on the papers on your desk.

“I’d hate to see you standing before Judge McCall trying to explain why you pushed for something that was never going to be achievable.”

“And what’s your angle here, David?

He chuckled softly. “No angle, I just think settling would be much more dignified, don’t you think?”

“You call it dignity, I call it capitulation.”

“Maybe. But consider this: sometimes surrendering is the real strength,” he countered, inching closer. The scent of his cologne filled the air, warm and inviting, mixing with the tension spiraling between you both.

“You’re making it hard for me to keep this cordial,” you quipped, crossing your arms defensively.

“Cordiality is boring, sweetheart,” David replied.

You tilted your head. “And here I thought we were supposed to be adversaries. Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Only when I think you can handle it,” he shot back with a grin.

“Let’s just stick to business, shall we?” you finally said, clearing your throat, but the breathlessness leaking into words contradicted your polished demeanor.

“Of course,” David replied, his smirk lingering as he stepped back, though the heat of the moment hadn't faded. “But I’ll be waiting for your call about that settlement.”

A smile danced at the corner of your lips. “Don’t hold your breath,”

David turned around to leave your office. “Hey,” he said casually, glancing back over his shoulder. “Make sure to say hello to your husband for me.”

You started twirling with your wedding ring and looked at the framed photograph that stood prominently among the clutter on your desk. It captured a joyful moment: your husband, with his infectious smile, and your two kids, their faces alight with laughter as they played in a sun-drenched park.

You raised an eyebrow. “And you can tell your wife I send my apologies,” you shot back.

With a wink, he replied, "I'll make sure to do that," before stepping out, leaving the moment hanging in the air.

Later that night in the gentle glow of the moonlight filtering through your curtains, you laid nestled in the warm cocoon of your bed, your eyelids growing heavy as the day's thoughts began to dissolve into a soothing haze.

As your drifted nearer to the edge of sleep, your husband quietly slipped into the room, and laid himself beside you, pressing his chest against your back, and you felt the warmth of his body against yours.

He held you close, tracing delicate patterns on your shoulder and you smiled faintly in your sleep, as you dreamt of David.

xx

“You're referring to the alleged infidelity?” you sighed, during the divorce deposition.

“Alleged? She was having sex with him in the guest room,” David’s client, Brian shouted.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Brian's outburst hung heavily in the air. You could almost see the gears turning in David's head as he prepared to capitalize on this. “The infidelity is a clear breach of the marital agreement. Susan’s actions demonstrate a blatant disregard for the exclusivity of their marriage as agreed upon in the prenup,”

“So, you are saying that infidelity requires financial penalty?” you responded.

David nodded.

“Using your reasoning, any infidelity on your client’s part... would have to be held against him as well.”

“What are you suggesting?” David said.

You leaned forward, a determination sparking behind your eyes as you countered, "While infidelity might affect a court's perception of asset distribution and alimony in some cases, we must consider the full scope of the situation,” You turned to Brian and your voice dripped with feigned innocence. “Brian, why don’t you enlighten us about the child you’ve recently fathered?"

The room went silent, and David's confident demeanor cracked, just for a moment. Confusion flitted across his face, followed by a dawning realization that spoke volumes. He looked between you and Brian as he tried to piece together the implications.

Brian, setting his jaw, shifted uncomfortably in his chair looking anywhere but at David. The silent admission echoed ominously around the room, and you could feel the tide turning.

David's expression morphed from baffled to outright shock. It was evident he had no knowledge of this fact, and you could barely suppress the satisfaction bubbling within you.

You allowed yourself a small smirk, relishing the moment of vulnerability in David’s otherwise poised structure. “It seems,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice, “that the narrative of infidelity might be more complex than David presents.

The tension in the room was palpable as Brian finally broke the silence. “I need a minute,” he muttered, rising from his chair. His voice was strained, and you could see the torrent of emotions battling within him as he hastily exited the room.

As the door clicked shut behind Brian, the tension in the room hung like a thick fog. You could hear the faint rustle of paper and the slight shift of chairs as Susan looked towards you, her smile massive.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said quietly, standing up. With a nod, she disappeared through the door, leaving you and David alone.

Once the door was fully closed, you straightened in your chair and produced a set of settlement papers from your briefcase. You slid the papers across the table toward David, maintaining eye contact, your expression earnest.

“You should consider working with Brian to get these signed.”

David arched an eyebrow, his earlier confidence returning. “And why would I do that?” he asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“Because,” you said, your tone measured, “the veil of infidelity has grown quite thin. The implications of Brian’s recent revelation could shift the entire landscape of this case,”

"You think I’m that easily swayed? Just because of this,”

“Not swayed, David,” you clarified, your voice steady. “But consider the risk. With Brian's infidelity on the table, the courts will take a more compassionate view on Susan’s actions, especially if she can demonstrate that her infidelity was a response to his. You must be aware that it’s not just about the stark facts; it’s about perception.”

David laughed lightly, though there was a hint of incredulity in it. “You think I’m going to roll over just because you’ve pulled a few tricks? I’m not going to settle. I’m prepared for court.”

With a casual flick of your pen, you leaned back in your chair, fully aware that it was David who now had to rethink his strategy. You were about to respond and tell him how ridiculous he was being when you felt a sudden vibration of your phone that disrupted your focus.

You glanced at the caller ID and your expression shifted, a fleeting moment of apprehension before you answered. It was your best friend, and she never called you during work unless it was important. You saw that she had previously texted you the words: “SOS”

 "Hey, what’s up?" you said, your voice steady, masking the tension that was beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. As her words spilled through the receiver, your gaze drifted, the papers in front of you blurring into the background.

Though you tried to maintain composure, you felt your anger rising. Your jaw tightened and your grip on the phone became a little too intense—a subconscious attempt to anchor yourself against the rising tide of emotions. The corner of your mouth twitched, materializing a thin, forced smile in response to the painful snippets you were hearing. You were usually an expert at concealing distress, but the cracks were starting to show.

Across the desk, David, a perceptive observer, noticed the change in your demeanor. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern.

You opened your mouth, preparing a response, but the weight of your best friend’s revelation hung heavy in the air. “I… I have to go,” you finally said, your voice a touch unsteady.

Without waiting for a reply, you ended the call, your fingers shaking ever so slightly as you set the phone down. You grabbed your things with a sense of urgency, your thoughts racing as you struggled to mask the emotional storm that threatened to break free.

As you hastily gathered your belongings, your mind still reeling from your best friend’s news. Before you could even process what was happening, David moved around the table.

In a moment that felt surreal, he reached out and cupped your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch was unexpected, and your heart raced—not from fear, but from an unbidden rush of conflicting emotions. There was no mistaking the intensity in his eyes; they held something that lingered just below the surface. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

For a fleeting second, you were taken aback, caught in an emotional whirlpool, the boundaries of professionalism blurring. But just as quickly as it had begun, it all came crashing down. Feeling an impulse to restore the distance between you both, you pulled away, your heart pounding in your ears.

“David,” you said, your voice firm but still trembling from the unexpected intimacy of the moment. “This isn’t the time for this,” you said, desperate to reestablish the professional tone.

Reaching for the door, you paused for a moment and just as you were about to turn the knob, you turned around.

“Just sign the papers,” You gestured to the settlement papers spread across the table.

xx

As you stepped through the front door, the familiar scents of home wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. The sound of upbeat music filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of feet hitting the floor. Curiosity piqued, you followed the sound into the living room.

You found your mother in workout gear, energetically following along with an intense fitness video. The living room was transformed into a makeshift gym, with colorful mats spread out and water bottles conveniently placed nearby.

As your mother turned, sweat glistening on her forehead, her eyes landed on you with a mixture of shock and amusement. "You’re early… and you look like shit!" she exclaimed, barely missing a beat in her workout routine.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you leaned against the doorframe. "Thanks, Mom,”

"You know my friends and I are having a lip party later. I know you’re not into that, but you can join us if you want. Raul takes the fat out of our butts and injects it into our lips."

"That gives a whole new meaning to talking out of your ass," you shot back, laughing lightly.

Your mother with her mismatched socks and wild hair, always had a way of saying quirky things that would catch most people off guard—but you were used to it. At just sixteen, she became a mother herself, cast out by her parents, left to navigate a world that felt impossibly large and unforgiving. She transformed her pain into a life full of unconditional love and support for you.

Growing up poor wasn’t easy, but your mom embraced it with a stubborn resilience that only she could muster. You remembered the nights when she’d hustle through her graveyard shifts at the diner, fluorescent lights flickering above her as she poured coffee for strangers who hardly noticed her. Yet, you always knew that beneath those tired eyes was a fierce determination to give you a better life. While she often struggled to make ends meet, she tirelessly saved every penny to make sure you had a chance to go to college.

The day you graduated from college, and later stood on the steps of Harvard Law School, you could see her there, your biggest cheerleader, her face lit up with a mix of pride and disbelief, all the sacrifices of her past culminating in this moment. She was at an age where she would get some cosmetic tweaks here and there, even though she didn’t need it at all. For you, funding those little indulgences she so joyfully embraced felt like a small token of gratitude rather than an expense – whether it was a new skincare regimen or a visit to her favorite clinic for a ‘facial’ – also known as botox. Some may have called it vanity, but you simply understood it as her way of feeling confident.

Checking the time on your phone, you sighed, "I really need to shower and then pick up the girls…"

She waved a hand dismissively. "I’ll handle the pick-up. You go freshen up."

You hesitated, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Are you sure? I’m here,”

Your mother helped you and your husband with the kids, she lived about 15 minutes away and she had loved stepping into the role of grandmother, even though your daughters called her by her first name. Her request.

She caught your eye and smiled, a playful glint in her gaze. "I’m sure,”

As you turned to head towards your bedroom, she called out, “Hey! Should I whip you up a drink while you’re at it? Maybe a martini?”

You half-laughed, glancing back at her. “Mom, it’s 3 PM,”

“Exactly! That’s practically early evening somewhere,” she shot back, hands on her hips. “What’s more self-care than a little liquid relaxation? Plus,” she added, winking cheekily, “by the time I bring the girls back, you’ll be rejuvenated and ready to deal with them!”

“Right, because a tipsy mom is the kind of energy they need,” you replied, shaking your head as you turned towards your bedroom.

“Hey, if you’re going to raise the next generation, you should at least do it with a buzz!” She called after you, and you could hear her giggling as you walked away.

You felt so excited when you stripped out of your clothes, you couldn’t remember the last time you came home this early. This day was exhausting, you told your office you were taking a half day. In the soft haze of steam, the bathroom felt like a sanctuary, the air thick with warmth and the sound of water cascading down. You stood under the showerhead, letting the soothing streams wash away the stress of your day, though your mind was elsewhere.

David.

Thoughts of the case filled your head, swirling like the steam around you.

David.

Thoughts of him touching you today and wanting to feel his lips on yours.

David.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the quiet creak of the bathroom door nor the gentle sound of footsteps on the tiled floor. It wasn't until you felt a warm presence behind you, a familiar weight against your back, that you fully came back to the moment. The water poured over you, glistening on your skin.

Your husband enveloped you in his arms, his chest pressing against her back. "You've been working too hard, you know that?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver of surprise through you. You had been too caught up in her mind to notice him coming in, but his touch grounded you.

“One of my cases took an interesting turn today; I have opposing counsel by the balls, so I think the long nights will stop,”

He slid his hands down your sides, feeling the smoothness of your wet skin, his fingers trailing over your curves. "The balls huh?” he continued, his voice low and teasing. "I’m not settling, sweetheart,”

You turned around to face your husband, David.

“How about we settle on a more hands-on approach instead?” Your voice was soft yet laced with suggestion.

David’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a wicked grin. With that, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that made your head spin. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat building between you as your hands explored the contours of his body, pulling him closer.

It was hard to believe that ten years had passed since the whirlwind of chaos that had introduced you to David.

You were opposing counsel on a high-profile divorce case involving your notorious rockstar client and his fashion designer wife who David had been representing. Both clients were as volatile as they came, their passions spilling over into the courtroom and beyond. During the initial meetings, you remembered the palpable tension that had filled the air, not just between your clients, but also between you and David.

You had clashed from the very start. Every strategy session was a battle of wits, each trying to outmaneuver the other. You would suggest a course of action, only to have him counter it with a sarcastic quip that ignited your irritation. Meetings turned into a game of sparring, with the courtroom as your battleground.

But amidst the stress and hostility, something unexpected had begun to simmer. There was a spark—a magnetic pull that neither of you could ignore. Late nights pouring over case files morphed into stolen glances and fleeting touches. The tension that once felt like conflict took on a new energy, an unspoken understanding simmering beneath the surface.

You remembered the night it happened. You both stayed late, tensions high from a particularly nasty spat with your clients that threatened to derail the case. The office was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as you argued, the air crackling with frustration. And then, in a moment of surprising heat, your lips met. It was reckless, unexpected, and utterly intoxicating. You pushed aside a few scattered files, the sound barely reaching your ears as his hands found your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips were warm and insistent, coaxing a frantic response from you that left you breathless. You ran your hands along his arms, feeling the taut muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, a contrast to the softness of the kiss. He proceeded to pull your panties down and his head disappeared under your skirt as he settled his face between your thighs. Your elbows buckled, and you collapsed against the desk as he licked, stroked, and sucked, sending waves of pleasure through you. You cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations. Trembling, you felt him secure your hips with one arm and he made you come harder than you ever had.

When you recovered, he pushed inside of you filling you up with one thrust and set a pounding rhythm and your mouth opened to let out filthy sounds because you were so lost in the sensations that you forgot that you were supposed to hate him. You were a panting, aching mess, as he made you beg, made you want, and fucking tortured you before he let you come. Finally, he hit that magic spot, and you experienced a pleasure you had only read about and you clenched violently on his cock screaming his name, while he whispered filth your ear. Moments later, David was groaning out as his release hit him and he kissed you hard, moaning into your mouth. 

In the days that followed, you plastered on facades of professionalism, even as your heart raced at the thought of what had transpired. It had clearly just been stress relief. You didn’t talk about it. But sometimes, you would catch David’s eye across the conference table, and the memories of that night would flicker in your mind like a vivid flashback, stirring emotions you didn’t know how to articulate.

And, the irony was thick; your clients, once dead set on ending their relationship, had begun to reconcile. They called off the divorce and worked through their differences.

After the final negotiation session where your clients seemed more like a united front than ever, you both stepped out onto the balcony of your office for some fresh air. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, and for a moment, you both leaned against the railing in silence, the weight of the past few months hanging between you.

Finally, David broke the silence, turning towards you with a mixture of nervousness and determination in his eyes. "We should talk," he said, his voice low and steady. "About everything."

Your heart raced as you turned to face him, the memory of that night flooding back. “What is there to talk about?” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the tension was palpable.

His gaze bore into you, unflinching. “I know we haven’t acknowledged…what happened. But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen,”

You swallowed hard, trying to manage the whirlwind of emotions. “It was a mistake,” you said instinctively, but even as the words left your lips, you knew it was a lie.

David stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Was it?” he challenged, but then softened his tone. “Look, I don’t want to make things complicated, but we’ve shared something…unique. And now that this case is winding down, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to explore between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean a—”

“A date,” he pressed, a hopeful smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “Just you and me. Away from the courtroom, these files, and all the bullshit,”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was kindness. A thrill ran through you. Yes, it was reckless. Yes, it was complicated—but there was something about David that made you want to take a chance.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

David’s smile widened, a sense of relief washing over his features. “Great. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

You nodded, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling within you. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

You and David hadn’t been in court together since that last case, and you still used your maiden name professionally, so a lot of people didn’t know you two were married. Your current clients knew as it had to be disclosed, and Judge McCall was very aware – in fact he was the one who had married you both all those years ago.

“Tell me,” You breathed between kisses and returning to the present, your lips aching for more of his touch. “How do you plan to win this case?”

David pulled back just enough to tease you with a raised eyebrow. “By any means necessary, of course,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your jaw, igniting every nerve in your body.

You felt a rush of adrenaline as you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. "By any means necessary, huh?" You challenged, your voice a sultry whisper. "That sounds dangerously like a promise."

David chuckled, his breath hot against your neck as he nipped at your skin lightly, sending tingles down your spine. "Oh, I always keep my promises," he replied, his tone low and teasing. "And right now, the only thing I want you to focus on is me,” he whispered. “And I’d much rather you focus on how good it feels when I—”

You interrupted him with a bold kiss that silenced his lips against yours. As your lips parted, you looked at David, his brows knitted in concern, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere shifted.

“What?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a beat, his expression serious as he brushed a lock of wet hair off your forehead. “I was worried about you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw you take that call earlier, and you looked... off.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of your day crashing down like a tidal wave. “It was Carol,” you replied.

David’s eyes searched yours. When you took a deep breath, the words spilled out. “Sam is cheating on her with some twenty-two-year-old girl from the gym.”

Your husband’s expression shifted, a mix of anger and disgust flickering across his features. “What?” he said through gritted teeth, his jaw tightening.

You, Carol and Sam had all met in undergrad, and they were college sweethearts. They were some of your oldest friends and you couldn’t believe Sam was willing to throw everything away for a fling.

“Yeah,” you nodded, the frustration at the situation washing over you. “She’s worried about their kids. I mean, they’re really young, and the whole situation is just so tacky,” you confessed, the anger evident in your voice. “I didn’t expect it from him. It’s just—”

“Difficult to digest,” David finished for you, nodding slowly.

For a moment, silence enveloped you both, thick with the weight of emotions. You clung to him. Finally, you spoke again, your voice almost a whisper. “I hate seeing her go through this. It just makes me think...”

His gaze held yours intently. “Think about what?”

“About how unpredictable relationships can be. How everything can change in an instant,” you said.

David stepped back, releasing your hands gently. His expression flickered with concern. “You’re not worried about us, are you?”

As the last drops of water cascaded off your shoulders, you took a moment to breathe. You hesitated, the question lingering like a charged current in the air. “No, I just—”

David stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face. "Because I can assure you, I’m never going to do that," he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, he gently placed a finger across your lips, quieting your thoughts.

"Never,” he repeated. “Besides, I don’t believe in divorce,”

“But you’re a divorce lawyer,” you rolled your eyes.  

“It’s a job,” he chucked softly. “You and me, that’s forever,”

“You’re just saying that because we never signed a prenup, and so it would cost you a lot of money,” you teased.

David came from a very wealthy family, and he had made his own money with his career as a lawyer. So, when you two got engaged, you told him you were happy to sign a prenup as you didn’t feel entitled to his inheritance and you didn’t want his family or him to think you were with him for the wrong reasons. You knew how messy things could get during divorces and it felt pragmatic to check all of the boxes. Ironically, you don’t think you had ever seen him be so offended by something you said. He told you that he felt that too many people entered marriages thinking they could devise an escape route if things got rough, and he didn’t want you both to enter this marriage expecting a divorce. It was a bold proposition coming from a divorce lawyer – but surprisingly you two never ended up signing a prenup.

“I love you,” he chuckled, dipping his head to capture your lips once again.

The sincerity in his words sent a comforting warmth through you, and you felt a slight smile creep across your face. "I love you too," you murmured, pushing away your previous doubts.

With that, you turned off the shower. David stepped out and handed you a towel, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft fabric felt luxurious as you wrapped it around your body, attempting to shield yourself from the chill.

He took a towel for himself.  As he dried off, you took a moment to admire him, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude flood your chest. Each muscle, each curve, every scar told a story, and he was beautiful and yours.

David finished drying off and tossed his towel, moving closer to you again, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "When are Molly and Alice getting back?” he asked, leaning against the bathroom counter casually, his posture inviting. “How much time do we have baby?”

You bit your lip, a teasing smile playing on your face as you considered your next words. “Well, I’d say we have about thirty minutes before my mother and the girls return,” you replied smoothly.

 “Thirty minutes, huh? That sounds like just enough time for—” he paused dramatically, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, “—some strategic planning.”

“Oh, strategic planning, is it?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

With a swift, deft motion, he tugged your towel away, letting it drop to the floor. The rush of cool air sent a shiver down your spine. He swallowed hard and your mouth watered when you looked down at his rock-hard erection.

He leaned forward taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked hard, his tongue swirling in circles as he cupped your other breast and teased your other nipple with the pad of his thumb. You whimpered, losing yourself in the sensation of him nipping at your nipple and licking at your breast. You ran your fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging at him as he started to suck hard.

“Oh my god,” you cried out a little too loudly, and he popped you out of his mouth with a grin.

“God you’re beautiful,” he murmured, staring at you and then carried you to the edge of the bathroom counter. The cool marble met your exposed skin—a stark contrast that sent another jolt of pleasure through you.

“David!” you gasped, half surprised, half thrilled, as he set you down and positioned himself between your legs, his body just inches from yours and he began to tease you with his fingertips, sliding them along your slick, as you gasped and tipped your head back slightly.

“Such a messy little pussy,” he teased, looking up at you, eyes dark with desire. “You’re so wet for me,”

“Well then fucking do something about it, papi,” you growled.

You saw his cock twitch because he not-so-secretly loved it with you called him that. It wasn’t a common occurrence for you two, but you loved to pull it out when you needed to get his attention.

“Mmm, love it when you’re a little mean with me,” he said, as he dropped to his knees, his face was suddenly between your legs, and his hands pushing your thighs apart. “Because then I get to watch you get so nice for me,” his lips brushed against your core and you gasped, a wave of pleasure surging through you as he slowly flicked his tongue against your sensitive clit. You could feel the heat pooling low in your abdomen, the pressure tightening as he continued to tease, swirling his tongue in delicious patterns.

“Unngh… so good,” you managed to stammer, your fingers slipping into his thick hair, guiding him closer. You could feel the familiar tension building, the longing for release intensifying as he drove you wild.

“Just good?” he teased, pulling back slightly to blow cool air against your slick folds, sending a fresh wave of sensation through you.

“David, please,” you begged, feeling yourself practically vibrating with need. “Don’t tease me—”

But he was relentless, burying his face back where you wanted him most, sucking and licking with a fervor that had you arching off the counter.  You could feel the overwhelming warmth pooling in your belly, the tension coiling tighter with every flick, every thrust of his tongue, and with a soft cry, you felt yourself teetering on the edge. “I’m—David, I’m so close—”

With that, his fingers joined the mix, slipping inside you, curling perfectly to hit that sweet spot that had your back arching and your breath stuttering. Your moans turned to cries as he worked his magic, pushing you to the brink.

“Come for papi, baby,” he urged, his voice thick and muffled against your core as he kept the rhythm steady, coaxing your orgasm to its peak. “Let go for me.”

And then you did. The tension shattered into a million pieces as waves of heat washed over you. You cried out his name, your legs shaking as the world around you dissolved. Each pulse and throb sent you spiraling deeper, his mouth and fingers working you through the overwhelming sensation.

As your breaths slowed, you could feel David’s warm body pressed against your own, his forehead resting against your thigh as he breathed in your scent, savoring the moment.

“Was that strategic enough for you?” he teased lightly, glancing up at you with a satisfied grin.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from your chest. “I think you nailed the plan, counselor.”

He rose to his feet, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that tasted of you, and you pulled him in tighter, feeling the hardness of his cock against you.

As he positioned himself between your legs once again, he pressed his cock against your slick folds, teasing just at the entrance but not pushing inside yet. The anticipation made you arch your back, seeking more of him.

“David, please," you breathed, the desperation in your voice clear.

“Please what?” he taunted, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “You want more, baby?

You nodded pathetically, your body thrumming with need as you bit your lip, watching him with pleading eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he purred, letting the tip of his cock tease against you, driving you mad with desire.

“Fuck me,” you gasped, the words almost spilling out in a whimper. “Please, David.”

With a satisfied grin, he leaned forward, shoving himself inside of you. “Whatever you say, counselor,”

xx

The emotional cheating warning was a lie to keep you guys on your toes! Was it obvious that they were married the entire time? I’m a softie so I love soft!dave when he’s in love with his wifey and fucking feral for her.

Shortie is our rom-com queen! So, for her AU challenge, I took inspiration from the movie Laws of Attraction. This is how I envision Pierce Brosnan and Julianne Moore’s characters turning out maybe 10 years down the road. Also, I had to add the mother (with my own spin) in this one-shot because I thought she was the funniest person in the movie, so I wanted to add some humor in the one-shot. The lip party is a quote from the movie.

If you haven’t watched Laws of Attraction – do it! Pierce Brosnan is soooooooo Papi Chulo in it 😉

Oh. Oh my! This was delicious!!!

dave york x babysitter!f!reader

summary: the kids you babysit have a hot dad. you want him. but he's married... cws: unfaithfulness (dave is married to carol), power imbalance (employer and employee), fainting, thigh grinding, fingering, reader wears a skirt, dad!dave and his kids, nicknames (baby, honey), reader sits in dave's lap, mention of blood, frottage kinda, one (1) shoulder bite word count: 2.7k divider by @thecutestgrotto thank you and shoutout to my cheerleaders on this, liv @5oh5 and han @swiftispunk <3 and my love @joelsversion for helping with the header <3

"Without touching his skin, How can I be guilty as sin?"

You hate being alone with Dave York.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a perfectly pleasant, well-mannered man. His daughters, Molly and Alice, are angels when you look after them (mostly), and nothing Dave has ever said or done has made you uncomfortable. Your interactions are innocent and professional. And that’s exactly the problem. 

There’s nothing wrong with him.

Because when you’re left alone together, in the evenings when his kids are asleep and he offers to drive you home, or in the mornings on the days he doesn’t work  from home and he pours you a cup of coffee in the kitchen while you make the girls breakfast… you can’t stop your mind from wandering.

You’re not entirely sure what Mr. York does for work, but you know he must look good doing it. Prancing around the house in his fitted dress pants that hug his front and back just right. His loose dress shirt hiding the body you suspect is strong and strapping, based on the sounds coming from the garage when he tells you he’ll be working out. And those are just the parts you don’t get to see.

His hands, however, are always on full display. When they curl around that mug he hands you. His palm brushing the small of your back as he opens the door for you when you leave. Fingers tapping, sometimes only one on the steering wheel, when he drives you home. When he’s typing away at the computer in his home office, or brushing the hair out of his girls’ faces before kissing their heads goodnight on the nights that he makes it home in time. Oh, those fingers… and that ring.

The ring he wears as a promise to Carol, his wife, that he’ll always be faithful to her. You should know how much a promise like that means. Someone once promised you the same. To always be there, to never stray. But stray they did. And the pain of that is something you don’t wish on anyone.

So yes, you hate being alone with Dave York. Because he’s so close. You spend more hours in his house than your own, basically raising his kids. And he’s right there… but he’s not for you.

It has been a very long day, and yet the clock on the kitchen stove shows only 11:27. The girls have run through the garden sprinklers all morning, worn out and down for a nap already, a combination of heat and exhaustion making you wish you could do the same. The heat wave has lasted for days now, only alleviated by a few minutes of clouds during the worst hours. 

Your bare thighs cling to the chair as you get up to clean up your lunch. It’s quick work, so you do the rest of the dishes too, even though it’s not your job. Warm soapy water prunes your fingers quickly, the only parts of your body not already damp with sweat. The house is rarely this quiet during the day, only the distant sounds of traffic from the main road blocks away filling the room, joining the splashing of water and clangs from dishes as you put them back into their cabinets. Some mornings you can hear Dave talking in his office, the sound carrying through the house. You can never make out what it is he’s talking about, only the low rumble of his voice sometimes plaited with other voices through computer speakers. He’s quiet today. 

This heat is unbearable, you think, as you wipe your forehead with wet hands. Leaning on the counter, you take a deep breath. For a second your eyesight falters, and lightheadedness washes over you. Have you even had a glass of water today? You can feel your legs start to wobble, vision turning static, and you’ve just started swaying when–

“Hey, hey!” 

A strong hand grabs your arm as you topple over, and you lean into Dave’s solid chest, letting him support your weight as you focus on your breathing. 

“There you go, honey,” he soothes. “Deep breaths.”

His shirt smells crisp and clean, the scent interrupted by whiffs of soap and cologne from his skin underneath it, as you inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“You okay?” His big hand draws circles on your back, still holding you up with the other.

“Just hot…” you manage, lifting your head up to see a concerned Dave look down at you with furrowed brows. 

“Come lie down in my office for a bit, the AC is better in there.”

He supports you on your unsteady legs with an arm firmly around your waist, guiding you to his work room at the other end of the house. You’ve never really been in there, only stuck your head through the door to let him know you’re leaving at the end of the day.

The room is huge, especially for a home office. Floor to ceiling windows cover the far wall, his desk in the middle of the room, facing the door. Bookcases line the other walls, filled with mostly folders and what looks like heavy encyclopedias. In front of one of them is, of all things, a chaise lounge. What is he, a shrink? You’ve never seen him have anyone else in there, but for all you know he might as well be. He’s got the calm and steady presence you imagine one would need to be any kind of doctor.

“Here,” he says as he guides you over to the chaise, one big hand engulfing yours, the other supporting your neck as you lower yourself down.

“Let me get you some water.” 

As he leaves the office again, you hurriedly smooth your skirt down, suddenly very aware of how much skin you’re showing. If you lift your knees your entire ass would be on display for him when he returns, but you know keeping your feet up will be good for the dizziness. You settle for an in-between, only one leg raised, and the other straight out, just as Dave returns, bottle in hand. He twists the cap open before he hands it to you.

“Thanks,” you breathe as you accept it, gulping down half the contents in one go. You hand the bottle back to him and he chugs the rest. Your eyes are fixed on his plush lips around the bottle opening that was just between your own. You wonder what they would feel like on your warm skin.

As he drinks, a stray droplet escapes from the side of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. It runs down the length of his throat, Adam’s apple bouncing when he swallows, and then the drop disappears underneath his shirt collar. Your mouth waters, yet you feel even thirstier. You’d like to rip his shirt off and lick the droplet off his chest, as if only that could quench your thirst. And you can’t help but feel… No, you can help it. You should. It’s completely inappropriate. He’s your employer, your boss, and he’s… so Goddamn good looking. Shit.

He crumples the empty plastic before throwing it away in the bin next to his desk. Slumping down in his office chair he turns his attention to the computer screen.

Typing away at his keyboard, you watch him. Doctor York? Professor York? You try to imagine him; teaching a class, doing paperwork at an office, running a store, being someone’s strict and authoritarian boss. The latter thought makes your legs clench together involuntarily. 

“What do you do?”

The question escapes you before you can help it, and you cringe slightly at your own sudden bluntness. 

“Sorry?”

“I just realized I don’t know what you do for work.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen when he speaks, but a subtle smile plays on his lips.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” You laugh.

“That would suck. Who would look after your kids?”

“I’d be on the run, so not me.”

“Carol, then. All alone. Poor Carol.”

“Yeah. Poor Carol…” he agrees, voice suddenly grave.

A few minutes pass, comfortable yet somehow charged silence surrounding you. When he speaks again, his tone shifts—still dark, but less grave.

"Ever been to Europe?" he asks, breaking the stillness.

The unexpected question leaves you momentarily flustered.

“Uh, yeah, I, uhm… I went backpacking there a million years ago,” you stutter.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Really?"

“Why is that so hard to believe?" you challenge, squinting back at him.

“Just a little surprising, I suppose.” 

He meets your gaze without flinching, a spark of something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

“I’m actually planning a trip to Belgium. Come have a look at this.”

He beckons you closer with two fingers, the gesture innocent and yet, paired with your clouded judgment and current state of mind, borderline obscene.

Carefully, you put your two feet down on the floor, taking a moment to test your balance. Once confident you won’t topple over again, you step over to his side of the workspace. You lean over his desk, one hand on the table and one on the armrest of the office chair he’s seated in, squinting at the screen. It’s probably very interesting, pictures and lists of things to do and see abroad, but the only thing you can focus on is the sliver of ass you know is revealed when you bend over in this particular skirt. You’d usually wear something more work appropriate, even just a pair of hot pants underneath. But this weather… This heat…

Dave’s gaze is just as scorching as he awaits your reaction, and you can tell he’s working hard not to let his eyes wander. Just like you do, when from the corner of your eye you spot his hand moving absentmindedly up and down his thigh, resting a little too long at the top, thumb grazing his groin.

“Want me to bring you something back?” he asks, voice low, close to a whisper, as if worried someone could hear him. 

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, giving your feet a little more space between them, making room between your thighs. Suddenly, his fingers graze the insides of your thighs and his hand trails upwards, coming to rest over the wet patch of your underwear, damp from your excitement or from the temperature you’re not sure. An audible sigh escapes you at the contact. He responds with a groan of his own as he starts drawing circles over your clothed clit.

“I’ve heard they have great chocolate,” you stutter in response to his question.

“Yeah? You got a sweet tooth?”

You wish desperately he would touch your skin, and try to angle your hips so he can slip a finger under your panties, but he just follows your movements, touching you through the fabric. You only hum in response.

“God, this isn’t right…” you hear him whisper to himself. You don’t disagree, yet neither of you make a move to stop.

His hands move to rest on your hips, and he slowly turns you to face him. Soft fingers grip you tightly. The insides of his legs brush the bare skin of your own, making you shiver despite the heat. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” he says, pleading. So you do. The darkness of his eyes pull you in, and you’re almost taken over by the urge to lean down and kiss him. As you start to bend down, one hand resting on his shoulder, his hands on your hips keep you in place. At a distance.

“Tell me we shouldn’t do this.” His eyes rake over your body, taking you in, short fingernails digging into your skin. “Tell me this is wrong.”

It wouldn’t be a lie. It really is, and you really shouldn’t. So you’re not sure why throw one leg over his and straddle his thigh. A buzz shoots through you as your swollen core meets the tight muscle of his leg. You’re so close to him like this. So close you can feel the warm puffs of his quickened breath fan your skin, with a faint scent of coffee, toothpaste, and something else, indistinct but distinctly Dave.

Details of his complexion you’ve never noticed before become clear. The worry lines between his brows. The sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. The few hairs he’d missed while shaving, probably in a hurry, that morning.

Almost unwillingly your hips start drawing small circles, chasing release. Dave’s hands haven’t moved an inch, still gripping your hips, following your movements. His eyes are fixed at where your legs clasp around his own, soft movements growing erratic as your pleasure pulls you further.

Under his clothes he’s fully hard now, the fabric of his dress pants stretching around his erection. You imagine the weight of him in your hand, how your fingers would barely meet around his shaft when you jerk him off. You shift forward, thrusting, wanting desperately to feel him, but he holds you in place, pulling his own hips away from you.

“Nuh-uh.” One of his hands releases its grip on you and rises to gently cup your face. The tips of his fingers barely brush your skin. “Not like that.”

“What?” you breathe.

“Just…” Dave’s face contorts slightly as he sighs. “Just take what you need. What you want.”

You continue to grind on his thick thigh, drenching his trousers with each movement. Back and forth, clenching around nothing. As your breath quickens, you hunch over more and more, forehead eventually landing on Dave’s shoulder. Your teeth come down on the soft flesh of your cheek, and you chew, molars slicing through the skin until you taste blood. 

“Come on,” he purrs, his voice hoarse and vibrating in your ear. “Come on, baby, give it to me.”

“I’m gonna–

Your mouth falls open in silent moan, and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound, soaking his already damp cotton shirt in saliva and drops of blood from the inside of your mouth. His grip on your hips is relentless, and he groans through his gritted teeth as you fall over the edge.

“Fucking… come… on.”

And you do.

Your thighs clench around Dave’s, and you can feel him tense up as well, sending new waves of pleasure through your core. The buzzing vibration runs from your middle, through your spine, and sets off another spark at the very top of your skull. Your hairs stand up, goosebumps. The blood pumping in your ears deafens you momentarily. 

With your nose buried in his neck, nuzzled behind his ear, you take a few breaths to restrain yourself. His hands are looser on you now, thumbs drawing small circles on your hip bones. His chest rises and falls underneath you, slowing in time with yours.

And just as you’re about to lift your head from his shoulder, not quite ready to face the reality of what has just happened, what you’ve done, someone else breaks the silence.

“Daddy!”

Molly’s sleepy voice is unmistakable from down the hall. Dave’s hands are off you in a second, and you barely have time to react before he’s on his feet.

“Dave, I’ll take her–”

But he’s already out the door.

Once you’ve flattened your skirt and straightened up in the hallway bathroom, you find them in the kitchen. Molly is blabbering, Alice yawning, while Dave is listening and laughing, arranging their lunch in funny shapes on their plates. Cucumbers for eyes, a slice of bell pepper for a pair of red lips, a piece of mushroom becomes the nose. The children giggle at their Dad’s shenanigans. 

You stand in the doorway, observing. Domestic bliss. They’re not your kids and he’s not your husband, and this moment is not for you. As the kids’ laughter and the clang of kitchenware reverberates through the open kitchen, you catch yourself wondering how Dave will explain the stains you made on his clothes to Carol.

taglist:

@hellfire-state-of-mind @janaispunk @joelscruff @takochansugoi @paanchusblog

@pastelpinkflowerlife @mountainsandmayhem @inept-the-magnificent @bitccchmood @sullyselena

@akjnoris @teanbean521 @joelalorian @lucifurrr @theetherealbloom

@lightdragonrayne @skbeaumont @itsjoelver @fhatbhabiee @peachesandcreams-world

@clownd1ck @alwayscairo @halfpastgrace @clarysthing @mellymbee

@seasonaldelusion @scenaaario @punkshort @frogturtlejr @kt86

@sweetperfectioncloud @hannahkatharine @fandomoniumflurry @emisreadingstuff @knopes-waffles

@your-teeth-glow-in-the-dark @rsquared31 @r3dheadedwitch @alejaa-a @myhappyplaceofstuff

@yodasgreenthumb @dovedewdrop @saradika @clawdee @harrisonispunk

@lostfleurs @always-andromeda @amanitacowboy

This was sooooo good!!!!! 😍😍😍😍

decisions

dave york x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~1.4k summary: Dave tries to end things. dave york masterlist | AO3

warnings: mean!dave, infidelity (dave is cheating on his wife with reader), Equalizer 2 AU, NSFW, some proofreading, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance (reader has hair dave can pull), degradation, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating

a/n: i wasn't originally going to write for dave york but he's actually my favorite pedro boy 💖 i think he would be so mean and passionate and romantic and and and-

“I’m not here for that,” Dave snaps in anger. “We’re done, I can’t keep doing this anymore.” 

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, a pretty pout on your face at Dave’s words. Your fingers trace up your thigh and you slowly lift the bottom of your nightie.

Dave’s eyes flicker from your silky thighs to your tits that are dangerously close from spilling out of the thin fabric. His jaw clenches but he resumes his pacing and drags a hand through his hair. 

“I think–I think my wife knows. She can’t–she’ll take the kids–”

His wife, Carol. He never says her name, only ever says wife. You assume it’s to remind himself of the oath he made to her. Maybe it’s shame and guilt, a way to keep himself grounded. Even if he doesn’t wear his ring when he comes to see you. 

With a small smirk on your lips, you stand from the bed and make your way to Dave. He tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling just as you stand on your tippy toes and place your hands behind his neck. 

“Don’t,” he whispers. 

He closes his eyes and you see his throat move with a harsh swallow. 

You run the tip of your nose along his jawline and breathe in his cologne. It’s the same one you bought him on your joint trip to Paris a few months ago. 

“If that’s what you want,” you whisper, hovering your lips right over his, “then we’ll stop.” 

You take a step back and turn to walk towards your dress and heels that sit on the chair by the bed. Before you can even take two steps, Dave’s hand slides through your hair. 

He presses his front to your back and pulls your hair, forcing you to look at him. Dave’s other hand reaches up to your neck to tilt your head backward. 

His lips land on yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue with a taste of possessiveness. Dave squeezes your neck in warning, you assume because of the smile plastered on your face as you kiss him back. 

You know he won’t ever end this. He’s in too deep, too infatuated and crazed by you to actually leave. 

You grind back on his bulge and elicit a moan from him. Just as quickly as the kiss started, it ends with Dave pushing you face first into the mattress. 

“You have no fucking respect for what’s sacred,” he hisses. 

Dave yanks your hips back and flips up your nightgown. He lands a harsh slap to your naked asscheek, switching from one to the other, uncaring of your yelps of discomfort.

You gasp for air, whimpering at the swipe of his fingers through your folds. 

“I was a good husband before I met you,” Dave says in anger. 

“Then go back to your wife,” you snap. 

Dave removes his fingers and spanks you again, landing one right between your legs. 

“Fucking brat.”

He stays fully clothed, only taking a few seconds to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You feel him notch the tip of his cock at your entrance and in one smooth thrust, he’s fully inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan, twisting the comforter in your hands. 

"Nothing to say?" he laughs, relishing in the way you twist and turn on the bed.

His fingers sink into your hips and he begins to fuck you in hard, punishing thrusts. The sarcastic remarks you had ready, waiting on the tip of your tongue, are now gone–fucked out of your head by Dave. 

His cock stretches your sensitive walls, bumps that sweet spot inside of you, but it’s all a little too much. He’s large, not just in length but a man so much stronger than you, that can manhandle and move you in any way he wants. 

The anticipation of seeing Dave, having him snap at you in anger–of course it made your pussy slick with need. But you’re so used to him being needy, licking your pussy until you cry or making you dry hump him while he kisses your lips swollen. 

There are random moments like these, where he’ll focus on his own pleasure. Missions go wrong, he loses funding for his projects, and he’s left with a sense of failure and rage. 

Carol is too soft for his tastes. A perfect, catholic wife who doesn’t see the need for sex outside of procreation. 

Then came you, temptation and sin all wrapped up in red silk and stilettos. 

You were the first to lead his hands around your neck and moan “tighter, please.” He wore his wedding ring that first night, imprinting the warm metal on your skin, and yet you still left purple bruises and bite marks on his chest, hoping his wife would find them. 

“Hurts, baby?” Dave coos, sliding a hand down your arched back. 

A stuttered “y–yes” falls from your lips, cheek pressed to the mattress and mouth open in a perfect o. 

With each of his thrusts, his heavy balls slap over your wet folds. You pussy swallows his length, tightens and flutters, fights through the discomfort of his size. His groans echo throughout the hotel room and his hands only grip you tighter to him. 

“Good,” Dave mutters, “you deserve it.” 

“Yes, yes,” you moan, shuddering as he spanks you again. 

“Such a fucking slut, yeah? Sleeping with married men,” Dave groans, pistoning his hips faster, “ruining good–shit–good marriages.” 

His hand reaches to swipe at your swollen clit in harsh circles and you push back, turning your head to scream into a pillow. 

“You think that because–” he groans, shuddering as you tighten around him, “you have such a perfect, little cunt, you can ruin my life?” 

You’re hanging on by a thread. His tip kisses your cervix, reaching the end of you while you bounce your ass back onto his hips. Your pussy ripples over his cock, finally reaching that point where it’s unimaginably slick and sticky. 

You want to respond. Remind him that yes, your pussy is a perfect little hole for him to fuck and destroy. Instead, you whimper and grip the comforter while a full body shudder courses through you and your belly tightens. 

“Dirty fucking whore,” Dave hisses, “you fuck other married men like this?” 

You’re so close, with heat flooding your belly and your brain becoming numb. Dave removes his fingers from your clit, and spanks you again in three successive slaps. 

“Answer me when I–fuck–ask you a question.” 

“No, no, no,” you chant, reaching for his hand and placing it right back. “J–just you, Dave. Only you.” 

“That’s right,” he murmurs, swirling your clit with your juices, “this pussy is just for me.” 

His movements become sloppy, pounding you harder than before. Dave’s cock fills every centimeter of your cunt and suddenly you're cumming, shuddering on the bed and screaming into the pillow from the force of your orgasm. 

His groan echoes through the room and he presses his hips onto yours, pumping you so full of his length that your whole body jostles with each thrust. 

“I’m gonna cum in this slut pussy,” he mutters, giving you barely any warning before the flood of warm liquid inside of you. “Remind this cunt,” he moans, too far gone to understand what he’s saying, “who owns her.” 

You’re sure at this point you’ll be sore tomorrow, from your pussy and the vice grip he has on your hips. 

Dave throbs, slams his cock into you until you’ve milked him dry. He collapses on the bed next to you, sweaty and still fully clothed with only his wet cock now resting on his belly. 

His hands reach for your head and pushes. You immediately understand what he wants and with trembling limbs, you move down to his stomach and swallow as much of his cock as you can. 

It’s covered in your combined mess, sticky and salty and only for you. His fingers thread through your hair while you suck and lick away the evidence. Your eyes flutter closed and you let him gently fuck your mouth with his now softened cock. 

“Pretty whore,” he grunts, trembling from exhaustion, “look at how well she cleans up my big cock.” 

He eventually strips out of his clothes and drapes your body over his. The both of you lay there, letting the hotel AC cool your sweaty skin while he drags his fingers down your spine. 

“What am I going to do about you?” he asks, watching as you slip into a deep sleep.

PEDRO PASCAL as DAVE YORK The Equalizer 2 (2018) dir. Antoine Fuqua

Something like that, yeah

My pretty men - part 3

Yeah because SW and OUAT fandoms deserve those too 😝😘