#dave york drabble

[quinnnfabrgay-writes]

set stood up

ft. dave york (and one friends reference)

for @happypedrohours Bouquets of Pedro Challenge

❤️ after pestering you for months, you finally let your friend set you up on a blind date, only names and numbers exchanged so the two of you could coordinate. you had arrived a bit early, pre-date jitters getting the best of you, so the hostess had pointed you towards the bar, unable to seat you without both of you being present

❤️ minutes ticked on, anxiously checking your phone to see if they had been held up, suddenly gotten sick, anything to explain their absence but continuously met with nothing. the bartender not much help for your nerves or ego after asking "waiting for someone?" to which you responded "yeah, set up on a blind date, but they’re still not here." their response is what gave the final blow to whatever semblance of confidence you had left: "aww shame. do you think they saw you and thought they could do better and then left?"

❤️ they were called away before you could even respond. well now you had thought that. you were just about to leave, head tucked in shame, before another bartender came up to you, set a napkin and drink down on the bar before you. you were just about to let him know you didn't order that before he cut you off

❤️ "compliments from the gentleman on the end," he gestured towards the end of the bar where a strikingly handsome stranger had been sitting. you raised the glass towards him, a gentle and shy smile thrown his way, your heart racing as he stood up and made his way towards the empty stool next to you

❤️ "feel free to tell me to buzz off, but it didn't seem right that you were sitting here alone. especially looking like that."

a/n: i know it's not much, but when i got "stood up on a date with dave york" i couldn't get this little idea out of my head. Happy Valentine's Day loves 🥰

[creedslove]

✨ DRABBLE MASTERLIST ✨

✨ MAIN MASTER

(series and one shots) HERE

✨ HEADCANON MASTERLIST

• Masterlist ONE

• Masterlist TWO

✨ AGENT WHISKEY

• The horse pendant (angst)

✨ DAVE YORK

• Dave falling on his knees for you (fluff)

✨ JAVIER PEÑA

• We can't 💔 (angst)

• We can't 💔 PART TWO (angst)

• You're mine (fluff)

• Macarena 🎊 (fluff)

• La Lluvia 🌧️ (fluff)

• Being a boy dad (fluff)

✨ JOEL MILLER

• Joel meets you at the gym (fluff)

• Joel and you listen to music on the record player (fluff/smut)

• Don't do this (angst)

• Joel taking care of his sick baby (fluff)

• Your light (angst/fluff)

• His ✨ (smut/fluff)

✨ MARCUS PIKE

[mothandpidgeon]

Close Shave (Dave York drabble)

Character: Dave York

Words: 400

Rating: not explicit

Warnings: shaving?

Summary: Just a drabble about Dave shaving his face.

A/N: I haven't finished writing a damn thing in six months I blame the baby but here are 400 words that happened. Please say hi I miss it here.

---

Dave unzips his toiletry bag and pulls out the battery powered razor. He begins trimming away at his beard. The cramped airplane bathroom isn’t the best place for the job but he wants to get rid of his scruff as soon as he can. 

The facial hair had been handy on this mission, disguising his sharp jawline and darkening his features, but Dave is eager to leave that behind. This work leaves him feeling dirty and nauseated. His whiskers fall into the tiny sink and Dave feels the weight lifting already.

He can’t wash it all away, not here, not now, but he can at least step off the plane feeling a little more like himself. 

Carol loves his face bare and had complained about his stubble constantly before he’d left. Every morning after he shaves, she kisses his soft lips and lets out a little purr that makes him want to take her back to bed. He needs that now, needs to lose himself between her legs, needs to make someone feel something other than pain.

Once everything’s trimmed close, Dave puts away the electric razor. He lathers with shaving cream and starts on his chin. This razor is a fancy thing with a polished wooden handle, a father’s day present from his girls. He knows Molly and Alice didn’t pick it out but he still thinks about them each time he uses it. Molly likes to sit on the lid of the toilet seat and watch him shave on Saturday mornings. He showed her where he dabs cologne, how to patch nicks with bits of toilet paper. 

When the girls were younger, Dave tried growing out the beard despite his wife’s protests. He liked the way it made him look mysterious and rugged. The thing itched like hell. Dave gave in and shaved it off but when he appeared at the breakfast table with his naked face, Alice burst into tears. Her toddler mind couldn’t understand that he was still Daddy and she didn’t let him near her all day.

Dave tolerates the sting of aftershave on his cheeks. He looks at himself in the mirror. Clean shaven, his face is open and friendly. Trustworthy, neighborly. That amiable demeanor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s still tired, worn down. Alice was onto something. He might look the same but, right now, he’s a man she wouldn’t recognize.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

feasting

He has been starving the whole day. Asked you for pictures and you sent them like the good girl that you are. But those pictures haven't satisfied him.

All the lace he couldn't touch or sniff. All the soft flesh he couldn't squeeze. All the crevices he couldn't pull apart and explore (as if he hadn't explored them already).

The emergency video he has in a secret folder on his phone didn't help either. Jerking off in one of the restroom stalls with your moans in his ears, shaky footage of his cock stretching you open and sliding back out of your weeping pussy on the tiny screen. It provided relief, yes. But he hated how undignified the act of spilling his cum into a toilet was.

And when he finally got home you wait for him, just like he asked you to: on your stomach, on the bed, busying yourself with whatever, he doesn't care.

"Hands and knees," he orders and when you're not fast enough he pulls you up himself with his hands gripping your hips.

The mattress dips down, a sharp pain runs through your body and straight into your core when he smacks your bare ass just for good measure.

Dave kneads you, your thighs and ass, groaning at the softness of you and at how much of you there is. So much that it spills through his fingers.

"Had me acting like some pathetic asshole today," he growls and yanks your joke of a lace panty to the side. "Jerked off like a stupid teenager. You fucking tease."

Another smack and you yelp and clench around nothing.

"Don't worry, I got you," he says to your pussy and leans closer. Sniffing her. Gently blowing his warm breath over her and she responds with another clench. "Daddy got you," he murmurs so softly that you almost get jealous about how he speaks to your cunt.

He licks his lips, his tongue slowly running over the corner of his mouth before he spreads you open. Admiring you. Admiring his favorite crevices. Admiring his personal playground, his favorite holes.

He'll eat you out until you can't even kneel anymore. He was starving but he'll feast now.

Dave York masterlist

this blurb on ao3

[aurorawritestoescape]

GET A TASTE

Ex Joel Miller x f!reader x bf Dave York || 880 words

Drabble for Table for Three series || can be read alone

Summary: the three of you have some ice cream fun

Tw: 18+, smut, food play, horny reader, mfm vibes, not specified age gap, dom/sub dynamic, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, voyeurism, f!masturbation, being naughty in public (not caught), cum eating, pet names (baby, kitten, babygirl, sweetheart). Pics are for the mood only, reader wears a dress, but has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: thank you to @survivingandenduring for the ice cream socializer ask, which inspired this drabble😘 I’m so horny for these two it’s ridiculous. Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Love you all❤️

Table for Three || Who’s your Daddy? || MASTERLIST

You’re sitting on Dave’s lap in a little outdoor cafe. It’s pretty empty and you wish they could play with you right then and there, like they’ve done before. Joel’s manspreading on the chair next to you, smirking at the way you squirm on top of your boyfriend’s thighs. But how can you sit still when his huge cock is right under the place you need him the most? You feel your naked pussy get wet and fear you’re going to soak through your thin summer dress.

Joel’s smug face mocks your need and you scoff, glancing into his ice cream bowl that he’s ordered,

“Chocolate, pff, boring.” You roll your eyes and add, “You should try something new once in a while, Joel.”

“I tend to enjoy things I always loved.” His voice, calm and gruff, makes your pussy throb, and you avert your eyes under his intense stare.

“Kitten, put your claws away,” Dave tells you with a smile but Joel knows you’re trying to rile him up.

“It’s ok, Dave. I love a little bit of scratchin’. She used to do a lot on my back when I was giving it to her good.”

“Or I was just trying to make you lift all your suffocating weight off me,” you retort, pouting your lips. You’re horny and hot and want them to finally fuck you.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head, and Dave sighs, his hot breath fanning your neck. You turn your face to him and peck his cheek with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, daddy, I’ll be good now.”

“I know you will, baby.”

You turn back to Joel and see him take a spoonful of the ice cream and shove it in his mouth. He swallows the treat and then slowly licks the spoon clean, not taking his eyes off you. You’re mesmerized by his tongue gliding over the shiny metal. You imagine his sweet lips on your body, his wet tongue sliding between your folds and suddenly the air gets too stuffy around you, Dave’s body is too hot against yours and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

Joel narrows his piercing eyes and asks, “Got too hot for you, sweetheart?” He motions at the cold treat and adds, “want to cool off?”

“I have mine,” you look at the pistachio flavored dessert on the table in front of you — Dave’s favorite.

“C’mon, babygirl, just a lick,” Joel tempts you, “Good old chocolate ice cream.”

You lick your lower lip before biting it, and turn to Dave, searching for his reaction. Dave rubs your bare thigh with his big hand and says,

“Go ahead, kitten, you deserve a treat.”

He bucks his hips and your whole body rises up and you feel him big and stiff under your ass cheek.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, feeling yourself gush more. Then you look back at Joel whose dark gaze makes you burn up even more.

You expect him to feed you his ice cream with a spoon but instead he slides his index finger through the dessert, scoops some and brings it to your lips.

You have no time to think as it’s about to drip on your pretty dress so you hastily wrap your lips around his thick digit. It tastes amazing and you close your eyes with a moan, while your tongue is swirling around his finger, gathering all the ice cream off his skin.

“Someone’s hungry,” you hear Dave smirk and your pussy aches with need as the men laugh.

“Lick it all off, sweetheart, I don't want my hand to be all sticky.”

“Yes, kitten, suck on it better,” your boyfriend encourages you.

Then they both watch your tongue and lips dance around Joel’s finger, as you revel in the taste of the chocolate and your ex’s skin. You’re loudly slurping and whimpering with pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel praises you, slowly moving his digit back and forth between your lips.

Suddenly you gasp, when Dave's hand slithers under your dress and he finds your wet and bare cunt under there.

“My perfect little slut,” Dave groans against your neck as his fingers dip between your folds and he begins stroking your clit.

Joel pulls your dress up slightly, so he could see your pussy and then pulls his finger out of your eager mouth. You whine but in a moment your ex covers your mouth with his and kisses you, tasting the chocolatey sweetness off your tongue.

Dave gently nibbles on your shoulder, twirling your clit, and soon you come as Joel swallows your moans and your boyfriend prolongs your orgasm, rubbing your pulsating clit with his fingers.

When your climax passes, you part from Joel and Dave’s hand leaves your drenched pussy. With half lidded eyes you watch him lick your juices off his fingers.

Joel palms his huge bulge and asks you, “by the way, what’s your favorite flavour, babygirl?”

“Pistachio,” you reply, giving Dave a soft smile. Then you look back at Joel, your eyes glinting with mischief, and add, “But sometimes I crave chocolate.”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic💖🌸

Table for Three || Who’s your Daddy? || Masterlist

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

Tag list for Joel and Dave @bonezone44 @janaispunk @neverwheremoonchild @survivingandenduring @tammythr @604to647 @baronessvonglitter @psychicsheepstranger @disregardedplant @shessweetsour @merz-8

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💖

[penvisions]

dev writes even more now {dave york drabble}

working title: work conduct

pairing: dave york x coworker! reader

summary: you're just his coworker, so why does he feel compelled to unravel all your secrets?

word count: 1k<

a/n: in honor of being told my writing is terrible and i need to stop pushing an 'agenda' here's a little thing i wrote to get out of my head. this is a new character for me, but i'm proud of the vibes i captured here.

-> navigation

He's good at reading people. Figuring out who they are in the spaces where words and titles can't fill. The habits they exhibit when they first get into the office for the morning, whether they immediately go to the breakroom to start a coffee or exchange morning pleasantries with coworkers. the habits they exhibit in the afternoons when the work day is done, if they linger about talking to the same people as in the morning or if they quickly pack up their stuff and rush off to their cars in the parking garage.

But for the life of him, Dave York cannot get a read on you.

You're not...fake, per se. But he sees the way your smile drops when you turn away from a conversation or how your voice drops an octave when you hang up a phone call. He tracks the coffee you have in the morning, the water you sip on all day long, and the diet soda you always have after lunch. He never actually witnesses you eating lunch, but he knows your energy perks up a bit after the hour you disappear for in the middle of each day.

It reminds him of how his daughters both find their high-pitched, excited voices after a good breakfast shoved into frowny faces.

The thought brings a smile to his face as he watches you press your ID badge to the sensor to be let in the door through the thick glass wall. The office is on an upper floor, blocked off from the general public that can access the building.

You look up right then, catching his eyes and the smile you give him is dazzling. He blinks, slightly taken aback by the bright expression and then your heels are clacking on the gleaming tile as you head in his direction. Just as you cross over onto the thin carpet that cushions area of cubicles, a loud snap sounds into the air.

Both your smile and leg buckle downwards at the same time.

He's moving quickly, instincts firing on the highest setting at all times. His arms circle around your waist and the thigh of leg donning the now broken shoe. He's got you tugged close to his body, dark eyes gazing down at you as the scent of your perfume wafts over him. Cirtus and rose swirls in his lungs and his fingers curl into your skin where he holds you.

"Easy now."

"Who knew a meet cute like this was on the agenda for today?" Your voice is sultry, paired with a wink that has him taken aback for the second time in as many minutes. Your nails dig into the front of his dress shirt, startling in how they catch the light and shift from what he initially thought was black to a dark, deep red.

"Gotta say, I don't think I warrant the whole 'falling at your feet' display." His voice is slightly raspy, the pitch of it reverberating deep on his chest.

"Alright, Agent York. Because that was totally planned." You huff out a breath as you begin to push off of him. Your nails sliding over the fabric that guards his middle from the smooth feel of them. It's a hobble that you do, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder as you lean down to take the broken heel off of your raised foot.

He gets more of that intoxicating scent as your hair brushes underneath his chin as you remove the other, still intact heel as well.

"Aw, hell. Looks like it's completely snapped." He watches as you inspect it with a sad tilt of your head and of course his fingers twitch to reach out and see if he could fix it for you.

to be continued...

taglist: @evolnoomym @clawdee @guiltyasdave

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

“I want you to fuck me as hard as you can and I don’t want you to stop, even if I tell you to.” 5 sentence fic with Dave York please 😁😁

Pairing: Dave York x fem. reader

Warnings: implied smut (nothing is really happening yet, but you get where it's going), restraints, bdsm vibes, reader is Dave's ex wife

“I want you to fuck me as hard as you can and I don’t want you to stop, even if I tell you to," you say, arms already spread out above your head against the mattress, wrists crossed, waiting for him to tie you up.

He was so surprised, he didn't even question how you got past the security system of his new home.

And Dave rarely was taken by surprise due to the nature of his work, but finding you, completely naked legs spread, waiting for him in his bed was truly not something he would ever had thought of.

Mostly because you had made the divorce a living nightmare for him, taken half of his everything and then fucked one of his (now very dead) best friends as revenge.

Not that he didn't deserve it, with the way he had treated you throughout your short, but intense marriage.

Taking another look at you, your beautiful body spread our for him, nipples hard, your pussy almost dripping into his sheets, he took a deep breath, before he turned his back towards you and walked into his closet, searching for the box he hadn't touched for longer than he'd liked to admit.

When he made his way back towards his bedroom his shirt was off and he was holding the familiar leather restraints and, and you gasped when you saw it, the leather wrapped spreader bar he had love to use on you during your marriage to keep you spread for him.

"Turn around and hands on your back, Mrs. York."

[jpbpxma]

hi, this is a new writing blog for pedro pascal & his characters. I have many ideas of my own to post but I'm also accepting requests for scenarios, specific characters of his you'd like to see written or just anything really, even if it's just to talk so shoot me an ask :)<3

(yes the picture is a way to bring your attention to this post)

[angelickks]

𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋⁷⁷⁷ㅤ

a mix of fics, drabbles, blurbs, headcanons, moodboards, and more!

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎 "𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐄" 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐑ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 "we gotta fly over the fuckin' andes, man"

bf!francisco "frankie" morales x controversially young gf!reader

𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 “daddy is a state of mind”

play this while you ruin me - drabble series

𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 “that is so goddamn stupid”

01. les

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐎, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 "you want a drink?"

02. off to the races

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐧' 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐊𝐒

[nerdieforpedro]

One Failed Search - Security Log Drabbles

Part of the Secret Springs Creative Shenanigans

Frankie Morales x Chloé Thomas (plus size AFAB OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Lieutenant Chloé Thomas is trying to investigate Frankie Morales - the Harvey Air pilot that she can barely find information on. It does not go well, or perhaps it did?

Warnings: Jokes and puns, fluff, food reference, very bad nicknames, an angry and flexible York, implied smut? (That came early), double M’s, our pilot being a menace, lots of ass and sass, a sprinkle of Spanish, anxiety, crime listings

Word Count: over 2.3k (Drabble? I mean, it’s what I told myself originally.)

Notes: I decided to make it a personal log because that made me giggle the most, I apologize in advance @secretelephanttattoo but you do have two M’s so we’ll call it even. Possible guest mentions (they didn’t ask and neither did I but I thought of them and then stuck cute things in the graphic so here we are) of @goodwithcheese @maggiemayhemnj and @tinytinymenace

You’ll find yourselves. 😎 ❤️❤️❤️

Thanks to @megamindsecretlair and @soft-persephone for listening to me babble about it. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine & @fhatbhabiee for the Spanish. I may use what I asked later.

Main Masterlist/ Frankie Morales Masterlist

My name Chloé Thomas - head of Top Flight Security for the Secret Springs resort. I would write this out but the thought of annoying York with the sound of my voice delights me greatly. I’m starting my little bit of fun now. That's funny because my code name used to be siren because…wait.

Anyway, I’ve just finished messaging York again about final preparations for security of the Secret Springs resort. He is still refusing the red short-shorts, I told him that the guys work out to stay fit, why can’t they show it off a little? We might even want to think about a calendar at some point, this was a joke, but Dave got mad. I told him he could put a pair to sport around for his Lady Gouda Cheese and he promptly messaged me back in all caps, “DO NOT MENTION HER AT ALL. I WILL NOT HAVE YOU GIVING HER IDEAS!!!” He used all sorts of angry emojis but I know that he’d do it for her. He also said not to call her that nickname but it’s a fancy cheese. I think. She also has a thing about ties and leather jackets. I never gave her ideas. He blames me, but she tells me what she has him do. I didn’t know York was that flexible. Good for him I say, also it explains why he doesn’t want anyone touching his neck.

Everyone has their kinks. Mine seems to be voices and hands. A strange combination. I also found another one - broad men.

Correction - this is about one such man. The pilot of this charter plane for Harvey Air. I swear it was only because I couldn’t find any information on him other than his name, his date of birth, nationality and current address. It sounds like plenty but I’m usually able to see past work history, convictions or court cases, financials and such. He has none. It’s all blacked out. Dave said he vetted him but it’s still strange. The mayor’s Pooka Shells (her main squeeze Marcus Pike) and Silver Rim (her second squeeze Marcus Moreno - they’re still workshopping his code name. She said she would let me know the final one. Gotta tell the difference between those Marcus’s) both vouch for this man.

It makes me more curious, which is why I spoke very kindly to the flight attendant and she let me slide by into the cockpit. I think she was too busy trying to flirt with a man who had been wearing a flannel shirt but took it off and now he’s in a white t-shirt. We haven’t taken off yet and the pilot isn’t here so I poke around, maybe there’s a clue.

I’m caught red handed, bent over laying on my stomach over the seat because I’m too damn short, trying to reach a small duffle bag next to the pilot’s chair. “Can I help you Miss? And careful standing up, you might give me more of a show than you already are.”

I freeze, embarrassed that I’m not only caught but might have my ass out. Mayor El said, ‘Wear a dress, you’ll look pretty in pink.’ I mean, yes I do and I love how I look in fuchsia but I don’t want to show the man my cheeky undies, no matter how much I like that they’re peach and match my bralette. I lean back and put a hand carefully on the control panel? I forgot to ask him what it’s actually called. I don’t stand up yet because I feel a little too much air on the back of my thighs and it feels like he could already see my drawers or will be soon.

“I’m going to reach under your arms and lift you up. That alright Miss?” The pilot asks and I agree. I’m horrified, how he’s going to be touching me and feeling my arms. He might not even be able to and then we’re both going to be on the floor in this cramped space and might delay the flight. God I’m going to hear about this from the Mayor, York and everyone. His tone thus far has been one of concern, I’m not sure why, I was trying to go through his stuff. To be honest, I kinda just want to lie here and not face him, I’ve never had a good poker face and I’ll likely have my mouth open from his resonant voice. My body is a different type of tense now.

Surprisingly, I’m up on my feet while I’m still working out how I’m going to get off the floor when we both fall. We did not. His hands are sitting underneath my arms for a few moments before he retracts them. I turn to face him and it’s horrible. Just the worst possible outcome.

One of his large hands is on his chin. He’s wearing a hat that says, ‘Standard Heating Oil’ and it’s covering onyx curls that frame his face and circle the back of his neck. Stroking the scruff on his cheeks, he asked me a question and I could only respond, “Run that by me again please.” His eyes are the color of my favorite flavor - chocolate. Damn it all to hell. His scant file did not have a photo, he is a beautiful man who has a slight scowl on his face.

He sighs and repeats, “I said I’m the pilot and is there a reason you’re in my seat trying to get my bag?” Very good question. Important question. At this point, I should have gave it a moment and then responded but I did not. Because, well I am me.

“I didn’t know pilots came that broad or strong. What do they feed you? Sure it isn’t some deluxe hearting oil?” There have been many moments in life where I have wanted to hide under a blanket or lock myself in a room. This is a whole new level and I need to be in a padded room. The only blessing is that instead of kicking me out of the cockpit, he laughs. I’m not embarrassed, I’m way past that. Who needs shame when his entire face has brightened? Good thing my emotions tend to change quickly.

The booming sound of his laugh coupled with him throwing his head back and holding his chest, enables me to have a small grin. I’ve made him laugh, I might be able to distract him a bit more. Slowly, I move toward the door and at his side. Frankie steps past me and picks up his bag. It has his wallet, a guide book to the Secret Springs, cell phone and a water bottle. “Am I cleared Lieutenant?” His question makes my eyebrows raise, he has a shit-eating grin. “I know you’re in charge of security. Both Marcus’s told me.” Pooka Shells and Chrome Rim or Silver Dollar - whatever the Mayor actually calls him, I’ll shake the both of them when I get there.

“I see. So they told you my title, did they tell you my name Francisco?” I cross my arms and lean my weight back on my right leg. A stance I use when I’m trying to seem pissed, really I’m hiding my shock. Apparently, I truly am easy to read and he puts the bag down and his hands up. Messing me, I might be a bit pissed now.

“Surprisingly, they did not. Said you’d get mad if they mentioned it. They weren’t supposed to know your name is but it was…teased out of the Mayor. Not sure which one did it.” My hands are over my face. Dammit Mayor….bad enough they know and they can get information out of you. It should be fine, maybe. That’s something I’ll need to follow up on.

“Just, not everyone needs to know. We’re going to have plain clothes guards to ensure safety at the resort. I’ll go back to my seat now. Sorry for trying to look through your things. I don’t like unknowns. Your file was scant and even though the double M’s, York and the Mayor said things were fine-“

“You trust but verify. Understandable. More people should. Well lieutenant,” Morales crosses his arms and takes a step toward me. “You’re welcome to sit in here with me. I can fly this bird without your help, but you seem interesting company teniente (Lieutenant).” His sizable palm pats the backrest of the co-pilot’s seat and snort. Why did I snort?! I avoid that even when I laugh really hard. Dangerous, but I sat down anyway. I was invited after all.

The flight over is smooth as butter, with the exception of a spot of turbulence and landing the plane, I didn’t notice the time go by accept it was too short. And that Frankie mutters while on the ascent and descent and it nearly has me arching my back in my seat. Thankfully I did have a silver of composure and fiddled with my headphones. All the guests are off the plane so I exit with Frankie and the flight attendant who is despondent that Surly Flannel (I didn’t call him this to his face. His resting face is a disapproving glare) has not agreed to see her after disembarking. Instead, he meets a woman who’s holding a boom box and they laugh about a flower. I didn’t get to hear what kind.

The Mayor competes her speech with one Marcus on each side, everyone is excited and there don’t seem to be any reports of thief, violence or the like so far. People are just having fun. It’s nice and peaceful. Where do I go now? I’m in this pretty dress with no where to go for the afternoon.

I mill around the security HQ and decide to explore in the evening when it’s cooled off a bit.

But of course the pilot finds me. “You still on duty lieutenant?” He’d been wearing a simple red shirt and cargo pants with fifty pockets on them earlier. Now he was on a white tank almost silk looking shirt with pink shorts that hit just above his knee. If they were a little higher, I’d be able to see a bit more thigh…

“Always on duty. Are you enjoying yourself so far Francisco?” I ask mainly to distract myself and focus on his face instead of looking down at his shorts. I was transparent about it so I’m sure he noticed. I need to be away from him, I’m just going to keep raking over his body with my eyes and it’s not right. But also…it’s not fair that he looks and smells amazing.

“Yup. Scrounging up people for the bar and the games.” The bar part fits, picturing him pouring drinks and shaking that silver mix cup thing with his arms flexing, biceps curling that devilish grin on his face. I meant to exhale but didn’t open my mouth and just hummed. I can normally present like a sane person, he makes my brain short circuit.

This is the first time I’ve seen Frankie react besides laughing. Humming is pretty weird and I’ve only met him today. “Why games at the bar? The drunk people should be enough to handle.” It sounds like a horrible combination and ripe for problems. I don’t need to go to this bar or any bar with him.

He shifts his weight and tilts his head. Then holds his hand out, “Come see teniente (lieutenant). Judge for yourself.” I shouldn’t have taken this hand, more like I couldn’t help it. I’m weak against that grin of his. Morales has charmed many a person with curling lips like that.

Now Frankie is pouring the drinks and I’m on the outskirts of a twister game that is all giggles and ass. There’s a darts game going on in the corner, a lady keeps trying to start karaoke but three of the other local shop owners keep unplugging her microphone. There one man with a scar on over his eye, shirtless and has a woman and her dog who has an adorable rainbow collar on and curls almost as fluffy as Frankie’s sitting in his lap as he drinks out of a chalice.

Where did he get a chalice? Should there be darts over there? Who brought a karaoke machine in here? Why do the twister people have no pants? Like all have nice asses but everything is overwhelming and the two blueberry mint juleps I’ve had are not helping.

Squeezing through a row of cheeks I’m not sure how I ended up in the middle of, I am back at the bar and Frankie has his hand resting in the palm of his hand. “Teniente (Lieutenant), you ever relax? You seem on edge. Have some fun and maybe another drink.” I ordered a mojito this time, change it up a bit. The bar stool I had to hop up on so my feet are hanging. Seeing the bartending pilot at eye level has me clear my throat and swallowing my own spit. My mouth is watering. I need to grip something and there’s only the bar counter. My hands flat against the surface keeps me from floating away.

“Like I said, I’m still on duty. Water please after this drink.” He pours me some on ice to have after my mojito. I remember drinking it. There was some sort of music and he was holding my hand or was holding his. Then my hand was on his chest. I think we were dancing and he switched out with someone so he could come from behind the bar.

I awoke in a room that wasn’t mine and was able to make it back in time for the morning security briefing with the double M’s, York and the Mayor. It did not help that I was wearing the same dress from yesterday. There were lingering looks, but no one asked.

Thankfully, York has agreed to wipe the video if I never mention red shorts again. It’s a great loss, but I concede. Hanging over a concrete barrier is never a good look, thankfully Frankie helped me down, but what was I trying to do? Was it that bad that I blocked it out?

Ending day one log:

Violence - None

Public intoxication - Three (sadly I was one of them)

Public Nudity - Five (not as many as I expected)

Destruction of Property - One (I don’t remember that either)

Injuries: Minor = six, Major = none

Chloé’s well-being: took majors blows but might recover TBD

Security Log Two

[wannab-urs]

Hozier Drabble Challenge Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome to the Hozier Drabble Challenge. Each writer was given a song and a pedro boy and challenged to write a drabble based on that. Please heed the warnings on each fic! Happy Reading!

Main Masterlist | Fanfic Events | AO3 | Kofi

Hozier

The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To by @freelancearsonist - Joel

In a Week by sweetercalypso - Marcus Pike

Sedated by @luxurychristmaspudding - Dave

Cherry Wine by @julesonrecord - Whiskey

It Will Come Back by @beskarandblasters - Max Phillips

Foreigner's God by kewwrites - Dave

Work Song by @eupheme - Dave

Like Real People Do by fhatbhabie - Frankie

Wasteland, Baby

Talk Refined by @ohforficsake - Ezra

Sunlight by @lotusbxtch

Nina Cried Power

Moment's Silence by sp00kymulderr - Oberyn

From Eden

From Eden by planet-marz1 - Dieter

Unreal, Unearth

Butchered Tongue by blind-assassin-12 - Din

Given a Name by @missredherring - Oberyn

De Selby Part 1 by beardedjoel - Frankie

Eat Your Young by jksprincess10 - Marcus Moreno

Damage Gets Done by burntheedges - Max Phillips

Unheard

Too Sweet by missredherring - Din

Fare Well by @nerdieforpedro - Dieter

[danidrabbles]

🎵❤️

It's been a while since you sent this, but thank you so much for the support and for sending me a message ❤️

Send me a 🎵, I’ll put my music on shuffle and write something inspired by that song.

Pairing: Dave York / f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+! smut, masturbation, breasts (mentioned, big enough to at least push together), description of.... explicit videos and me parodying them badly (probably))

Unpaid Intern

“Anyone need a coffee?” you ask, popping your head into the conference room. Everyone in the room turns their head towards you at once, and, feeling on the spot, you add, “I’m um, doing a run, so...”

Everyone rattles off their orders, leaving your boss last.

“I’ll have one,” he says. “You know how I like it.” It could’ve sounded condescending, but it’s more… trusting. 

“All right, mister York,” you say, giving him a nod.

Before you leave, he addresses you, waits until you look him in the eye when he says, “Please, call me Dave.”

You nod again, cheeks heating. 

Later, when you bring everyone’s orders, he’s the only one who thanks you.

– – – – –

You’ve been here for two months now and as the intern, you get the chores other people don’t really want; the office is in the middle of digitising a couple of old documents, and it became your job to do it. You hate to admit it, but it’s actually teaching you something. It has taken up the biggest part of your week, but today, you’re on the brink of finishing it. It makes the day pass fast as you work quickly, but thoroughly, and by the time it’s early evening, everything is done.

When you’re about to leave, Dave is just stepping out of his office.

As he closes the door behind him, his eyes find you with quiet curiosity. “Now, tell me why the intern is one of the last ones out the door.”

You jab your thumb over your shoulder, pointing at the records room. “Only just finished up, but it’s all done.”

“Always making sure everyone is looked after, always got your work done by the end of the day…” He gives you a once over and nods in approval. “You’re a hard worker. I like it.”

His praise makes you soar, a sense of pride making your belly swoop. You have to be careful not to let it show too much. “Thank you, sir–Dave,” you correct quickly.

“Good,” he says with a nod, lingering a little before saying his goodbyes. “See you tomorrow.”

– – – – –

Commute. Dinner. Waste what remains of your evening on the couch. Bed.

Once there, you can’t really settle, the swoop in your belly from earlier replaced with something else that makes you buzz. After turning, tossing and turning again, you reach for your phone, finally give into what you hope will help.

A week or so ago, your best friend had recommended you… a video. She texted you the link, added the comment, I think this is the first time I’ve ever thought a guy's dick was pretty. 

Now might be the time to see if you agree.

After reaching for your earphones on your nightstand and popping them in, you scrolling back in your text history to find and click the link. The screengrab under the play button is lewd. It's an actor sitting on an office chair with an actress in his lap, but they’re reduced to just their body parts; the camera is focussed on his cock buried deep inside of her…

Settling back against your pillow, knees spread wide beneath your blankets, you hit play.

The actress’ high, nasally voice does a voiceover about how difficult a new job can be, how hard it is working in an all-male environment, and how she needs her boss’ approval on the report she’s been working on.

The door of her office opens, and an actor enters, the voiceover informing you it’s her boss. "Can I see you in my office, please?" he asks.

You inhale sharply at the sight of him; he looks just like your boss. Your clit throbs in response, the flush of embarrassment and arousal at the reaction going from your crown all the way to the tips of your toes. It gives you pause, one finger hovering over the pause button, another finger teasing yourself over your underwear.

You don’t pause.

They talk about the report; badly acted dialogue where he approves of her work. It’s just build-up for what comes next. As they talk, the actor’s voice becomes his voice. And as the video plays, your eyes flutter closed, using it to build your own little fantasy around it… 

He wouldn't waste time - he's a busy man. But he wouldn’t just pounce on you, either. He’d ease into it a little, charm you; stand close, tell you you look pretty, swipe a strand of hair from your brow as he looks down your blouse. You’d stutter out his name, his title and his last name, and he’d correct you.

“Call me Dave.”

And you’d nod.

“Always taking such good care of everything, but who’s taking care of you, hmm?” says the voice in your ear. “Let me help you.”

He would say something like that, too.

You cup yourself over the fabric between your legs, your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you hear the actors on screen share a kiss, and you take a quick peek to watch their tongues tangle together.

Dave’s plump bottom lip would fit so well between your lips, the both of you testing the waters softly before he'd cup your jaw and deepen the kiss. While his tongue explored your mouth, he’d back you up against his desk, the edge digging into the curve of your ass, the hard ridge of his cock against your front. Wandering hands would roam your body, squeezing your waist, a large palm–

“Let’s get this off, show me these.”

–cupping your chest. You would unbutton your blouse, hands trembling under his watchful gaze, struggling with a few small buttons until the fabric falls open to reveal your heaving chest. 

A single finger would hook in the front of your bra while you shrug your blouse off, and Dave would pull the cup down until it revealed a stiff nipple. Reaching behind your back, you would undo the clasp, making your bra fall away so he could see. 

“Look at these fucking tits,” his voice sails into your ears, followed by an appreciative groan.

You place the phone down next to you so you can still see, but have both hands free, and ruck up the fabric of your shirt. With a groan, you take a breast in your hand and squeeze, before pinching your nipple.

They’d fit in his hands nicely, cupped, squeezed, pushed together, before his mouth would replace a hand to suck at your nipple, graze it with his teeth. 

You watch the actor’s mouth coming off the actress’ chest with an audible pop! before diving down again and getting another taste of her. As he does, she pulls up the short skirt she’s wearing until it’s bunched up around her waist, then lays back on the desk. Her fingers dip between her spread legs and you do the same, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your panties and finally touching yourself. You let out a breathy sound at the contact, dragging some wetness up to roll over your stiff clit.

It's erotic, the idea of yourself laying back like that, tits out, red marks all over them, playing with yourself. You imagine your boss watching, one corner of his mouth pulling up with an amused purse of his lips at your newfound confidence. 

The jiggle of a belt fills your ears, and you watch, enthralled, as the actor’s cock comes into view, bobbing against his stomach when he pulls his pants down to mid thigh. You let out a quiet sound at the sight. He's hard, thick, pink and swollen at the tip. Your friend was right. It's pretty. It fits right with your fantasy. 

Dave would open his belt, pulling it off with quick, rough moves and throwing it aside, before opening his pants to reveal his cock. Your mind can’t help but imagine him the same way, heavy and full, your reaction to it making him give himself a few strokes before taking his place between your legs.

You clench when you hear the actor spit, and an involuntary moan leaves your mouth just when the actress lets out hers. You buck into your own hand, the circles you draw around your clit tightening, speeding up when you feel a familiar pull somewhere below your belly button.

You imagine Dave doing it, spreading your legs and spitting on you, watching it slide down to your opening before smearing his cock through it. It would make him groan when you moan his name in reply to it, giving you the very tip of his cock, both watching as it slips just past that initial bit or resistance. He’d praise your sweet plea’s before you’d even realize they were leaving your lips, and lean down to press a wet, messy kiss to your mouth, slowly sliding into you.

Two fingers slip down, your excitement spiking when you realize how easily the digits can glide inside of yourself. The actors on your screen don’t ease into it, the sound of skin slapping against skin all you can hear. It takes over in your head, matching their pace as you fuck yourself to the idea of Dave’s cock sliding in and out of you.

He’d stretch you open just how you like it, experienced and sure, his fingers digging into your soft hips and using them as leverage to pull you back on his thrusts. His hand would come up on occasion, to paw at your tits just to feel. 

Maybe he’d spank them. 

The office would fill with your muffled moans, mixing in with his whispered approval; how well you’re taking it, how good you feel around him, how he’s been thinking about this ever since you started your internship.

“You like it, baby?” The rough voice in your ear asks. “You like it when I rub your pretty clit?”

Dave’s thumb would slide down the curls above your slit, find your clit to draw circles around it that match the pace he’s fucking you with. Your hushed confirmation would only spur him on, make him fuck you harder.

“Fuck,” you huff, your own thumb mimicking your fantasy, matching every pump of your fingers. You find a good spot with a curl of your fingers, and you concentrate on that.

You’d be a babbling mess. “More. Dave, please. Faster. There–Right fucking there, just like that,” while your fingers desperately claw at his forearms. You’d reach for his tie, twist it around your palm to pull him into a bruising kiss, just how you like it, right before–

“Are you gonna come on this cock?”

You moan into your empty bedroom, nodding to yourself as you find the perfect pace; the swipe of your thumb just so, your fingers hitting something exactly right…

“Fucking do it.”

It shoves you over the edge. Your back comes off the bed, a hand clamping over your mouth to keep yourself from shouting as the walls of your pussy clench desperately around your fingers. You ride it out as quietly as you can, fingers still working until you’re through, and your body falls back against your mattress with a sigh.

In your ears, the scene continues. The actor’s groans mixing in with the actress’ moans until his sounds take over. He pulls out of her roughly, a little laugh escaping him, like he stopped himself just in time.

“Fuck, yeah. Let me taste it, baby,” he says, kneeling at the edge of the desk, pushing his head between the actress’ shaking thighs… 

And between your own legs, your fingers begin moving again.

– – – – –

The next day at work, you’re exhausted and on edge. You’d stayed up far too long, lost in the fantasy, your second orgasm still not enough to douse the arousal coursing through your body. At least your plan had worked: You’d fallen asleep right after–

Suddenly, your name echoes through the hallway. Startled, you look over your shoulder to see mister York's head peek out of the office door. Your eyes lock on his.

"Can I see you in my office, please?"

– – – – – My notes for this were: Oh, god, how can I even use this… “Because you can’t afford a mortgage you just torrent a porn.” WHAT IF it’s about an intern who has a crush on her boss, and later when she watches a movie she pictures herself with this boss.

[stitch-away]

ultraviolence

pairings: tito cabassa x reader (gender unspecified)

summary: after a trip to mallorca leaves you yearning for a man you can never have, reuniting proves to be too much and leaves you sick in the bathroom with your husband, tito

tags: MDNI, established relationship, tito and reader have kids, eluded to s&m dynamics, graphic description of vomit, impact play, reader's self esteem is in the dumps lol, tito calls the reader 'sugar', tito is fucked up as per canon

word count: 1k

a/n: this is a drabble from the rp i'm in. i actually liked it so i'm posting it. you don't really need to know much about the actual plot. reader is kinda in love with dave york and they find out dave is getting married to their best friend. also they have a weird thing w lucien de leon,,, honestly don't think about it too hard

A little party never hurt no one That's what your friends say You put your life out on the line You're crazy all the time

You're so Art Deco, out on the floor Shining like gun metal, cold and unsure Baby, you're so ghetto You're looking to score

'Cause you want more (why?) You want more (why?)

“sugar! open the fucking door!” tito yells, slamming his shoulder against the door. he has muscle but he’s a rather skinny man, meaning his slams don’t have much weight against the insanely expensive door’s of javi’s bathroom. 

you're slumped over the toilet seat, knees on the cold floor as your head hangs over the bowl. the original nausea is still ripe in your stomach as more of your breakfast comes hurling out of yourmouth, splattering against the porcelain white bowl. your ears are ringing and you can hardly see from all the tears in your ears. you're not crying, not really. you're too numb to cry. the acid from each hurl burns your glands. your throat feels like it’s swallowed a cheese grater. 

as tito hears you cough, choke and then the splat of more vomit, he realises yelling isn’t gonna work this time. 

“sugar– please,” tito begs, his voice low and shaking as he leans against the door, “sugar, please open the door. let me hold you.” 

even through the lightheadedness, you manage to shuffle over to the door, close enough to unlock it. as soon as the door clicks open, tito bursts in, slamming it shut behind him and dropping to his knees. he relocks the door and cradles you in his arms, not caring for the vomit and drool that smears on his shirt. 

he finally gets a look at you, seeing the sickly pallor of your face, your bloodshot eyes, and the mess of vomit from your mouth trailed to the disgraced toilet bowl.

“fuckin’ hell, sugar,” tito swears under his breath, “you’re a fuckin’ mess.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “who’s bones do i need to break? dave’s?”

bile rises in your throat once again and you lunge forwards, vomiting again. it's hardly food at this point, just liquid but it burns just as bad. tito pats you on the back, running his large hand down the small and shivering expanse of your back. he's never been one for words, you usually being able to find them for him, so he sits there, hoping he's enough. 

he grabs some toilet paper and cups the back of your head, gently wiping the vomit off your face. being around three kids has taught him a few things over the years. 

“habla. por favor,” tito whispers, pulling you into his lap.

“trust me, you don’t want me to,” your voice is laced with shame and self-loathing, the same tone tito remembers from the end of the mallorca trip. him and javier mended their wounds but it seems that for you, mallorca only opened old ones. 

“i do,” tito mutters, taking your head in his hands, trying to make your dazed eyes focus.

“hit me,” you hiccup, “it’s my fault– hit me.”

“i’m not going to hit you,” tito grunts, gritting his teeth.

“please,” you whine, leaning in to brush your nose against tito’s, “show me you love me, mi mariscal.” tito flinches. you’ve done this routine before. one of you gets upset and can’t bring yourself to talk about it, so you talk about it the only way tito knows how. regardless of who’s upset, it always ends with you nursing a black eye for a couple of weeks.

“no– we’re not doing that,” tito says, placing a kiss on your cheek, “not here, sugar.” you pout, squirming out of tito’s arms, landing back on the cold bathroom floor. 

“don’t you love me?” you ask, your bottom lip shaking as tears well in your eyes. tito’s face falls and his jaw clenches. 

“fuck you,” he spits through gritted teeth. his hand flies forwards, wrapping round your neck and pinning you down onto the tiles. “don’t you dare say that.” your eyes roll back, as a sated grin falls on your lips.

“fuck– that’s good, baby,” you groan, trying to focus on the beauty of tito’s enraged features, “show me how much you love me– how much you need me. please.” 

without a second thought, tito pulls his free hand back and punches you square in the face. the contact sends a rush through both your bodies. as your pained yell turns into a moan, tito lands another punch. 

after years of being together, tito knows your limits, how far he can push you before you truly break. so with one last punch, one that almost breaks your nose, tito pulls back. he pulls you back into his arms, sitting up and grabbing tissues for your bleeding nose. 

“do you feel loved, sugar?” tito asks softly, his voice a mix of aroused huskiness and complete adoration, “was i good enough?” you just smile, wrapping your arms around tito’s neck and kissing him.

“i feel loved,” you mutter against his lips, “you were perfect, mi amor.” you kiss tito again, feeling the older man’s proud smirk. “let’s go show everyone how much you love me, yeah?”

your voice is a soft coo, like a lullaby, that never fails to trap tito in it’s grasp, willing him to do whatever it asks. looking as dazed as you did, tito nods. he barely registers it himself, his mind clouded by your image in front of him.

as you stand, the fog on his mind lifts and he grabs you tight by the hips. he pulls you back against him, back to chest, dropping his head to whisper in your ear.

“say the word and i’ll do it,” he whispers lowly, “dave, lucien– any other motherfucker that hurts you– you just say the word, sugar, and they’re gone. forever.” 

tito slides a hand down over the curve of your ass, squeezing it as he sucks a teeth marked hickey into your neck for good measure. you are his. he’s not letting anyone forget that. he unlocks the bathroom door again, slipping one hand into the front of your pants and pressing you tight against his hip. he’s not letting you go. ever.

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

[wannab-urs]

I love everything about this. The shaving, the knife play, the control switch, the choking, the relationship dynamic AGH

Sedated | Dave York x f!Reader

gif from @iamasaddie

summary: you and dave are no strangers to this business, to death. so there can be no harm in relying on each other in times of need.

pairing: dave york x f!contract killer!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. divorced!dave. knife play, breath play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie. descriptions/mention of blood and injury. vibes are kinda weird idk

wc: 2.5k

an: this fic is a part of @wannab-urs hozier drabble challenge (although, alas, it is not a drabble). head to gin’s page for more!

Just a little rush, babe, to feel dizzy

To derail the mind of me

Just a little hush, babe, my veins are busy

But my heart's in atrophy

~ sedated, hozier

The only sounds in the bathroom are the dripping of the tap into the tepid water of the sink and the scrape of the razor across Dave’s stubble.

He sits, back straight, on the closed toilet - shirtless, in only his sweatpants, large hands hooked beneath your thighs as you straddle him, your body rocked back to find the perfect angle to shave him at.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you draw the razor over his skin, stretching it taught where you need to be careful, gliding it over the plain of his throat. He feels like he’s barely breathed the whole time, not a word being said between the two of you. But this is routine now. 

The quiet moments after a contract, nights where one follows the other, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were staying. This half-tender care, so different from anything he’s experienced before - the bravado and camaraderie, or the mute mission of patching himself up, clotting his own wounds.

It must have been a serious kind of injury to draw you into each other, but when he tries to, Dave can’t remember. Something that needed to be patched up by someone else, too much blood making your own fingers slip, too deep for yourself to plug. Sometimes, it’s difficult to remember a time before you were here - before you found each other. The nebulous, shrouded years that seem to expand well beyond their perimeters. They should stop before reaching too far back into Carol and the girls, but they linger over even those happier times, back and back until it feels as though every year of his existence has been shrouded in darkness.

Those months after the divorce, after Mac, all spent feeling outside of his life until you had shown up, until you had proved a constant in the fucked up world he found himself in. And despite the nature of the person he has become now, there’s still a desperate, warm little part of him that wants you out - wants to drag you away from it. Wants you far away from this, from him, wants you unharmed and safe in the world that Carol and his daughters inhabit.

Wishful thinking - and it’s an awful thought to consider where being without you would leave him.

Lost, even more so than he already is. You do not make the darkness brighter, do not make it easier to see. But you hold your hand out to him, tell him in not as many words - I feel it, too.

This does not scare you the way it should.

He knows you now, in the way only someone like he can. Has seen what little fear you have. Has watched you push bullets through flesh, through brains, so the body matter spreads and splatters where it must. Has witnessed the plunge of a jagged blade into a stomach, watched you rip upwards, slash and maim with precision. It gives him a thrill, a dark satisfaction to witness a job so well done.

You continue your gliding movements, breathing steady, gaze focused, while Dave studies your face. The depth and glitter of your eyes in the half light, the crook and curve of your nose, the bow and twitch of your lips. You know he’s doing it; always do. You tilt his head with a palm on the side of his neck, using your other to hold the blade of his razor tight to the thrumming artery on the opposite side for a second too long. His dark eyes find yours, pouty lips posing an unvoiced question. You ask another.

‘Do you ever think about how easy it would be?’

Dave says nothing, unable to move his mouth as you use your thumb to press the razor into the soft underside of his jaw. You use enough pressure for his heart rate to spike before you scrape away the hairs there like you’re carving wood, cutting an apple. When the blade meets his chin, he speaks.

‘No.’ 

You meet his eyes briefly.

‘Don’t lie.’

You scrape away the remainder of his whiskers before twisting your body to wash the blade off in the sink. You keep it cuddled in you fist as you use two fingers to tip his chin into the light, gripping his jaw softly to turn his head this way and that, inspecting your work. He’s warm beneath you, firm and achingly hard. A pleased smile slicks across your lips, and keeping one hand cradled to his throat, you press the tip of the blade to his sternum and wait for any kind of reaction. Any twitch of a muscle, any change in the pace of his breathing, any flickering of his eyes. Instead, he keeps them trained on your mouth, heavy lidded, nostrils flaring, wanting.

He trusts you. And he knows you enjoy the power. Too much.

He can feel the heat, the wetness, leaking though your underwear already.

A soft growl slips from his throat as you trail the knife down, down. Down between his pecks, over the swell of his soft belly, through the hair that guides the way to his stiff cock. When you make it to the elastic of his waistband, you trace your initials against his soft skin - hard enough to leave red marks, but not so as to draw blood. When you lift your eyes, he is watching you; aching, panting. 

You bring the tip of the blade back up - circle his nipples, trace his clavicles, slide it along the base of his skull at the back of his neck. Killing him softly. When you press it to his temple, he knows the game is up. He knows you’re ready, the last lingering pulls of violence flaking from your hands as you lay the knife at the edge of the sink and wind your hands around his neck. You push your tits flush against him and press a dirty, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. Every one of his senses is attuned to every one of your movements, and he feels with keen urgency the movement of your tongue against his skin, the shapes you trace, your hot, damp breath, the minute scrape of your teeth -

You roll your hips, whining, soaked cunt dragging over the heft of his cock, and Dave grunts, standing so quickly that it makes you dizzy.

His palms are firm beneath your ass as he moves, taking leave of the bathroom to throw you down onto the deep mattress of the bed. The room is dark, the curtains not drawn - only a thin, orange light drains through the gauze covering the window, illuminating the curves and angles of your body.

Dave hauls himself over you, spreading your thighs, nipping any skin he can take between his teeth, your hands feverish over his bare shoulders, his back, his chest. He takes care to suck deep, hard marks into your neck, stripping you of your vest to bite into the soft swell of your breasts. You rock your hips against the thigh he's got nestled against your cunt, mewling softly, and the sound draws his lips to your mouth, licking in, molding, devouring. He presses a kiss to your jaw as he rolls his hips against you, and you moan, the noise throbbing through his body. With blindly moving fingers, he finds the bandage he had wrapped around your thigh tonight, the knife wound carved into you earlier in the evening by some son of a bitch he dispatched not seconds later.

Dave traces the shape of the bandages, the rough softness of the material, the bow he’d tied in mock of a garter. You were lucky he didn’t slice deeper - not that it seems to bother you now as Dave traces the indent of the cut, you nibbling his earlobe in response.

He presses his fingers deeper in to the wound only to feel you clench your thighs around him, numb to the pain, feeling only pleasure. He ruts into you once more before trailing back down your body, laving kisses wherever he can, only stopping to peel your underwear off, only pausing to cup your thighs and push them into your chest so he can spread you wide and take you apart with his mouth.

He eats you like he’s ravenous, like a man starved for days. His tongue is strong against you, working you easily, so easily you could be convinced he knows your body better than you do. He licks and bites, sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your thighs when you reel too close to the edge, and only when you beg, threaten, does he pull far enough away to spit down onto when you’re already dripping, spreading his saliva over your swollen pussy with his thick fingers. He reattaches his mouth to your clit, sucking and flicking, his slick fingers gliding inside you easily, pumping and curling until he can feel your walls begin to tighten and flutter. Your fists twist in his short hair and he moans lewdly against you, moving faster, harsher, wrenching something painful and hot inside you. You buck beneath him, back arching as he digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise to hold you still, gushing and clenching around his fingers. He loves watching you lose yourself like this, head thrown back in ecstasy, body glistening, twitching, sensitive. Loves watching the control slip from you, watching you slip into submission, give in. Give in to him.

He takes more, presses for more. He always does. His mouth continues to slurp greedily at your cunt as you sob, trying to push him away. But he’s immovable, insatiable, dragging a second orgasm from your body even as it continues to crash through the first. He wants to keep going until there is nothing left, until you are just as much a part of him as the need to harm and protect.

To love is to consume, to love is to destroy. Both are something you do, and do well - but the feeling itself is a dirty word in this dark hotel room. It is not a word he thinks of as he presses one last kiss to your sopping folds, not one that crosses his mind as he rids himself of his sweat pants, his cock hard as stone, slapping against his belly. He grips his base, dragging his fist over it once, twice, before he kneels between your slack legs. He leans forward to grip your chin as he notches himself at your entrance, pulling your face down so that you’re forced to watch him take you.

The first press into your cunt is always the tightest. Tight in anticipation, in need, and Dave is careful to let his mind fall blank so he doesn’t come too soon. You arch beneath him again, your hands reaching for his where they rest atop your thighs. He knows not to mistake it for something tender, but for the need to dispel your energy, your urges. The language is understood - when he rocks back, cock soaked with your arousal, and pushes in again, he follows the sound of your ragged gasp, leaning forward to take your mouth with his, biting your bottom lip, nipping at your shoulder. You take advantage of the position to sink your own teeth into his flesh, piercing and moaning. The sensation pushes him to pick up his force, his pace. 

Look at me. The only command he needs to give, the rest so ingrained now. When to come, when not to come, when and how to move. The only thing he ever needs to remind you of is where your eyes belong when he’s fucking into you like this, when it feels so good like this.

Tonight feels like more of a race than it usually does. You’re tightening dangerously around him, moaning, crying louder and louder as he drills into you, so warm, so wet, the noises your cunt is making so obscene that heat begins to coil threateningly at the base of his spine. He pierces you with his cock, tip knocking against your cervix with every thrust until tears gloss your eyes, your hands in a vice grip around the tops of his arms as you gasp out, unable to form a full word - oh, fu-, go-, Da-ave, ple-. He sneers down at you, a hand coming to cradle below your jaw again, throat held between his thumb and fingers, digits squeezing, constricting, restricting the bloodflow until your eyes are far away, blissed, body limp. Enough for a rush, enough for your mind to be derailed from its linear thinking - next kill, next kill, next kill. This is what you need, and he is proud that he can give it to you, gritting out a yeah, s’that good, little girl? Like that? before your eyes are rolling into the back of your head, your back bowed, your cunt spasming and gushing around him, your cry caught between your teeth as you try to roll away from him. He grips your wrists in one hand, bringing them high above your head as you twist and keen and throb, fat, hot tears streaming down your cheeks as he continues to fuck you, hard enough to make sure it bruises tomorrow. Your sobs come quieter as he moans into your neck, as he tells you how good you are, how tight you are, how you belong to him, how you’ll never get away, as he tells you to take it, take it, and you beg, plead with him - please, Dave, please - before he thrusts himself cruelly all the way inside you, gritting his teeth and growling as he comes, as you keen up at him. 

He wants to keep you full of him for as long as possible, all the time, but there are so many reasons why that’s not feasible. When he slips his softening cock from your pussy, you whimper at the loss. He ignores the sound and instead sits back to watch his cum leak from your used cunt, down to your asshole, before collecting it with his thumb and pushing it back in. He looks back up at you, eyes glazed, breath heavy, body sated, and finds a similar expression laid across your features. When he catches his breath, he stretches himself out beside you on the mattress, covering you both with the sheets. Both pairs of eyes trained to the ceiling, not thinking, not thinking, just feeling. 

But even in primal feeling, even when he snips at the gnaw in his chest, he craves it, needs it. Slave to your touch, your command, your control, your submission. It’s dangerous in a world like this, in a world like yours. 

When your chest settles into a regular rhythm, you curl yourself into him. Your body is warm and firm, still sweaty, your cunt still dripping as you hook a leg over his hip. You wrap around him like he is somebody you miss, somebody you wish to hold outside of this bedroom. Your breath crowds the side of his neck, and he closes his eyes to it, letting himself be swept away. Sedated by what your bodies provide, sleep laps like waves, submerges, drowns, and in the darkness Dave is not sure where he ends and you begin.

When he wakes, still hours from dawn, the bed is cold beside him.

further an: while sedated was obviously the main catalyst here, i'd also recommend listening to massive attack's come near me while/after reading. happy trails!

divider from @saradika-graphics

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

all the teeny tiny drabbles I wrote for the fmk alternatives ask

Frankie, Dave, Lucien - shopping clothes/ikea/groceries

Frankie, Oberyn, Joel - shopping clothes/ikea/groceries

Joel, Reed, Dave - wedding/party/museum

Joel, Dieter, Dave - netflix/ice-skating/dodgeball

Reed, Javier P., Dave - soap opera/play/favorite movie

Dieter, Max P., Ezra - car ride/plane/train ride

thanks to everyone who sent an ask 🫶

general masterlist here

[aurorawritestoescape]

STOLEN LUNCH

Dave York x f!reader || 800 words

Summary: Dave steals your lunch.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, lil bit of fluff, enemies to lovers with possible history, mean but sweet Dave idk, spitting?, pussy pronouns ofc, public but not caught, rough sex, unprotected piv, creampie.

a/n: I got inspired by this poll by @sin-djarin and @sizzlingcloudmentality ‘s thoughts about Dave and wrote this little naughty thing. Thank you, Becca and Daphne!💞 barely edited, kisses to @milla-frenchy for looking it over😘 I hope you’ll enjoy this drabble <3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“Not again!” You growl and shut the lunchroom fridge with a loud thump, making the poor thing shake and clank.

You turn around on your heels and stare at the culprit of your anger.

Dave is leaning against the counter, holding YOUR turkey sandwich in his giant hand and chewing, his clean-shaved jaw shifting languidly.

“What’s your fucking problem?” You hiss, stomping closer to him, an image of fury and rage- your brows furrowed, your fists clenched.

Dave seems to give zero fucks. He looks relaxed, pleased even, as he’s destroying your lunch. The lunch he’s stolen from you. Again.

“The turkey’s dry. ‘s disgusting.”

“You don’t look disgusted,” you spit back at the man, hyperventilating from anger.

“‘s cause I’m looking at you, kitten. It helps.”

Your breath hitches but you try to fight the way your heart flutters and your pussy clenches at his flirting.

Instead you roll your eyes and step closer to him, lowering your voice as you speak,

“What if I told you that I spat in the middle of this damn sandwich as I was making it, huh?”

You sneer at him, thinking that you might have won this one.

Dave’s brows shoot up and he looks at the half eaten sandwich in his giant paw and then at you.

You widen your eyes and nod a few times, signaling him that you’re not joking.

Dave’s dark eyes are set on yours, they’re challenging you, as he brings the sandwich to his lips and takes a huge bite. He starts chewing and then moans. The fucker moans.

Your face softens, your anger evaporates and something warm and wet fills your core. A bite of your lip and your heart eyes are clear signs of your surrender. You’ve lost. Again.

His thick fingers grab the back of your neck and he pushes you forward, bending you over the copier.

“Dave,” you whine, as he pulls your skirt up and your tights and panties down. “Someone might come in.”

“So?”

You hear his nonchalant voice behind you, the clanking of his belt, the rustling of his clothes, and then his hot cock lands heavy on your asscheek.

”Keep still, kitten, or it’ll hurt.”

You mewl and relax your muscles, knowing that it’s coming. He pushes his length in without hesitation, taking and stretching you in one go, and you bite your palm that’s covering your whimpering mouth, when his tip hits your cervix.

“Yeahhh, that’s it. You suck at cooking but this cunt…Fuck, she’s the best.”

“Fuck youuu…” Your groan turns into a moan as Dave starts fucking you raw, his thrusts slow at first, but he picks up the pace fast, and the sounds of skin-on-skin slapping fill the little room.

For a few moments it’s nothing but lustful growls and moans, until he grabs your shoulders and pulls you to his firm chest, his hot palm around your neck, his fingers bruising your soft hip.

Dave groans in your ear, fanning your cheek with his wet breath,

“How’s that feel, kitten? I took your lunch, now I’m taking your pussy. What else are you gonna give me on a silver platter, huh? What if I steal that big client of yours?”

“I hate you,” you croak, wiggling in his arms, but both of you know it’s just a play. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, pierced by his stiff cock, in the tiny room that smells like sex and desire. Dave tightens his grip on your body and whispers against your temple,

“I won’t if you kiss me right now.”

You hear softness in his voice and you turn your head to gawk at him.

His eyes are blown out, shiny with lust and want, but there’s something else behind them. Something vulnerable and real.

“Turn me around.” Your voice is barely audible, unsure, but he hears you.

He pulls out and you hiss but then moan, as he spins you around and his lips crash against yours, his eager tongue sliding into your mouth.

Not breaking the kiss, Dave lifts you up, and you grab onto him for dear life, as he pushes his length back into your pussy.

He makes you come, moving you up and down his thumping cock, bruising your lips with kisses, leaving hickeys on your delicate skin, and then spills his hot load inside you, his face buried in your neck.

You’re fixing your clothes, both breathing heavily, when he asks,

“How about I steal your dessert at a restaurant tonight?”

“You’re such an asshole,” you throw at him with a smile and walk out of the door.

You can’t wait for the evening to come.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

Tagging @bergamote-catsandbooks bc of their comment 🌸