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kiwisbell · 7 months

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Larks and Katydids [dave york]

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

my masterlist!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

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

word count: ~ 14.7k

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

LARKS AND KATYDIDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums. “Jackson.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it is.

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

“Does he treat you good?”

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

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

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

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

Dave follows you home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Yes, he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave frowns. “Sweet girl—”

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

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

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

He unfurls his palm and finds a note.

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

You don’t once stop smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's certainly not going to get you.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, he's going to make this hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not answering shi—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How interesting. How very fucking curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Insects and people are different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don't walk,” he says. “Crawl to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d I get so lucky?” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lift your brows knowingly. “Leverage?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy…”

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

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

So, that night, Dave breaks into your apartment.

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

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

You sleep on the couch every single night.

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

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

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

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

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

Coordinates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dave, west! TURN WEST—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How can such a man handle you so lovingly?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can't sit still.

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

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

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

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

“Dave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END.

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

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babyastrowitch · 1 year

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ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS!!

(hiii this is my first time making one of these im so excited! hope u enjoy <3)

please don't steal my work!

Aquarius Moon

can have a full on intellectual conversation for hours on end. they also looove to be right and i find get along well with sagittarius moons because the sag moon loves learning and the aqua moon loves teaching.

Pisces Rising/venus/sun/moon

always have beautiful eyes. they have such a distinct "watery" look to them, also a very dreamy aura.

Cancer men

love their moms. definitely calls their mom "mommy" or something like that. They are genuinely so sweet but very insecure and can be extremely moody/hot and cold. they also can be takers from a lot of women because their mothers over provided for them.

Aquarius women

have quick wit and power. they will rip you to shreds if you mess with them.

Cancer moon

they are so sweet! ultimate mom friend and always trying to supply and help their friends at any cost. can be extremely passive aggressive.

Scorpio rising

most scorpio risings i know have an iffy relationship with sex. they have a lot of deep rooted sexual traumas and/or fear associated with intimacy which results into them being unable to feel comfortable having sex. 3/4 scorpio risings i know are still virgins in their 20s.

Leo sun/moon/rising

i know everyone says this but their!!! hair!!! it's always so lion like. EXTREMELY loyal people and if you mess with their friends it's almost more personal than messing with them. can become angry in less than a second.

Aquarius men

similar to scorpio men but less mysterious and more friend based. they are attractive but dabble in narcissistic behaviours. very charming and usually has lots of friends. they are hard to tie down.

Scorpio men

they have an overall dark aesthetic to them, think dark clothes, dark hair, etc. very attractive, may not have social media or post a lot because they value their privacy. they tend to be "players" because they draw people in with their good looks but value a deep connection that not many can provide for them.

Capricorn moon

issues with the mother. may not have grown up in an emotionally accepting household. they have trouble connecting to their emotions and getting to know their true selves.

libra women

always come off very nice and friendly. may have issues with gossiping, and can be seen as "superficial" and surface level. enjoys makeup and interior design.

in my opinion, the worst venus signs in relationships are gemini, aquarius,sagittarius.

jupiter in the 4th house

people are so comfortable around you. you relax people's stress just by your presence. mom friend.

gemini mercury

y'all are liars!! ☠️ whether it's just a flat out lie or an exaggeration, you guys talk so much that you just create your own story as you go. you're really funny though so i'll give you that. but man you gotta slow down.

i hope you guys enjoyed!! let me know if you want a part 2 <3

#astrology observations #astrology #astro notes #astroblr #astro placements #scorpio #scorpio rising #pisces

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spidrstar · 10 months

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HE AINT SHIT pt 2.

★ pairings: aged up e!42 miles!morales × latina! reader

★ slowburn? characters are 18+ in this story they're in their mid twenties.

★ warnings: as i write this story some parts will be slightly suggestive, if that bothers u dni..

★ a/n: now THIS, this one i put a lot of effort into ☠️ 3k words long.. btw i already had most of chap 2 written out so i will not be putting this series on hold but i won’t be having a schedule bc i know i wont follow it. Again sorry for the hold up y’all my motivation went poof ily and lmk what y’all think abt this chap. sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger 😊

★ p.s i'll be adding a link to a playlist i made that you could listen to when reading abt miles Imk what y'all think.

★ summary: You end up going to your ‘apology date’ and things go south. You wanted to spend your time eating snacks when angry but ran out, so you left and went straight to the market then you met someone unexpected.

★ previous, part 3

mwah

“…almost fell in love with you

After the club last night.”

- lovely : sonder

With groggy eyes, you found yourself zoning out, you had woken up 20 minutes ago because you were hungry. You had the worst headache ever, and all the memories from last night flooding into your head wasn’t helping either.

‘I don’t know what I was thinking, giving him my phone. Whatever, I just won’t text him.’

You stretched and yawned once again shutting off the music you fell asleep to, getting up standing in front of your mirror you noticed you had the same clothes on from last night. The sight of yourself made you sigh in exhaustion, you looked like a disaster and didn’t have energy to get all pretty today.

You lifted your dress off of yourself and sat back down on your bed in the set you had bought specially for your date that failed last night. The thought, only making you wince with closed eyes, you remembered yourself falling into bed as soon as you got home crying yourself to sleep with music playing to help. You sighed and went on your phone, you realized you never answered Kole and you wanted to keep it that way ‘til later.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with him especially after what he pulled last night. Honestly, you didn’t really care if you both went the whole day without talking to each other. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t losing feelings for him, sure you’d been together for 6 months and duh you loved him he’s your boyfriend.. you just.. weren’t sure you loved him as much as you did before. Kole rarely did anything special, he stopped giving you sweet things ‘just because’ he didn’t compliment you as if he was still trying to get with you.

None of that.

He acted as if his goal was to just get with you, not keep you happy, not love you, not make you feel special, just get with you. You started noticing it on your 3rd month anniversary. All he did was buy you flowers, no date no nothing. Only reason you hadn’t left him is because you just felt as if you couldn’t. He had been there for you during all your darkest moments, you felt like you needed him in your life. You felt glued to him and if you were to unstick even just a little bit, he made sure he stuck you back to him.

Scrolling through your other notifications you find nothing interesting and upon turning it off, that’s when an incoming call pops up on your screen. You mentally sighed preparing yourself for the incoming argument awaiting to happen.

It was Kole.

It was 2:34 pm and he wanted to call you now? Scoffing before picking up the call, you already felt yourself getting angry.

“Qué quieres ahora, Kole.” 5 seconds of silence seemed to be enough for him before he finally spoke up.

“Listen, baby, I know I fucked up by not showing up yesterday but I had things going on and—“

You didn’t even let him finish before you snapped, this made you laugh. “I don’t even wanna hear it, Kole. All I'm getting from this is that anything is more important to you than our relationship.” You closed your eyes and laid your face into the palm your hand waiting to hear what excuse he had for you this time.

“Nonono, baby listen I promise it’s nothing like that I was just chillin’ with the guys while I was waiting for you to get off work and I fell asleep watching a game and—“

“Don’t- No puedo mas, don’t even finish. Kole, I'm fed up.” here we go, you had to stand up for what you were about to say already feeling yourself tense up at the anger you were feeling.

“You know, I made sure I asked for a day off tomorrow thinking we were gonna have the best night of our lives like you had promised. Do you know how much effort I put into getting ready yesterday? You never think about anything but yourself. I made sure to buy new clothes just for you, and here you are telling me you were too busy watching games with your friends while I spent more than 2 hours preparing for our date? Are you fucking serious right now?”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying and the silence on the other line was more than enough confirmation for you to continue speaking, you let out a short laugh, tears already forming from the anger you felt. “This just goes to show how little I mean to you. I cried, Kole. I cried over and over again last night because of you.”

Kole knew he had hurt you, never in your whole 6 months of dating him had you gotten so frustrated to the point where your voice started shaking. He knew he messed up, and bad. The silence on the other line only hurt you more, your response only being a couple of sniffles.

You heard him sigh preparing to speak, “Listen baby, I know I messed up. I truly wish I could show you how sorry I am. I never meant to make you feel this way and you know I would never do this to you on purpose, I—I’ve just honestly been so stressed and wanted to let loose with the guys. We drank a bit and I got sleepy, and I know—I know that is not a good enough excuse to not show up. And I could've at least left you a text. I know that. I just—..I swear this time I'll make it up to you, Y/n.”

You frowned and sighed. As much as you really wanted to forgive him and just ‘go back to normal’ you’ve been letting this slide too many times. You knew all the times he had given you a speech almost exactly the same as this one, he was bullshitting you. You remember it clear as day, when you found multiple dating apps downloaded on his phone he gave you the most shitiest apology. He never really meant it; he just wanted to make sure you were stuck and didn’t leave him.

“I don’t know, Kole. I really don’t know what to think of this anymore—“

“Y/n, please. I know I messed up, just give me a chance to make it up to you.”

You sat there really considering it, and you came to a conclusion that if he really messed it up this time then that would be the end of this relationship. “Alright Kole, fine. Pero te lo juro if you mess this up we’re done.”

“Thank you, thank you. I love you so much baby and I promise I won't mess up. Meet me at our favorite coffee shop at 4.” and with that he hung up.

You had lost almost all your faith in your relationship, so you figured today you weren’t going to put in much effort since you just wanted to enjoy your day off in bed. You stood up from your bed again and grabbed your towel heading to your shower.

It was 3:17 pm and you had only just started putting on clean undergarments, you knew by the time you left you would be there late but at this point that was the least of your worries. You sat in front of your vanity doing your skincare routine when you noticed a dark spot on your neck, wondering what it was you looked closely.

A hickey.

You gasped grabbing your makeup sponge and some foundation trying to conceal it so your boyfriend doesn’t think of anything. But to no avail, you failed. It was still pretty visible. This is the moment when you really started panicking, you got up from your desk rummaging through your drawers searching for a turtle neck and when you found one you sighed in relief. You thought for a second letting your heart beat slow down.

‘Miles, ese estupido.’

You put the turtle neck on along with some sweatpants, slipped on your uggs and fixed up your hair only slightly since you had slept with a bonnet on. It had just hit 3:34 pm and you still weren’t ready, a few pumps of your bath and body works perfume and you got straight to your makeup. Sure you weren’t going to put in much effort, but you still wanted to wear just a bit of mascara.

You got up from your desk, grabbed your keys and let Kole know that you were on your way.

As you made your way out the building it hit 3:56 pm, still no text back from Kole. You weren’t surprised to say the least. To pass some time you decided to walk, and since the coffee shop wasn’t far. You also didn’t want to lose your parking. You slipped on your earbuds listening to some music on your way there.

Self Love; Metro Boomin & Coi Leray.

“came to the city for the love

got her hurtin’ now”

By the time you got to the coffee shop it was 4:08 pm, Kole hadn’t texted you back nor was he inside. You stepped in the shop and got in line wanting to order a snack so you wouldn’t starve while waiting. You chose your favorite, a glazed donut with some hot chocolate. You decided to pick a warm snack since it had gotten a bit windy outside.

You got your order and sat at your usual spot in the corner, taking a bite out of your donut. You decided to go on instagram to cure your boredom. You opened the app and clicked on the explore page button, you watched a few reels and quickly got bored again, swiping to the right again trying to find something interesting you stumbled across a post with more than 4k likes. You hummed in amusement scrolling through the pictures.

Pressing onto their page you realized who it was, Miles. Intrigued you stalked his page, all his posts having more than 2k likes. You observed them closely, and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t insanely attractive. You paused annoyingly remembering that you were still in a relationship and that you were mad at him for leaving a hickey on you. You glanced at the time again and it was 4:23 pm. You sighed, and got a notification from your weather app stating that there was going to be a crazy rain storm happening in about an hour.

‘Seriously? The one day I decided not to wear a sweater.’

As if on cue kole barged into the coffee shop in a hurry to see you.

You looked up at him with a dull look on your face, “Hi baby, I'm sorry there was traffic and I forgot my keys inside—“ Interrupting him you loudly sipped on your hot chocolate, signaling him to shut up with his excuses already. He sighed in defeat and sat down, “Well it doesn’t matter, you’re here now aren’t you?”

You flashed him a fake smile and you placed your cup down on the table and cleared your throat not sure what to talk about, “Sooo.. you gonna order anything or?”

“Oh, right. Do you want anything, love?” Slightly cringing at the nickname he gave you, “Yea another glazed donut would be nice.” And with that he headed towards the cash register ready to order, you took this as a chance to hop back onto your phone and look through Miles’ instagram posts.

You thought for a second, and pressed onto the ‘follow’ button. Disregarding the fact that you were still with Kole you exited out of the app.

‘Oh well, he follows many girls anyway and it’s not like we’re going to see each other again, especially after what he did.’

Kole came back with your glazed donut, he sat down and tried his best to make interesting conversation and most of the time you gave dry responses because he was just so.. how do you put it?——Boring. Usually it wasn’t this hard to catch your attention and have you entertained, but you genuinely wanted to leave.

“So yea, the game yesterday was awesome and oh! Max almost threw up because he ate 3 full boxes of pizza, can you believe that?! It’s crazy.”

You stared off across the cafe, so clearly uninterested and done with Kole. “Out of all the things to talk about, you chose to talk about what you were doing while I was waiting for you at the restaurant.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Oh cmon, don’t do that. The whole point of today was for me to make it up to you and you’re making it difficult.” He pouted, and this only had you feeling even angrier.

“Yeah well, it’s hard not to when you’ve done this four times already.”

He sighed and as he was about to speak that’s when both of your phones vibrated against the wooden table, you turned your attention to his screen first.

Incoming call from Madison.

“I-I gotta go babe. I promised my friend I would help her move into her new place. ” He then placed a kiss on your cheek quickly and rushed out. You sat there in disbelief as to what had just happened.

‘So not only did he show up late to his little apology date, he also ditched me for some other girl.’

You scoffed and stood up from your seat angrily deciding you were finally going to break up with him. You stared at the screen of your phone acknowledging what your notification was, Miles had followed you back. You ignored it, not thinking anything of it.

You angrily walked down the street and headed to the supermarket before going home to distract yourself, you needed to get some stuff for the house anyway.

Only two blocks away from the supermarket you started feeling a few small rain drops on your cheeks.

‘Great, now I'm gonna be soaking wet. Could this day genuinely get any worse?’

You quickly rushed into the supermarket a bit damp and grabbed a shopping basket to your left.

You head towards the snack aisle remembering you had finished your last tub of ice cream last Friday. You scanned through the aisle looking for more options and as you were slowly walking sideways squinting your eyes you bumped into someone.

“Oh- I’m so sorry i wasn’t watching where i was goin-“

Before you finished you managed to turn around and see who the person was, as if the smell of his husky cologne wasn’t an obvious giveaway.

It was Miles.

“We meet again, hermosa.” He grinned at you in amusement, eyeing you down and of course, he still looked as beautiful as when you first saw him, nothing new. You rolled your eyes mentally and just stared at him wanting to take the ‘sorry’ right back.

“Never mind, excuse me.” You tried to walk right past him trying not to acknowledge his existence. “Wow really? It’s like that now?” He asked with hurt in his voice sarcastically, you shut your eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Dealing with Miles was the last thing you needed right now, especially after your little fiasco with Kole.

“Miles. Quítate del miedo o te quito yo.”

You spoke seriously without making eye contact, this only made him feel like teasing you more. The way you spoke to him in Spanish angrily made him smirk. “Cmon amor, what’s with the attitude? You weren’t like this last night.”

His snarky remark only irked you more, which finally caused you to look up at him. “Yeah well, this is what happens when you think it’s funny to leave hickies on me knowing I have a boyfriend.” You snapped at him and he chuckled lightly lifting your chin up to look at you directly. “You enjoyed it, what's the problem mami? You followed me on instagram too, so I know you were thinking about me, why the sudden change?” He smirked.

His voice so close to you sent shivers down your spine, you felt your body react to his touch and his voice so you quickly swatted his hand away, you clutched your shopping basket and moved past him. “Whatever, and that was a mistake, I'm unfollowing you later.”

He smirked as you walked away, you could feel his gaze on your back and you felt vulnerable, like he was a predator and you, his prey. You reached the cash register with him still following behind, you decided to speak up to try and get him to back off. “Will you quit following me everywhere?” You turned to face him, annoyance written all over your face.

“I’m tryna pay ma, not doin’ it on purpose.” He grinned at your reaction and you just wanted to oh so badly smack that beautiful grin off of his face. “Yeah? Well you could’ve chosen any other cash register, whys the one i went to your choice.” The cashier finished ringing you up and your total came to $23.47, you rummaged through your wallet and paid $20 you soon realized you didn’t have enough and mentally cursed at yourself for being so reckless.

You remember thinking before you left the house that it was best to not take much money since you were only going to the coffee shop, that decision only came back to bite on your ass. You cleared your throat nervously not knowing how to explain.

“I’m sorry.. I uh- I’m missing $4.” You laughed nervously trying to rummage through your wallet once more seeing if you could find at least three or two dollars. Miles noticed this while being behind you. You soon see out of your peripheral vision that he slid $5 to the cashier, you turned to look at him with a look that said. ‘You’re annoying, but thanks i guess.’

You placed all of your items in a bag and walked to the exit hoping Miles would stay behind, but of course since your day already sucked why not make it suck even more? He was right behind you. Pretty soon, that was the least of your concerns once you noticed that it was pouring outside. You groaned in distress palming your face and made terms with the fact that you had to walk in the rain.

You were about to step out until Miles caught on and stopped you. “Woah woah, what are you doing?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. You looked at him as if he was wearing a red clown nose and a wig in confusement.

“Uh.. trying to walk home? What does it look like.” He matched your energy and came right back at you with a smart tone. “To me, it looks like you’re just tryna catch a cold.” You mocked him and soon noticed he was taking off his jacket while speaking. You had a confused look on your face when he placed it over you.

“What are you doing?”

“What? You think I’m bouta let you walk out ina rain like that?” He responded with a raised brow.

“Like what?”

“..Nothing.”

You ignored him and looked straight ahead, jogging out the market doors bag of snacks in hand. You groaned slightly looking up at the sky in annoyance because if even possible, the rain seemed to pour down harder. You noticed Miles was still behind you and turned to stare at him, eyeing him weirdly you then noticed how good he looked even when dripping wet in the rain. His black tee soaking wet, braids fucked up he stared at you through wet eyelashes.

“Miles, why are you still following me? I'm literally going home. Ya vete y déjame en paz, dios mío.”

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I get it you’re mad but just let me at least walk you home. You don’t even gotta go on that date with me either, I’ll leave you completely alone afterwards. Promise. ”

You both stood in the rain staring at each other for a second before you felt sympathy for him, you felt bad for the way you came at him. Yeah, he left marks even when he knew you had a boyfriend but it’s not like you didn’t think he was cheating either. You enjoyed it anyway.. So why not cut him some slack? You turned around and continued walking but before you did, you slightly turned your head to the side to speak to him.

“Fine, but I'm not completely declining your ‘date’ offer. If you respect my relationship then maybe I’ll let you take me out. Not on a date, more like us hanging out as friends.”

You felt bad turning him down completely when you had already agreed to meeting with him, so you gave him a chance bonus points for the sad look in his eyes causing you to give into him. Besides, being just friends won’t do any harm to your relationship.. right?

He smiled following right behind you as you both turned a few more blocks, finally reaching your house. You went up the stairs and stood under the roof of the apartment to avoid the water. You stared down at him shivering in his jacket.

“Soo.. where you going now?” You asked curiously trying to fight back the way your teeth hit each other from the way you shivered.

“Probably gonna walk home, don’t live too far.” He shrugged.

You looked at him in disbelief, walking out this late in the rain with how windy it was would probably be enough to give him the flu. You sighed and stared up at the ceiling for a second before staring at him.

“Miles, come on.”

“What?”

“You’re coming in with me.”

He stared at you wide eyed not expecting you to invite him in, after all that begging for him to stay away from you; inviting him inside your home was the least thing he thought would happen but of course he didn’t have a problem with it. All he did was smirk at you and raise his brows as if to say, ‘you bein’ for real right now?’

“You paid for my snacks, lent me your jacket in the rain and walked me home. It’s the least I could do, besides you’ll get really sick if you stay out any longer soaking wet.”

You walked in making your way to the elevator which only left him smiling, standing behind you at the way you were concerned for his health.

You paused then spoke up again, “So? ¿Vas a venir o que?”

He then walked up the stairs to follow behind you into the apartment muttering a low ‘well if you’re offering, might as well.’

Soon, you were left to contemplate if this was a mistake or not.

Because little did you know, this was gonna be a very long night.

★ translations: Que quieres ahora - what do you want now || no puedo más - I can’t anymore || pero te lo juro - but i swear || ese estupido - that idiot || hermosa - beautiful || quítate del medio o te quito yo - get out of the way or I’ll make you get out of the way myself || Amor - love || ya vete y déjame en paz, dios mío - go away and leave me alone, my god || vas a venir o que - are you coming or what

TAGS:

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ech0lesss · 1 year

Note

Can u do more Dexter x reader dating hcs plz? i rally like ur hcs and i think its cute!

Aww, tysm!! I’m so glad you like them! Of course I will write more! Warning: just some swears (i feel i have a little addiction or sumn sorry)

Proofread :D

Dexter Erotoph Headcanons pt.2

fucking baby

will cry if you leave him for 20 minutes

and when you come back from going to the corner store or sumn without telling him you'll find the house torn apart and him crying while running around the neighbourhood lmao, he's knocking on doors and showing people photos of you even if its 2am

once he finds you he's gonna give you a big hug and a buncha kisses but in a few minutes he'll calm down

overdramatic about things and it shows

like if he accidentally elbows you he'll be kissing the spot he elbowed you in and crying and apologizing profusely

meanwhile you looking at him wide-eyed "i didn't even feel anything"

he just loves you a lot and wants to show it

babygirl asf

if you spoil him he will just. he will just be in awe that you love him this much

tries to spoil you too

if you fall asleep with him you'll probably wake up to him with his entire body over you

or his whole arm over you

y'all never wake up in the same position

one time he went to bed cuddling you, woke up on the floor upside down

you probably need to strap him to the bed to make sure he doesn’t fall off ☠️

super energetic but falls asleep in like 2 seconds

he praises you on any and everything you do

you could be reading a book and he would be staring at you in awe the whole time

if you think his behaviour is creepy tell him, he's too infatuated with you to notice

if you tell him then he'll try to tone it down a little but not by a lot bcs he just can’t help it <33

he remembers EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. if you say you really want this video game that comes out in 3 years he'll remember and he will buy it for you when it comes out

your birthday is like the coming of christ for him lol

as if he doesn't treat you special every single day, but he'll just buy you more things

makes you breakfast n everything everyday

he is literally your housewife. does all the chores n shit

yk that one tiktok audio where it goes like "i wanna be saved"? yeah thats him. hes the girl thats saying that

another one is where it's like "what's your favourite colour nick?" i feel like that'd be him too lol

speaking of which he does probably need to be saved if someone gets pissed off at him. he cannot fight he is too delicate

his punches feel like tissue paper so you'll need to tell whoever's yelling at him to fuck right off or else he'll get his ass beat

even if he does get his ass beat he'll be fine after, like he'll run up to you with a thumbs up and everything with bruises all over him

he is just an absolute SIMP.

i love him hes so babygirl i wanna spoil him and call him my princess like literally i would cherish him and sacrifice my entire being for him

maybe i should make even more??? eh i will if i get more ideas for headcanons but for now this is it :] hope u like!!

#dexter erotoph x reader #dexter erotoph #dexter spooky month #dexter sm #dexter sm x reader #spooky month x reader #spooky month #dexter erotoph headcanons #dexter sm headcanons #spooky month headcanons #echo writes

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josiwonderland · 1 month

Text

Ready to watch the second stream. 🎉 Since I'm at my parent's place I'll obviously not share it on the tv but I'll at least have the audio. It's only been 20 min and I'm already trying not to laugh or smiles alone suspiciously. ☠️

#bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael #andrew wincott #streamily

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mattssluttywaist · 20 days

Text

15 Questions

Thank you for the tag @thenickgirl & @sturn777 !!

(I’m so sorry if this is formatted weird I never make my posts all fancy☠️)

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

1) are you named after anyone?

No 😞 I’m original and cunty

2) when was the last time you cried?

Saturday evening bc I accidentally deleted tiktok and then all my drafts got deleted 😢

3) Do you have kids?

Absolutely not !! 🩷 I’m too young but I def want them in the future

4)What sports do you play/have played?

Did gymnastics from 5-9 y/o and now I watch triplet videos the second they release 😜

5) What is the first thing you notice about people?

If they’re judgy or not. If I sense they’re not then I act like a bafoon

6) Do you use sarcasm?

I’m only 20% serious

7) What is your eye color?

Green 🤑

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

SCARY MOVIES ‼️‼️

9) Any talents?

I can twist my arm from behind my back to in front of me if that makes sense. I looked like I crawled out of the fucking Ring

10) Where were you born?

LA ‼️🔥🗣️🙏🐺

11) What are your hobbies?

Too many to count but here’s a (not so small) list

Editing, reading, drawing, watching movies, crocheting? Cooking, playing video games, playing guitar, taking photos, makeup, scrapbooking <3 (I can’t stick to one)

12) Do you have any pets?

No unfortunately 😞

13) How tall are you?

5’6

14) Favorite subject at school?

Math bc I’m psycho

15) Dream job?

Some type of engineer idk yet

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

No pressure tags !: @cassiopeialunax @sturnad @ribbonedbrain @teenagetrash00 @ilove2021chris @christhopersturniolo @iammattswife @mattsbabymomma

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mmoosen · 6 months

Text

Spooktober 2023 - Day 29

Spooktober Prompts by @wolfboy88

It's Spooktober!!!☠️🎃🔮🪄🩻🍬

The prompt for today is Banshee. This is a Banshee! Nolan Holloway fic, idea originally from @thiamsxbitch so ty ty ty

Beacon Hills Tribute

Weekly Obituary

Dennis Alberts passed away at the age of 64, on November 14th due to a car accident. He was involved in a three-car pileup on 35th Street and Middle Street on Monday. Mr. Alberts was injured and transported to Beacon Hills Memorial where he succumbed to his injuries. Mr. Alberts leaves behind his wife, Anna, and two children, Reese and Shane Alberts. Dennis, originally from Maine, moved to Beacon Hills at 20 when he opened the Sweets and Treats Candy Shop on Main Street. His funeral service will be held…

Gwyneth Lopez passed away at the age of 86, peacefully in the presence of her family, in the Beacon Hills Retirement Home. Gwyneth lived her entire life in Beacon Hills, spending over fifty years at the Smith’s Pharmacy before retiring and becoming an active volunteer at the Beacon Community Center. Mrs. Lopez leaves behind five children and three grandchildren. The funeral service will be held….

Rosita Dawns, 27, of Reno, Nevada, died while solo camping at the Beacon Hills Preserve campsite. Miss Dawns had been studying Nursing at Beacon Hills Community College for the last year. The service will be in Reno at …

Nolan wakes up from a dream that felt more like a nightmare.

His heart is still racing, heavy breaths as he tries wrecking his brain for what just happened. This shirt is stuck to his back and his vision goes in and out of focus, too disoriented to fully see for a couple second. As he takes deeper breaths in, he can finally recognize his dimly lit room, including his little rat dog, Diego, on the foot of his bed. Nightmares weren’t new to Nolan, especially not in the past year, so he knows he’ll need to get some water before trying to go back to bed. As he kicks his feet out of his rumpled blanket, he feels Diego jump down and both shuffle out of his room into the kitchen. He gets a glass of water from the tap and leans against the sink, trying to remember what had woken him up. Usually, he could remember because his nightmares were always the same, the same monsters, the same dying friend, or the same night on repeat. But his mind was empty this time; he could only catch split seconds of what happened but couldn’t hold onto it.

Unable to think straight and seeing the sun rising up, Nolan takes his water to the TV and turns on some dumb rerun to waste time until he has to go to school on that Monday morning.

The rest of the day, Nolan has to fight to stay alert in his classes; he’s hopelessly bored through his morning classes and just waiting for his afternoon art class. But as his attention keeps shifting away from the teacher’s monotone lectures to zoning out peering outside, he finds himself writing down any random word he hears, desperately trying to keep up on the notes without paying attention. Fifth period economics is painfully loud and equally boring; every time his attention is lost, he continues writing. After watching two squirrels fight, Nolan focuses back into the lecture about something with supplies. As he looks down to write more notes, his attention is honed into the lack of notes about economics. Rather than the jumble of pointless words from earlier, he sees his own handwriting listing the same name.

Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis,

A strong abstract feeling of something important wisps up Nolan’s back and leaves his goosebumps raised as he can’t tear his vision away from the notes. Nolan can’t grasp his memory enough to remember why he wrote anything, just writing on instinct. He quickly tears his eyes away, to look over at his neighbor’s. All the students in the room are bored and leisurely taking notes; a few heads come towards him as Nolan tries to lean forward to desperately read other’s notes, searching for the name Dennis in an old economist or important figure to the lecture. But his page is the only one to contain the name. Feeling a couple pair of eyes, Nolan hunkers over his notes. He flips the page to hid his mad writing and prays for the bell to ring.

The feeling of being watched eases as Nolan runs to his art class and lets himself just paint rather than think. He ends his art class to the final bell and tells himself that this is Beacon Hills. Weird shit always happens, some weird name is stuck in his head from the TV he watched this morning. As Nolan trots out to the parking lot with his backpack, he takes a breath to try and dissipate the last of his nervousness to approach the group of his new friends hanging at Theo’s truck. Theo has started driving him home after school, or to whatever hangout with the others, so he walks up behind Corey and Mason as they listen to Liam and Theo talk.

Liam is slightly leaning against Theo who is wearing his EMT uniform, apparently coming off a day shift. Liam looks a bit sad as Nolan finally catches some of what Theo is saying,

“Yeah, just the older guy. He had some previous medical issues, so he was worse off. It’s already on the news.”

He hears Mason respond with,

“And you’re sure it was Dennis from the candy store?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. The news confirmed it.”

The second the name Dennis is brought into the conversation Nolan feels his breath catch up in his throat, so he shifts into the small circle and inserts himself into the conversation to quickly ask,

“What are we talking about?”

Corey, being the closest to Nolan, turns to him and answers, “Theo’s talking about this deadly accident he was at today during his shift.”

Theo’s already back to his crazy EMT stories from work as Nolan replies under his breath, a quiet “Okay”, left with a sickly leaving of recognition in the bottom of his stomach.

Two days later, Nolan has forcefully removed the name Dennis from his mind. He hadn’t told anyone about the weird name writing, but as he keeps taking notes in classes, he can’t see the fateful feverishly writing as his pages of economics notes put the name is the past. He continues to chalk it up to all the weird stuff that seems to happen in Beacon Hills; he convinces himself it is something supernatural, but if Liam doesn’t want him involved, he’ll stay out of it. Nolan lets the whole thing slide partially off his shoulders by the time he had fallen asleep two days later.

As Nolan feels himself drowsy and sleepy, less anxious from the previous days, he feels himself drift off. A pleasant numbness covers himself and the usual wait of his dog on his legs follow him into sleep.

The weight on his feet keeps him grounded as a dream wraps around him. He opens his eyes to a different room than his own. A faint light comes across the bed Nolan is stood at the foot of. The electric green is cast over the old women, laid back and unmoving besides the slightest raise in her chest. Nolan racks his brain to find who this is, maybe a well-known customer at work or an old substitute at school. He finds himself stepping closer, letting himself look at the women’s old, wrinkled hands barely grasping a cross. Her hair is beyond gray, and she looks sick. A nasal tube and something like an IV are connected to her, and as he lets his eyes drift away from the woman, he sees the heart monitor and other machines filling the room with light. Before he could investigate more, he hears a fragile whisper,

“I’m alright, sweetheart.”

Nolan’s head whips back to watch the elderly woman finish her quiet words; he sees, but doesn’t feel, a hand reach out from himself and grasp the old women in a tender hold. Distracting him the woman takes a fragile weak breath, closing her eyes and relaxes as she admits,

“I’m ready.”

Nolan finds himself wondering, for what, but a loud hum blasts his ears. The constant blare causes his eyes to look directly at the heart monitor; a straight line is all etched into it.

As the machine’s flatline continues, he desperately looks back to see the woman is completely unmoving. She’s stopped breathing. She’s dying. Nolan is paralyzed by the realization and squeezes his eyes closed to steel himself, to try and find it in himself to respond. To react and help.

His eyes open up to his ceiling. The weight of Diego is still on his feet, and the moon light is still illuminating his room. A couple seconds of cataloging his own room, the same as when he went to bed, lets his muscles relax and his breathing slow.

Just a weird dream again, Nolan tries to his side and wills himself to go back to a dreamless sleep.

Ignoring his weird happenings does not stop his dreams, unfortunately. Friday night, Nolan is only focused on his afterschool plans. He clambers into Theo’s truck with Liam, and heads to Liam’s house. Everybody was pumped for an overnight movie marathon, takeout pizza for an army, and getting to see everybody from out of town. He was roped into helping with moving Liam’s living room around to attempt to fit eleven people in sleeping bags. They scrounge up every pillow and blanket from the closets and storage before people start showing up. Eventually, by the time the pizzas arrived, Liam, Theo, Mason, Corey, Alec, Sydney, Hayden, Gwen, Brett, Lori, and himself, are piled in front of the TV with paper plates and soda. The movies were all prepicked out, so Nolan gets as comfy as possible between Sydney and Mason (& Corey since they were pretty much sharing a sleeping bag).

The living room is packed of various duffle bags, unhealthy snacks brought from home, and even a little bit of wolfsbane laced alcohol that Brett smuggled in for himself and the other wolves. Between their movies, they play Truth or Dare, bitch about their teachers, and pass out gossip, like every other high school sleepover. As the hours tick on, people slowly succumb to sleeping, including Nolan.

Nolan’s next waking moment is his eyes flying open to an unfamiliar setting, hot and sweaty from intense proximity to others. Before Nolan can even look around to figure out where the hell he is, Nolan’s breath leaves him with a name on his lips he’s never heard before. As the name “Rosita Dawns” falls out of his mouth, he blindly grasps the sleeping bag wrapped around him to sit upright.

His hands stay balled up with the sleeping bag, constricting him as he is finally starting to breath rather than hyperventilate. By the time his mind starts to clear out the deep fear and he recognizes where he is, Nolan hears movement on the couch near his head. He tilts his head backwards to see the shape of someone sitting upright on the couch, but before he can try and guess if it was Theo or Liam from the couch, he hears Theo’s voice,

“Nolan?”

Nolan response is less of words and more of a guttural agreement from his throat.

Theo whispers back “Who’s Rosita Dawns?”

“I have no idea.”

Theo can probably tell that Nolan is telling the truth from his scent, but that doesn’t stop the truth from confusing the hell out of Nolan.

So, Theo slowly shifts away from Liam, leaving Liam with a pillow in lieu of himself; Theo’s eyes lit a sparkling yellow and with the shimmer of extra light, he sees that Theo is motioning towards the empty kitchen.

Nolan resigns himself to having to talk about it, so he tries to quietly shimmy out of a crinkly sleeping bag without waking others. He slowly tiptoes around everyone else using his phone screen as a temporary flashlight before finally making it to the kitchen, seeing Theo holding out a clear glass of some kind of fruit juice. He meekly takes the glass and takes a silent sip of the grape juice; when he finally looks back up to Theo, he is immediately asked,

“So, what was the dream about?”

“I’m not really sure. Woods?”

“Just woods?”

“I don’t know. It kinda looked like the preserve woods.”

Theo has a moment where he adopts a quick face of sadness, almost pity, as he takes a sip out of his own glass.

“Is this like your Beast nightmares?” Nolan had told him a bit about his other nightmares, in a short and awkward conversation on their drive to his house afterschool.

Nolan shrugs his shoulders, and the conversation falls into silence as they both continue to drink their short glasses of juice. And by the time Nolan is yawning and ready to go back to sleep, Theo puts his glass in the sink, turns to leave the room, puts a firm hand on Nolan’s shoulder with a quick squeeze before heading back to the living room. Nolan continues to sit and stew in the peaceful moment before going back to sleep in the living room.

Nothing else to do with the name “Rosita Dawns” happens over the rest of the weekend, but his weekend of pretending that nothing was happening ended Monday morning. Nolan plops himself down at the island in his kitchen as he is waiting for his dad to finish making their breakfast, eggs and toast. Nolan actually managed to get up a bit early, so he grabs the rolled-up newspaper sitting next to him and starts to skim through looking for anything cool. As he opens the third page and starts skimming, he finds the obituary and reads,

Dennis Alberts passed away at the age of 64, on November 14th…

Gwyneth Lopez passed away at the age of 86…

Rosita Dawns, 27, of Reno, Nevada, died…

Nolan quickly skims through the section and the hair on the back of his neck stands right up; a feeling he’s come to know with hesitancy. As he reads through the second one, Mrs. Lopez, he realizes that his dream was probably her dying; the presence of all the machines and the flatlining noise was her passing away for real. He’d dreamed her death, and it was right. And just Friday, he’d even said the name of the girl, Rosita Dawns. A sickly bout of shame creeps in thinking he was twisted up in these people’s untimely demises.

As his dad sets down his plate of his steaming hot egg sandwich on the table, Nolan desperately tries to fold the newspaper right and shoves the newspaper into his lap, away from prying eyes. He looks down and can’t stomach the idea of eating with the large ball of something twisted in his gut.

He blurts something out to his dad before heading back to his room to try and get through his morning routine. His mind is so scattered that brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and grabbing his homework seems impossible without his eyes drifting back to the slightly crumbled newspaper sitting on the edge of his desk. He can help but ask himself Why did I dream of these dead people?

By the time Theo is rolling up in front of his house, and honking his horn at Nolan’s lateness, Nolan manages to stumble out the door, disheveled and barely put together. He quickly shuffles into the truck and throws himself into the passenger seat, leaving Theo asking,

“What’s up with you this morning?”

Not even attempting to answer, he rips open his backpack and pulls out the crumpled newspaper to hand Theo the obituary. Theo quickly scans the page before slowly looking over to Nolan and saying,

“We’re gonna skip first period. Let’s go find Parrish.”

A couple seconds after sending Parrish a text, Theo starts the drive into Beacon Hills to Derek’s apartment.

The drive to Derek’s apartment is quiet as Nolan starts picking at his nails, trying to patiently wait for whatever is going to happen at Derek’s. When they pull up to the parking lot, Derek is already holding his front door open for Theo and Nolan; although Theo enters much more gracefully than he does.

They are shuffled into Derek’s dining room where Parrish is sipping on some coffee, chilling in his pjs at the table. Everyone sits down with him, and all three older men turn to look at Nolan. Paralyzed by the three intense questioning sets of eyes, Nolan finds himself shrugging rather than talking.

Parrish breaks the silence with “You boys want a cup of coffee before we start?”

Nolan nods and Theo responds with a quick “Yes” so Parrish heads around the table back into the kitchen area. The sounds of a coffee machine ring in Nolan’s ears, but Theo nudges his arm to distract him into looking at Theo.

“Can we see the newspaper?”

Nolan places the obituary on the table for Derek to look at. He also skims through the obituary before asking Nolan,

“And this concerns you because?”

“Um, I’ve been having these dreams. Kinda. They’re not all dreams but they kinda have to do with them.”

Parrish walks back into the room with two mugs of steaming hot coffee, sets them down in front of Nolan and Theo, and asks,

“Do you wanna tell us about them?”

Which has Nolan slowly and awkwardly trying to describe his not-so-descriptive dreams over the past week. Nolan finishes his story, and the room is silent as the three older men all make eye contact with one another, not even looking at Nolan. Finally, Theo asks Parrish,

“Did their deaths affect you in any way?”

“Outside of being a deputy, no.”

More awkward silence as Nolan slowly tries to sink into the floor. Derek finally breaks the silence again

“Well Nolan didn’t predict them. He just knew a bit about them.”

“We should talk to Lydia. She is the one of us with the most experiencing about knowing deaths as they happen.”

The men shake their heads in agreement, and Parrish whips his phone out, presumably to send out a text to Lydia. Derek and Theo head elsewhere in the apartment after they discussed looking in the Bestiary for some clues. Parrish finishes the text and fully turns back to Nolan.

“Thanks for telling Theo, and us, about your dreams. We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah, thanks.” There’s another moment of silence before Nolan’s stomach starts lightly growling. A smile grows on Parrish’s face as he tries to cover up his stomach.

“You eat breakfast?”

“No, um the paper kinda freaked me out.”

“You want some grilled cheese? I’m pretty good at them.”

“Sure.”

Parrish makes Nolan a little grilled cheese as the other two bring a computer out and start searching for clues on there. But as Nolan is finishing his sandwich and patiently waiting for them to come to an answer, he sees a conclusion is not really made. Everyone agrees that they don’t really know and should wait for Lydia, who had not replied yet due to her being in class. The only good news Nolan gets is that Lydia has plans to return to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving break the next weekend so he can talk to her face-to-face then. Slightly dejected about the vagueness of results but happy he was not doomed to die, Nolan lets Theo drive him back to school, and pretends everything is fine, patiently waiting for Lydia.

Nolan makes it all the way to Thursday during his study hall, t-minus two days until his meeting with Lydia. But as his teachers give up on homework right before break, he has absolutely nothing to do other than chill at his normal table with Alec and Sydney; everyone mindlessly scrolling or gossiping in whispers. So, he crosses his arms and gets comfy to take a quick cat nap.

Instead of being awoken by his phone alarm, déjà vu hits as he shoots up, pushing the chair back and notebooks around. He frantically looks around the library, barely glancing at Alec and Sydney’s worried looks, before carelessly scrambling for his phone and running into the hallway. He speed-dials Parrish and paces around the hallway with his lungs working overtime until he hears Parrish pick up. The second he hears Parrish’s voice, he starts stuttering out,

“It was an old guy. He’s like ancient super old. I think he fell down. He was- he was hurt. And I think his name is Bert. Or maybe John. Like Bert John…”

His scattered story of his recalled dream is interrupted when Parrish responds, “Bert Johnson.”

Nolan falls silent as Parrish continues, “He was at the elderly home, and fell down in the shower. Nolan, he passed away a couple minutes ago. Sheriff and I were just called in.”

Nolan chokes out a quiet, “He’s dead?” barely understanding what’s happening.

“Yes,” Parrish doesn’t even let Nolan try to respond before reassuring him, “But it already happened. You couldn’t have done anything about it, okay”

“Okay...”

“Thank you for telling me so soon. But I know you are at school. Why don’t you go back to class, and I’ll talk to you later?”

“Alright, bye.”

“Bye.”

Nolan presses the End Call button and stares at his phone wallpaper, still a little unsettled, before he pockets his phone and turns back around to see Alec and Sydney standing at the library doors.

Alec breaks the silence by asking “Who’s Bert Johnson?”

“I don’t know.”

Nolan slowly shuffles back to the doors with them and all three go back into the library.

2:02 Saturday evening, the glass doors of Moe’s diner open as Lydia gracefully floats in. She’s dressed up and elegant for the dingy diner’s afternoon crowd. She immediately sees him all alone, and heads towards him. Nolan raises his hand to quickly wave, and Lydia simply smiles as she slides into the other side of his tattered booth.

Nolan has to restrain himself from shaking; his anxiety skyrocketed the second he had entered the building himself and Lydia either doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment as she says,

“Hi Nolan.”

“Hi Lydia, um thanks for coming and talking with me.”

“I’m the master of crazy dreams. I’d love to help if I can.”

“Well, I’ve been having some crazy dreams.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them as much as you can?”

Again, Nolan launches into his story of all the dreams, including the last one, and tells her everything he could remember. It takes probably ten to fifteen minutes before Nolan runs out of things relating to his dreams and just waits for her response.

“Nolan, in your dream about Mrs. Lopez, did you look around the room?”

“No, um I was just looking at her.”

“Well, there’s a chance she wasn’t talking to you. I asked Parrish, that woman’s daughter was apparently in the room when she passed.”

“But, but what does that mean? Why is this happening to me?”

Lydia takes a moment to take a deep breath and a sip of her water. The momentary pause also allows him to take a couple breaths too.

“Can I ask you a couple, personal questions Nolan? I promise it’ll help.”

“Um sure.”

“Nolan, do you know what I am?”

“A Banshee?”

“Yeah, do you know what Banshees do?”

“Um, scream when someone dies?”

“Sometimes. We are called the Harbinger of Death. My screaming is just one of my abilities. Banshees have been around as long as werewolves, and this is where it might be a bit personal… Nolan, Banshees have always been woman.”

Nolan had already been fidgeting with his fingers, but he couldn’t help but quickly break their eye contact to watch himself fidget with his sweatshirt arm hems. There’s a moment of awkward silence before he watches Lydia’s hands reach out and eventually land over his own, stopping his fidgeting and lightly squeezing his hands.

“Is there any chance you could be a Banshee?”

“…Maybe.” Lydia waits patiently as Nolan has to gnaw on his bottom lip for a second before he builds the confidence to continue. “I, I’m, um I’m a boy. I, like, went through male puberty and everything. But I was born, I’m intersex. I, I um.”

“It’s alright if you don’t wanna go deeper. I believe you. And that means there’s a chance you might be becoming something like me.”

“But, but you’re here. And part of the pack. So why am I doing it too?”

Lydia takes a moment to think before replying,

“Well, a lot of us have been away at school. And I’m pretty far away. I know you’re closer to Liam and the other younger wolves. So maybe it’s happening so you can help Liam.”

“Yeah, maybe. But what does that mean for me? Like am I becoming you?”

Lydia lightly laughs through a breath before cheekily responding,

“No, I am one of a kind. But I might be able to give you some advice; make sure you know you’re not going crazy. You know, stuff I wished I knew.”

“Yeah, that’d be really nice.”

The afternoon fades as patrons come in and out. Nolan and Lydia stay sitting in the booth, eventually ordering some food and drinks, as Lydia imparts as much wisdom as possible. Not that long ago, Lydia was helping Meredith realize their powers are good when they use them for good; and now, in the diner booth, she helps Nolan understand what he is.

#teen wolf #nolan holloway #spooktober #spooktober prompt #banshee! nolan #intersex! nolan #lydia martin #this is be put on ao3 soon #my posts #my writing #my last spooktober prompt

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