#Dave York | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedroshotwifey · 3 days

Note

For the NSFW prompts, can you do #25 with Dave and Dieter and GN reader?

Hey, babe! Here it is in all of its filthy glory! I'm not sure what came over me, but I do know what (who) came over them :)

Pairing: Sub!Dieter Bravo x Sub!GN!reader x Dom!Dave York

W/C: 2.4k

Tags/warnings: polyamory, established relationship, dom & sub roles, finger fucking, ass eating, orgasm denial, edging, playful banter/undertones, fluff, smut, healthy relationship, aftercare, blowjobs, deepthroating, facial, cum eating, ball play, mutual masturbation, hair pulling, pet names, degradation (not rly but kinda), one singular spank, one singular barely there face slap, no description of reader other than they have hair (doesn't specify how long), Dee and reader being little shits

Summary: You and Dieter think it's fun to tease Dave, and Dave thinks he should teach you both a lesson for it.

Tease

Dave probably only got home about half an hour ago, but you’re already starting to feel the effect he has on you. You’ve been a bit pent up all day, and you can’t help it anymore. He, you, and Dieter have been cuddling in bed for most of the time he’s been here, you on his left and Dee on his right as you savor his presence in the dark. You’ve had a feeling that Dee’s been just as pent up as you all day, but now you hear him snoring—which is pretty on brand for him.

The two of you are allowed to mess around while Dave's at work, the only rule being that neither of you are allowed to come without his permission. So, technically, it’s your own fault for starting shit with Dee this morning. But still. You need him for backup right now. How do you just fall asleep after being edged for a solid hour and a half?

You’re lying so that your back is to Dave’s front, and obviously you can’t resist grinding your ass back into him. You’ve been making subtle adjustments for the last ten minutes or so, feeling him grow harder and harder.

You hide your smile in the pillow as you push your ass against him again, attempting to play innocent for however long you can. Of course, it doesn’t work. You hear an intake of breath before Dave slides a hand over your hip and growls into your ear.

“You don’t realize what it does to me when we’re cuddling and you press your ass against me.”

You put on your best guiltless face and crane your neck to look at him. “What do you mean?” you ask sweetly. He just gives you a pointed look—a warning.

I mean, you do have to admire his composure thus far. Had it been Dieter, he would probably already be all over you already. As if on cue, you see a bed-messed head rise up behind Dave’s broad shoulders. He looks like he just woke up, which is probably accurate.

“They can grind it against me if they want,” he offers like he’s doing the two of you a great service, face serious. He’s propped up on his side, and you can tell the exact moment he grinds against Dave’s ass because Dave whips around and shoots him that same glare he gave you a few seconds ago. Dieter just smiles and you have to hold in your laugh, which makes him have to hold in his laugh, which causes the both of you to lose it.

You both fall back down on either side of Dave, your laughter growing as he looks between the two of you, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. He ends up grumbling something neither of you catch through your fits of giggles.

“I guess both of you need to be taught a lesson, acting like children,” he says.

That catches your attention, and the laughter stops almost immediately. You and Dieter catch each other’s eyes yet again, but this time they’re filled with mischief, excitement, and anticipation.

“Oh no, please don’t do that,” you drawl, very obviously sarcastic. Dave brings his attention back to where you’re now laying on your back looking up at him, and his face could probably be summed up into the ‘listen here, you little shit’ meme. You hear Dee snickering behind him.

You flash him a wink and he can’t take it anymore. He sits all the way up and starts to get out of bed, going to turn the light on.

“Both of you,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Get up and strip.”

He doesn’t have to say it twice. You and Dieter quickly scramble out and start pulling your clothes off as Dave walks back to the bed, only unbuckling his belt. Before he takes a seat on the edge and waits for both of you to finish. As Dieter pulls his pants down, you can’t help but glance at his cock, still hard as it was earlier.

“Come here, Dieter,” Dave points to the bed beside him, and Dee is quick to follow his instruction. You see him gulp as he climbs onto the bed, sure to be on his best behavior. He knows he’s in trouble when Dave uses his full name. “Hands and knees,” he tells him. Dee gets into position.

You watch with pleading eyes, waiting to join in on the fun.

“Get behind him,” he says to you. “I think he wants your sweet tongue in his ass. Don’t you, Dee?”

You climb onto the bed behind him, taking position as Dee nods frantically.

“Ask nicely,” Dave demands, settling up behind you and placing a hand on your back.

“Please eat my ass, I need it,” Dieter begs you, pushing it out more in invitation.

“Good boy. Go ahead, baby,” he tells you. “Give him what he wants.”

You quickly surge forward, licking a stripe up his taint and feeling him shiver against you as he lets out a long groan.

You try your best to ignore the way Dave’s hand starts to creep further down your body, cupping your ass. It goes away for a second, and when his fingers return, they’re covered in what you can assume is his saliva. He trails them down to your hole, not pushing them in but just teasing. You whine against Dieter as you circle his hole, your hips pushing back to try to get Dave inside of you.

Clearly, that wasn’t a good choice because there’s very quickly a spank against your ass, making you jolt. “Be good,” He reminds you. You nod and finally slip your tongue inside of Dieter, making him moan and his hips thrust forward, his cock swinging in the air. You keep going, working him further by thrusting the muscle in and out as Dave’s fingers come back to your own hole, this time allowing one to slip in about halfway. You keen but do your best to not push back, just keep focusing on Dee, doing what he likes.

Dieter moans again as you touch that spot he loves so much, and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to touch his aching cock.

Dave pushes his finger all the way in and you start to tremble with need. You pull your tongue back and start to circle Dieter’s rim again, and this time his hand comes back and threads through your hair, not pulling or pushing, but most likely there to stabilize himself.

“Mhhp, ‘s so good,” he whines.

Dave chuckles and you can see him shaking his head out of the corner of your eye. “Desperate things.”

He’s pumping his finger in and out of you now, and he adds a second as your tongue pushes back into Dieter’s ass. You can feel heat start to lick at the base of your spine and curl up in your belly, and you’re sure that Dee’s probably feeling the same right now. You catch a glimpse of Dave’s other arm moving, and you know he’s palming himself over his slacks.

Dave’s fingers speed up, and you can feel yourself getting close. Judging by the way Dieter’s whines grow more high pitched and his body starts to shake, he must be getting close, too.

“D-Dave,” Dieter whimpers. “Please can I come? Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

His hips are rocking now, and you place a hand on his thigh to steady him as you increase your efforts. You’re almost there, too. You just need a little more of Dave slamming his fingers deep inside of you, crooking them just right.

You’re about to signal to ask, to fall apart with Dieter, when Dave’s fingers quickly pull out, and then you’re being dragged away from Dee’s ass.

“No!” you cry as Dave pulls you to him, your building orgasm beginning to fade. Dieter collapses, a groan of defeat leaving his lips.

Dave laughs, holding you and making you watch as Dee lays in a panting heap on the bed. You look up at him, a million different emotions in your eyes. When you look back to Dieter, you find an expression that probably matches yours watching your Dom as well.

Dave looks back and forth between you, a smirk playing at his lips. “What? Not funny when I do it?”

Your jaw just about drops. So that’s what this is. You almost forgot about that. You look at Dieter, who dramatically plants his face into the mattress.

“Get back up, Dieter, both of you on your knees, now.”

You both slide from the bed, much less enthusiastically than you had gotten on. Dave, the only one still smiling, gets off behind the two of you and walks past where you’ve gotten into position side by side on your knees.

You both watch him, trying not to drool as he slowly strips out of his clothes and then walks back to you, his hard cock hanging tauntingly in front of you. You can’t take your eyes off of it, the bead of precum at the tip as he firmly grasps it.

“Well?”

You and Dee are pulled from your trance, both of you looking up at Dave’s face. “Open your mouths,” he tells you, leaving no room for negotiation—not that either of you would want such a thing. You both obey, opening your jaws and showing your tongues.

“There we go,” Dave encourages condescendingly. He taps the tip of his cock on your tongues one at a time, giving each you the smallest taste.

“Okay, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to touch yourselves while you suck my cock, and if you can come before I do, then go ahead, you don’t have to ask permission.”

You both perk up at this, tongues still out and waiting.

“If you can’t though,” Dave continues, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Then you’ll just have to wait until I decide you can.”

You and Dee stay facing him, but your eyes flicker toward each other. You both know that he doesn’t just mean wait hour or a day. He might make you wait a week—more if he feels like it. If you want relief any time soon, it needs to happen now.

“Well? What are you sluts waiting for?”

You both surge forward, mouths finding his shaft and sucking once he moves his hand out of the way. He tastes so fucking good—salty and musky. You both moan at the same time, sending vibrations up Dave’s cock and making him groan.

“Fucking good job,” Dave mutters. Dieter whimpers at the praise, and you feel yourself throb, which is the second you remember you’re allowed to touch yourself.

You thrust your hand down between your legs, immediately starting to work yourself. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at finally being able to do something about the ache that’s been there all day. There’s a sudden sting on your cheek, and you’re forced to look back up at Dave from where he landed the soft smack. He’s watching you with a piercing gaze, and it sends another spark through you, getting you close to the edge again.

Keeping up the pace between your thighs as much as you can, you keep your eyes on Dave and lick up his thick shaft, tasting more precum as well as Dee’s drool. Dee moves over enough for you to move your mouth to Dave’s tip, and you take it in, sucking and using your tongue to flick the head of it. With the combination of your impending orgasm and Dave’s husky taste on your tongue, your entire body feels fuzzy and light.

“Oh, shit,” Dave grunts and places his hand on your head, gently pushing you further onto him. Dee moves lower and starts to nip and suck as Dave’s heavy balls. You can hear the furious slapping sound of Dieter getting himself off, see the way his cheeks start to gain more color as he gets closer to the edge.

Dave starts to thrust into you, your lips stretching around his girth. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag, your eyes filling with tears. It’s almost hard to focus on the intrusion, however, when you have the pleasant, heated sensation swirling in your lower abdomen. You’re almost cross-eyed by the time Dieter comes back up and starts to lick at Dave’s length when you’re pulled off.

Dave’s panting heavily now, a sure sign that he’s getting close. A surge of panic floods through you, and you move your hand even quicker, whining in relief once you know you’re going to be able to come. You’re so close. You switch with Dee, who now has his moans being choked by Dave’s cock, and start to lick at Dave’s balls.

The symphony of noises coming from the three of you is loud. The slap of skin on skin where Dee fists his cock, the breathy moans and curses spilling off of Dave’s tongue, the gargles coming from Dee’s throat, the keens from you.

You all finish at the same time, groans and growls filling the bedroom as you and Dee are tugged back, coming on your hands as your mouths fall open and your eyes close in pure bliss. The pleasure races through you, forcing you back on your haunches even as you keep up your movements to ride out your high. Dave’s salty cum paints your face, and you don’t have to look to know Dee is receiving the same treatment.

You wait until you’re sure all of you are done before you open your eyes. You all breathe heavily, you and Dee sinking down to your asses and leaning against the side of the bed as Dave crouches down in front of you. He watches both of you, savoring the sight of you both so fucked out and wearing his seed.

One at a time, he leans forward and kisses your heads. “I’m going to go get some towels and water,” he says, his voice gentle now. Dee nods and scootches close to you, snuggling up even though you’re still on the floor and your bodies are sticky with sweat. You smile, again reminded of how lucky you are to be so close to these two. Dave just shakes his head at the two of you.

“Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” he jokes.

Yeah, right. Dieter will probably be falling asleep again in the thirty seconds it’ll take him to get back.

***** Want to read more requests or submit your own? Try this link!

#fan fiction #pedro pascal #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedro pascal characters #fluff #dave york x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york smut #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #writer asks #requested fic #writing requests

34 notes · View notes

punkette1026 · 23 hours

Text

I just cant UGH!!!!!! The want is strong!!!!

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller #pookie #Frankie morales #marcus pike #marcus moreno #javier peña #javi gutierrez #oberyn martell #dave york

31 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 2 days

Text

The Softest in the World

Day 15: Fingering (Dave York x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event found here! Is it April? Yes. Am I that far behind in posting that it's April and I'm still working through Kinktober requests? Also yes.)

CW: Smut (Fingering; talk of masturbation; oblique talk of vague future sex acts); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4102

AN: This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by an anon!

AN2: Never edited, never beta'ed. I live and die by my slopping typing.

The first Christmas without Carol goes far better for Dave than he ever thought it would. Of course he misses his wife, nearly a year out from her sudden death. Molly and Alice miss their mother too. But the immediate grief—that sharp, cutting pain that left them breathless and stunned—has faded into a more mellow sorrow. Ever-present, but it doesn’t take Dave out at the knees anymore.

He knows he owes much of his family’s collective healing to you, the nanny he hired months after Carol died. You’re the one who stepped in and took charge of their lives. You never tried to replace Carol, but you’ve managed their day-to-day moments and their larger healing.

This first Christmas was your idea too. A month in Vermont, away from the family home where memories may have been too thick and pressing to allow for any joy. It had proved out to be a great idea too: long days sledding and snow-shoeing and building snow forts leave the girls exhausted by evening, too tired to ruminate about their missing mother.

And it allows Dave more time with you.

Usually you only live at the York home when he’s traveling. You handle their lives at home—drive the girls to and from school, to and from activities. You handle the maid who comes in twice a week to clean. You keep the refrigerator full, get the girls bathed and put to bed with a story and a hug each night. But Dave is never there to see it—when he returns home from his work trips, you leave for your own apartment.

This month in Vermont? You sleep in the room just down the hallway from him. You share a bathroom with him, leave behind the scent of your shampoo and soap after you shower. He hears you each night when you, like clockwork, pad out into the kitchen for a glass of water that you gulp down until you’re breathless.

More than all of that, he has front row seats to how you care for his girls. You’re tough but fair. You cut them plenty of slack, grieving as they are, but you don’t allow them to run roughshod over you. You play with them, you teach them, and you genuinely seem to love them…and they genuinely love you as well.

Him, though? Dave can’t seem to get a bead on you when it comes to him. Your ease with the girls disappears the moment the two of you are alone. You can’t always meet his eye line. You flinch away from him if he brushes against you. Sometimes he wonders if you can sense his former double life—if you have some preternatural prey response to being so close to a predator. But more than once, he’s caught you watching him on the sly. He’s noticed your heavy-lidded eyes, the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

When he cornered you in the hallway a few days earlier, he definitely noticed how your breathing quickened.

Maybe you can sense his killer nature, but Dave would also guess that you are attracted to him. And knowing what he does of your character, you probably feel conflicted about that. Guilty. Maybe even a cliché, the nanny falling for the widowed father of her charges.

If Dave has taken one lesson from Carol’s death, though, it’s this: life is short, and life can end in a blink. Why not live while you can?

-----

The day before Christmas is spent in a nearby town. You plan it, of course, and you layer in fun stuff with all the errands you have to run and make it a family affair. You take the girls ice skating at a nearby pond. Dave stands along the rink’s edge and watches you take lazy circles on the ice, Molly’s and Alice’s mittened hands firmly in yours until they get comfortable on their own. Then you skate over to him, and the two of you watch in silence.

Then there’s hot chocolate at a nearby café, last minute presents for the stockings, and the grocery store. You return to the cabin laden with bags, and the evening flies by. You and the girls make flat breads for dinner, and afterwards, you put on a Christmas movie while the girls put the finishing touches on the tree Dave bought earlier in the month.

Dave helps the girls with their evening baths. He gets them tucked into bed, reads them a story. He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads, and they are out like a light before he’s even quietly clicking their bedroom door shut behind him.

As he’s been tending to his daughters, you’ve tidied up in the kitchen and living room, and now you’re pulling the wrapped gifts from their hiding spot in the hallway closet to arrange them under the tree.

At the sound of his footfall, you glance up and offer him a smile.

“They out already?” you ask.

Dave chuckles. “Before I even left the room.”

You smile, brush the back of your hand across your forehead, miming hard work. “It’s exhausting work, trying to exhaust them.”

“And you manage to do it every time.” He joins you near the tree, kneels down beside you.

“Sometimes I make them run laps at home,” you reply with a laugh, and maybe you don’t notice your casual use of the word home, but Dave notices.

Dave notices everything.

He noticed, for example, how you stood by him at the skating rink, perfect posture and a tension radiating off of you when Dave moved close enough for his coat to brush against yours. He noticed the way you ducked your head at the café, how you pretended not to hear the women who sat nearby and remarked on the lovely little family that you, Dave, and the girls made.

He notices now how you lean away from him just a fraction, how you start when his fingers touch yours each time he hands you a wrapped gift to place. He notices that you won’t look at him, that you keep your gaze carefully fixed on the presents or the tree. He crowds you closer, plays dumb about it, and he notices when the pink tip of your tongue darts out and licks a wet line along your lower lip.

Part of Dave—the dark part of him, the predator in him—wants to grip your face between his hand and force you to look at him. He wants to hold your gaze until it’s too much for you; he wants to stare at you until you squirm and beg him to let you go. And then he wants to not let you go, your begging futile—he wants to hold you tighter and lean in and draw his own tongue along that bitable lower lip of yours.

He keeps that part of him at bay. He knows he has to go slow. Slow movements. You freeze around him, but if he comes on too strong or too fast, you’ll bolt. He needs to quiet that prey instinct, make you feel safe. Alleviate your guilt, if you have any, at being attracted to a widower.

So Dave decides to seduce you instead.

When you reach for the next gift, he instead grasps your wrist lightly. He can feel your pulse against his grip, and he hears the breath you draw in. He holds you like that until you have the courage to look at him, and he smiles at you to put you at ease.

“I’ll finish up,” he tells you, his voice low. “Why don’t you go get a bottle of wine and some glasses? We can have a drink on the couch.”

You hesitate…then nod. It shouldn’t be a turn-on, but Dave loves the hesitancy, then the obedient way you stand up and do exactly as he says. It’s not hard for him to imagine other things he could order you to do, the same uncertainty before you obey him.

-----

The wine is Moscato-adjacent. It’s one of those local vintages made with fruits other than grapes, and far too sweet for Dave’s taste, but you had picked it out at the grocery store, so he sips it carefully and hides his winces when the cloying sweetness burns against the back of his throat.

You? You nearly gulp it down, and he realizes how nervous you are to be here: alone on a couch beside him, the room dark except for the lit-up Christmas tree and the crackling fire in the fireplace. It’s romantic, but you’re his employee, and he swears he can feel you flailing out of your depths to find yourself in this moment.

“Easy,” he says. He stills your hand when you reach for the bottle. You’ve bolted down the first glass so fast, and Dave doesn’t want you drunk. He doesn’t even want you tipsy. He wants just the barest bit of your nerves soothed, but he wants you fully in control of yourself.

He wants you to be completely, stone sober when you beg him.

“Slow down,” he continues. “You don’t want to overdo it.”

You laugh, a nervous giggle that spills out of your mouth, and you start to say, “I just…” but you trail off, don’t finish the sentence.

What were you going to say, Dave wonders?

I just am nervous.

I just think this is too much.

I just think it’s wrong. It’s too soon. It’s too complicated. It’s too unseemly. What will people think, if anyone ever finds out?

“It’s okay.” He says it soothingly. He eases your empty glass out of your other hand, and he sets it down along with his own mostly-full glass, but he does it with one hand—his other, he keeps wrapped around your wrist, unwilling to break his hold on you.

“Mr. York…” You start, and he hears the nerves in your voice. He hears the wobble in your words, the faint tremor, but he also swears he can hear desire too—a huskiness to your voice, the slightest rough edge. And you squirm in your seat, just a bit, but you don’t try to pull away from him.

“Mister York? Since when did I become Mister?” It shouldn’t be so hot, you calling him that, formal with the tremble in your words, but then you breathe out his first name—Dave—and you draw it out, and that’s even hotter.

His hand on your wrist, he pulls you to him, tugs your upper body towards him, and you let him. You go willingly, but your eyes widen. In shock? Fear? Lust?

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, his face inches from yours. “If you don’t, say so now, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

The tip of your tongue darts out, licks nervously against your lower lip. “It’s just…” You take a breath, try again. “It’s just complicated.”

“That’s not a yes or a no, baby.”

You huff and offer him a tremulous smile at his use of a nickname, so he adds, “it’s a simple question.”

You hesitate, and Dave wonders if you’re really conflicted about it. If you’re weighing how your life will change depending on how you answer…

…or if you just don’t want to seem eager, because you nod, then whisper “yes, I do want this,” and when he bridges the remaining distance between you, you’re right there, ready and eager to slot your mouth over his, to part your lips to his searching tongue, to cup his stubbled face with your free hand.

-----

Other men might take you then and there. They might claim you right on the couch, in front of a dying fire and a Christmas tree sparkling with lights. They might rush it, make it some sweaty, sad fumble, then parting to each slink to separate bedrooms.

Dave York has always enjoyed the long game. If he were a game hunter, he would enjoy it better to sit in a tree stand for hours before dawn. He would relish the cool planning, the stalking, the calculating and recalibrating as needed.

Dave York doesn’t fuck you just yet. He wants to give you a taste, just a morsel, because he wants you slavering for it. He wants you looking at him with those wide eyes, that lower lip caught between your teeth, as you beg him for more.

So this night, he only pushes you gently back against the couch as he kisses you. He lowers himself onto you—lets you feel the weight and heft of his body against yours, lets you feel how he can press you into the couch with his weight. He lets you feel the length of his growing erection where it presses against your hip, and each little whimper makes him harder.

He kisses you deeply—tastes the glass of Moscato you gulped down, tastes the sweetness of you beyond the tart, sweet wine. He slides his tongue against yours, licks the inside of your mouth, and he smiles inwardly when you shyly try to do the same. You are mostly led by him but there’s little movements—your tongue pressing back against his, say, or the upward press of your hips as you search for friction—where you try to lead too.

He braces himself with one hand, which allows the other to roam free. He cups your flushed face, feels the heat of your blushing. He draws his hand down, traces a path down your neck, circles his palm there, feels how much he can fit in the span of one palm. Not because he likes choking—he’s never been into breathplay or anything so risky, but he does like the tame feel of his hand partially around your neck with the feel of your pulse and the ragged breaths you pull in.

Then lower. He grasps the softness of your breast, and even through the sweater and bra, he can feel your pebbled nipple. He brushes the pad of his thumb over it, back and forth, and it makes your hips lift up again…and then you groan when you find nothing to meet you, no friction and no touch.

“Be patient,” he whispers in your ear. He nips at your lobe, darts his tongue against the whorl of your ear, and you whimper at the sensation of his hot breath fanning over you.

He moves his free hand lower still. He finds the hem of your sweater, snakes his hand under it. Then he finds the waistband of your leggings. He sends up a silent prayer that he gets to live in a time and place where leggings are a thing—no tricky buttons or zippers, just an elastic waistband so easy to slip his hand under, and he cups your mound through the soft cotton of your panties. Dave chuckles near your ear, then lifts his head to look at you because you’re already wet there, the damp cotton cleaving to you as he skates his fingers over you.

“Bad girl,” he whispers. “Getting wet for your boss.”

He’s watching you as he says it, and he sees the flash of hurt that crosses your face before your pupils get wider and your lips part, as you breathe out a heavy breath. You’re such a good girl; Dave obviously vetted you before ever letting you into his girls’ lives. Straight A student, honors, full ride in college. Not even a speeding ticket in your history. He bets you’ve never been called bad, never been a bad girl, and it seems to hurt you for a beat before you embrace this tamest step outside of your erotic comfort zone.

Dave has so many more steps he wants to lead you on. He wants to take your hand in his and lead you into darker, deeper waters. He imagines spanking you, binding you, blindfolding you. He imagines twisting your innate desire to please into something sensual; he imagines training you to greet him on your knees. He imagines rewarding you, calling you a good girl instead, fucking you senseless until you are left overstimulated and weeping, ruined for any other cock but his.

“Is this just from right now?” he continues, and he strokes you through your soaked panties, feels how they are molded to your folds and cleft. “Or have you been thinking about this?”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me.” He pinches you lightly—not enough to hurt, but the sensation pulls a gasp from you, and your hand flies up to grasp his bicep where his bracing arm is near your head. “Tell me why you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been thinking about this.” It comes out a whisper, barely audible. Tinged in shame, and that’s the first thing Dave will burn out of you. Guilt. Shame. He’ll break you down and tear those useless emotions out of you.

“When?” Another light pinch, another gasp. Your hand grips his arm harder, and Dave will see dusty little bruises there in the morning.

“Since….ah, since a while.” Another pinch, and you add, “over the summer.”

The summer. When Dave was around more due to his busy period at word dying off. When Dave ran each morning and returned home to find you cleaning up the breakfast mess, when he shed his sweaty shirt and walked through the house on his way to shower. When he pretended not to notice the way your eyes followed him each step, and when he pretended like he needed a glass of cold water, shirtless, that he drank down in your eye line.

Bad girl indeed.

“You touch yourself to the thought of me?” Here he moves his hand, shifts it to slip under the lacy band of your panties, and he’s delighted to feel a strip of damp curls there, happy that you haven’t shaved or waxed yourself bare. He drags his fingers through them, then finds your clit, slick and swollen, and he touches you lightly there. Strums you with his thumb and chuckles at the keening whine that tears out of your throat.

“Answer me. You touch yourself, thinking about me?”

“….yes.”

“Like this?”

“S-sometimes.”

“Not every time?”

You fix him with a pleading look, but you’re barely able to hold his gaze for long. When he brushes his lips over your cheekbone, he can feel how hot your face is. This is a challenge to you, possibly humiliating, but also arousing because you continue to lift your hips, chasing the touch you’re desperate for. Such a soft little thing, the softest in the world, and yet you’ve been touching yourself to the thought of him.

Dave stills his hand, and he chuckles again at the groan of disappointment you make. “Tell me or I stop.”

You swallow, nod. “Sometimes I…I have a vi…a vibrator.”

He can imagine it; a sad little tucked-away piece of silicone or plastic. You probably pull it out in the darkness of your room, ashamed at pleasuring yourself. You probably bury it under your socks and blush when your hand brushes against it when you’re putting laundry away.

He hums, considers the mental image that rises to his mind. Your legs spread under the covers, running the toy over your clit, maybe pushing it inside you. Imagining it was him instead.

Not that different from the times he’s gripped his own cock, stroked himself in the shower or in his room and pretended it was you instead of his hand.

Dave could demand to know your fantasies. He could make you tell him what scenarios you’ve used to get off to him. Him bending you over the kitchen counter? Him fucking you in the shower? Him sneaking into your bedroom at night, sliding under the covers and slipping his already-hard cock into your tight little pussy? He could make you blush harder and demand to know these things, but he wants to take this slow, so he kisses you instead, murmurs his thanks, calls you a good girl for answering his questions, and when your face lights up at the praise, Dave pushes one thick finger into you and draws the sweetest, throatiest groan from you.

Other men might take you then and there, but Dave only finger-fucks you. He goes so slow, eases it out, pushes it back in so you feel every goddamned bit of him entering you. He keeps his thumb firm on your clit, and just the pressure makes you whimper each time he presses a little harder.

He adds a second finger and feels the delicious stretch as your pussy cedes to him. You’re unbelievably warm, slick, and your pussy twitches and pulses around him each time he breeches the confines of your body. It’s tight, but you’re nervous, and each bit of praise—good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, just relax and let me make you feel good, baby—makes you unclench a bit more. You relax, and you find the rhythm that he fingers you, and you lift your hips to meet his fingers.

When he adds a third finger, you hiss at the thickness of it, the tight fit. He stills, watches your face for any pain, and when he doesn’t see any, he continues.

Three fingers is a good start to preparing you for his cock, he thinks. He imagines the feel of pushing into you, mounting you, and he imagines your fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out in you.

In due time. Now he fingers you, he scissors his fingers inside you and feels the answering throb in his erection each time you whine or whimper or groan, the sweetest symphony of sounds he’s able to pull from you. When he starts circling your clit with his thumb, when he crooks his fingers inside you, pressing gently until he finds the spot that makes you gasp out his name, but you call him Mister York again, and it unlocks something inside him, the power you’re letting him have over you. He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, right at the pulse point, and you gasp again. Your other hand flies up and cradles the back of his head, and you twist your fingers through his hair, but you don’t pull him away—you hold him there, and he licks against the dimpled marks he’s left in your skin, he breathes against the wet line on your neck, and he’ll see a lurid bruise there in the morning too that will make him instantly hard.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growls against your neck. “You’re going to be a good girl and come when I tell you.”

And his mind boggles at the possibilities with you because you do exactly as he says. You nod at his order, and you press your hips in time to his searching fingers, and he feels when your orgasm approaches because you lose much of your embarrassment. You swear in a hoarse whisper against his head—oh fuck, D-Dave, fuck fuck fuck, I’m close, I’m gonna, oh, don’t stop—and you spread your legs wider to make room for his hand, and the lurid sound of his hand working against your wetness doesn’t seem to even register to you. The entire living room smells like sex and you don’t care, and when you gasp and buck your hips up into his hand, he feels your orgasm break around you: the pulse of your cunt gripping his fingers, the hot slick of cum that coats his hand, the way your body shakes under his.

He fingers you through it. He draws out your pleasure until you shove at him lightly, tell him it’s too much, and he stops. He feels the tension of your orgasm—the arching body, the trembling—leave you, and you lay underneath him, sated and heavy with your release.

Dave draws his hand out from under your clothing, and he straightens the hem of your sweater where it rode up a bit. Then he fixes you with an unblinking stare and lifts his hand to his mouth, and he smiles at your shocked expression as he licks his fingers clean. Then, with the taste of you on his lips, he lowers his head and kisses you again—deep and slow, so you can taste yourself too.

“Good girl,” he tells you when he breaks the kiss. “You’re going to be such a good girl for me.”

#dave york #dave york imagine #dave york x reader #dave york x you #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales #the equalizer 2

25 notes · View notes

creedslove · 2 days

Note

Imagine our sweet Dave looking at his future fiance quietly. She doesn't know he is standing in a corridor, looking at her when she is changing in her bedroom.

They are not living together yet, they are just dating for a few months and she is still a little shy around him at times.

She has her sports bra on, because it's more comfortable than regular bra, but Dave wants to take her for some fancy dinner so she wants to change. The sports bra is a little tight and she has to make a little silly dance to take it off. Something she is jumping, sometimes wiggling her way out of it. Dave loves it. He finds it beyond adorable when she is jumping and grunting a little, because the bra is stubborn and long hair is not helping in this situation. He is smiling and laughing very quietly. He is in trouble, he thinks to himself.

When his soon to be fiance is wiggling her hips to help a tight dress fit through her wide hips, Dave takes a deep breath and admires her. Thongs, so it's not visible under the dress, love handles so soft, his fingers always dig dip in her flesh, exposed back with a back fat shaping her body the way he likes it, wide shoulders with freckles and moles he wants to kiss. It's beautiful view.

When the dress is on, she is out of the bedroom. The large mirror is in the corridor and she wants to take a look at herself in the outfit.

-You ready? - she can hear Dave's voice from a living room. He was quick, so he was not spotted staring.

-i think I have to change. I look so ridiculous in that tight dress. It looked good in the store, but I'm not sure now. Dave loved the dress on her. Belly pouch, breasts, wide hips. Everything so visible, but hidden.

-I think, this look needs a little something to be completed. -His voice low and think like honey. The necklaces Dave helped her put on was supposed to be a gift for later that evening, but seeing the beautiful woman in front of him, he wanted to spoil her as soon as possible. He wanted to see her smile and gasp in surprise.

Dave loves his soon to be fiance. His soon to be wife. 🍓✨

I have never seen Equalizer 2, but from clips and fantastic I think he is my top 5 for sure. Dave deserves so much love and kisses. There is something about him.

Dave York x f!reader

A/N: omg bestie, you painted this picture so well, it sounds just perfect to picture him like that. It sounds sexy and intimate and I'm sure you worded it better than I could ever do it! ❤️ Thank you for this beautiful scenario, and yes, he does deserve all the love and affection in the whole wide world ❤️

• Dave's heart raced as he watched you from afar, he could never believe his luck in knowing you were his, it still felt too good, it was unbelievable, but it was real: you were his, his fiancee and soon to be wife

• he just loves you, all of you, so much of you it feels overwhelming to him at times: but he loves your body, your soul, your personality and everything about you, just the mere fact of watching you hidden is enough to make his heart flutter, the desire grows inside of him, whenever he sees those clothes sliding through your soft skin, he wants to run his own hands through your body, but it's still too soon, not just yet, he needs to watch you a little longer, he loves that sight

• and once you're standing there like a damn goddess, Dave can't help but feel the need to walk to you, it's like being hypnotized and he can't stay away, so when he places his hands on your shoulders and sees your hesitation, your shy eyes, the way you bite your lips and mumble you are considering changing, his heart breaks, you should never be insecure that way, not when you are beautiful, breathtakingly gorgeous

"this dress looks beautiful, just like you entirely, you're not changing it, baby girl, it looked good at the store and now it looks even better"

• he assures you, showing you he's not gonna let you change it, he loves the way you look, you are perfect, you are his, and if anything, he would just change one single thing about you: he would add some jewelry to you, because you glow more than the finest precious stone, so he decided to grab the velvet jewelry box he got on his way from work and handed it to you; he was going to give it to you during dinner, but why not at that moment?

"there, now you look perfect, everything about you is perfect baby girl, look at yourself"

• Dave commanded while his hands squeezed your sides, holding you in front of the mirror, as he nuzzled your neck, kissing and nibbling your shoulders

"see how perfect you are? Your body, your hips, your breasts, all of you baby girl, I fucking love it"

• Dave's kiss was hungry, he was feeling you up, running your hands through your body as his fist gripped your hair, he loved you, all of you and he was going to take you, even if you two arrived a little late for dinner, it didn't matter, you were his priority

• the way Dave turned you around, kissing you even more hungrily and placed you on the bed, getting between your legs as he parted them, kissing and nibbling your thighs and groaning at how you squirmed for him

"you're not gonna remove this dress, got it, baby girl?"

• he told you, allowing you only to lift your hips up and roll up your dress, so you could spread your legs for him. Dave let out a groan at the sight of your beautiful silky pair of panties, it was so sexy and inviting, but he needed it to be gone, wanting you bare and exposed for him

• he pulled your panties to the side, kissing your inner thighs and spreading your slippery lips apart, his tongue immediately savoring your addictive taste; he could spend the whole night there, the way your sensitive clit flicked in his tongue as you whimpered and your legs shook slightly whenever he suckled on it

• your finger ran through his hair, pulling it closer and closer to your cunt, wanting more of your boyfriend's devilish mouth on you; your heart raced, your body felt on fire and you couldn't hold back any longer, you called his name repeatedly, wanting him more and more, as you felt yourself getting closer to your bliss, you finally came into Dave's mouth

• you clenched, so sensitive at how he licked and kissed all over your cunt as you tried recovering from your orgasm; he smirked at you, kissing his way up and then your lips, making you taste yourself in them

"see baby? Told you you looked perfect, now we're finally ready to go"

____

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x y/n #dave york fanfiction #dave york fanfic #dave york headcanon #dave york headcanons

30 notes · View notes

the-djarin-clan · 1 year

Text

📸| Photoshoot for Esquire magazine - Norman Jean Roy

I wasn't ready for this….

5K notes · View notes

bruhlpng · 1 month

Text

Pedro Pascal in The Equalizer 2 (2018)

#pedro pascal #ppascaledit #pedropascaledit #dave york #the equalizer 2 #mine*#**#obsessed with his side profile

723 notes · View notes

morallyinept · 8 months

Text

The thing I love most about this fandom is how collectively it has been determined that:

- Joel Miller has the biggest cock. Like, ever. Dude be 56 n' he's packing a bazooka in there. Constantly. No part of this man is smol.

- Frankie Morales is the pussy eating king. There are no other contenders. Even leaves the cap on. Except when he takes it off periodically to run his hand through those chocolate curls.

- Ezra is just debauched, depraved filth. You'd think losing an arm would quell him, but no. Man is feral. Cum-eating, anal-rimming, spit-slick dicking, somnophilic F E R A L.

- Dieter Bravo is the trashiest of all pandas and will literally fuck anything that breathes. Or moves. Literally fucks, gets high and makes shitty movies.

- Agent Whiskey would fuck you buck wild like a horse. And possibly throw in a few yeehaws too.

- Dave York would kill you with a simple stare. Then fuck your corpse. You'd still manage to call him daddy.

- Marcus Pike is so boyfriend material. But wind that sucker up and watch him lose his shit.

- Javier Peña is a sultry, moody bitch who would split you open with his cock and choke you whilst doing it, cariño. Then pretend like you don't exist until the next time.

- Marcus Moreno can dick you down so good as long as he's captured a few bad guys first.

- Din Djarin will always break his creed for you. Mando can't help it. It's the whistling pussy.

- Max Phillips makes having a crippling period worth it.

- Javi G is baby. 🥹

God bless you, writers 🖤

#pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect #joel miller #francisco morales #dieter bravo #agent whiskey #marcus moreno #marcus pike #javier peña #javier gutierrez #max phillips #dave york #pedro pascal #jett has spoken

3K notes · View notes

perotovar · 2 months

Text

NARCOS (2015-2017) 3.03 "Follow the Money" THE EQUALIZER 2 (2018)

#pedropascaledit #ppascaledit #pedro pascal #userallisyn #userallii #useriselin #userfanni #tuserpolly #tusercora #xuserannie #javier peña #narcos #narcosedit #dave york #the equalizer 2 #g:pp #oaks #we love a man in charge

556 notes · View notes

daddy-dins-girl · 24 days

Text

Pedro Boys tasked with buying your period products.

Someone sent an ask about Pedro boys dealing with their girl on their period... Not sure if this is what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it regardless :)

Also, this is just for silly fun, don't @ me too harshly in the comments please if you don't agree with some of these, but DEFINITELY feel free to tell me where and why your opinion might differ on some of these choices, I'd love to hear it.

like this post? check out my Pedro Boys Alignment Chart Masterlist here

Headcanons under the cut.

Din/Tim/Dave/Ortega/Clint/Max L - Din is mostly just too shy/embarrassed to ask for help, the rest of these guys are too stubborn, too busy and/or aren't terribly comfortable standing around in this aisle any longer than they have to be.

Ezra/Jack - They're just genuinely confused as to why there are so many varieties. Maybe you WILL be playing tennis tomorrow like this girl in the picture on the box, how tf are they supposed to know? Jack's also a bit of a himbo but it's okay, he's pretty.

Marcus M/Oberyn/Frankie/Marcus P/Joel/Javi P - Some of these boys are 'girl dads' and just know the drill by now. Some are just great husbands (or husband material) who pay attention and some, well... some of these boys just know your p*ssy better than you do and that's all there is to it.

Javi G/Eddie/Zach W - They're sweet, and they're trying. They just wanna be good boyfriends. God bless these boys.

Dieter/Pero/Max P/Lucien - Dieter thought it was an honest question. The rest of these guys are just complete menaces (and honestly, we love them for it).

402 notes · View notes

wildemaven · 3 months

Text

You have to share a bed with the last character in your saved images. Started a new thread

Tagged by @ladamedusoif 💞

It’s Marcus, but I’m pretending it’s Dave for Strangers lol

NPTs @gnpwdrnwhiskey @kteague @trulybetty @lovesbiggerthanpride @psychedelic-ink @undercoverpena @guess-my-next-obsession @dreamymyrrh and whoever else wants to share

#tag game #pedro pascal #Marcus Pike #but also #Dave york

433 notes · View notes

softiepedrito · 4 months

Text

Another version if you all don't want the bnw version.

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pascalispunk #the last of us #joel miller #pedrito #the mandalorian #dave york #pedro pascal is hot #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal pictures

632 notes · View notes

papitopascal · 2 months

Text

To be honest outside of the Pedro bubble it has been a bit stressful and I’ve been feeling a bit down. I’m thankful for the friends Ive made. I’m thankful that this big goofy guy chooses to go out and be himself and make us all smile. We have been given a ton of great content this past week and i for one am thankful for it!

369 notes · View notes

janaispunk · 2 months

Text

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

336 notes · View notes