hi, yes, is this thing on? hola! i’m mika and i’ve been making masterlists for some characters pedro has played over the years!
the idea behind making these masterlists is that (hopefully!) more people can read old works (some of us are new to the pedro party, alright? be nice to us! #tpwk lmao) and also new works (as i update it!) ✨
i’m gonna be doing a big update these next few days/weeks, so! if you wanna put a smile to my face and be part of the masterlists you can fill aform that’s linked on my tumblr bio or send me a message!
last but not least! if you check the masterlists r e m e m b e r to REBLOG and maybe reply too, ya know? that’s also nice the original posts bc these people are blessing us with their writing for f r e e!!! likes are nice and all but they don’t get writings anywhere really! having a lot of notes is cool and whatnot but actually reblogging something is ✨ so yeah be the real mvp and reblog the author’s works bye!
A/N:I’ve been staring at this gif for the last 15 minutes. Here we go, sweet angels! Thank you so much for your patience. And the response to part 1 blew me away! Like wow. So thank you for your love and support! (A few tags didn’t want to work so I apologise about that!) Enjoy, my loves x
Pairing: Dave York x f!reader
Word count: 4.5k
Warnings: swearing, alcohol, consensual voyeurism, exhibitionism, infidelity, SMUT 18+ ONLY, protected p in v, masturbation (f)
A painter shouldn’t be too expensive. Would they need to sand it back? Perhaps it’s better to buy some extra dust cloths – just in case. The last thing you needed was them using their shitty plastic covers and dropping paint onto your luxury sheets.
And, well, if they’re coming for the ceiling, they might as well redo the kitchen. And maybe the dining room, too. Get rid of that shitty beige colour. But then that means you’d need to change the drapes – maybe a soft grey?
A bead of swat drops onto your collarbone and your nose curls, Patrick panting into your ear as he moves like a jackrabbit on top of you, hands grabbing at whatever they could on your body while he grunts in your ear like some of rabid horny donkey.
Warnings:Oral sex (f receiving), squirting, PIV sex, Soft!Dave gets his own warning, gun mention, blood mention, canon-typical violence, putting the “murder” in Suburban Murder Daddy.
Summary:Dave York is a DIA operative by day, and a contract killer by night. When he has a chance encounter with an innocent bystander on the stairs and chooses to save her from a band of rival mercenaries, will he be able to stop himself from getting too involved?
A/N: And here we come to the conclusion of this little story! Please be warned, Dave does some murder in this part. It’s not overly graphic. Thank you a MILLION times to the incredible @leslie-lyman who talked me down when I was spiraling over this story, helped talk through some plot points, and let me send her SOOOOOO many snippets in the DMs. I want to credit @unhinged-summer-fun because I shamelessly stole her idea that Dave York thinks emotions feel like heartburn from her incredible fic, To Build a Dynasty . My darling, I hope you see this as an homage and not as blatant theft, I just love an emotionally-constipated-yet-very-soft Dave.
The next few days pass in much the same way. Dave goes to work, and Caroline occupies her time in his apartment by reading or painting. In just these few days, she’s already finished two canvases, and Dave wonders what her plans for them are. Will she take them with her? Display them in her gallery? Sell them?
Caroline has teased him about his bare walls. (“There’s not a single picture on them, Dave. And don’t tell me they’re painted white.”)
This is incredible!! I’ve always thought Dave was such an interesting character. I love what you’ve done with him here. He’s such a softie but won’t admit it.
Awwwww thank you, Kat! Yes, I could always pop in and check on them, see how they’re doing in the future, but the story as it crashed into my head that one afternoon while I was running is now complete. <3
(quote are from The Complete Enneagram by Beatrice Chestnut)
I think Dave might be an Enneagram Three. Enneagram Threes are known as “The Achievers.” They value hard work, achieving goals, and looking successful. The lie of the Three personality is that they are loved because of what they do.
Three’s have an outward persona that they show the world that is not necessarily representative of who they are. They can be incredibly charismatic. They put enormous value on looking the part of a successful person. Pre-divorce, Dave has a nice house, good looking family, and an important job. We know that’s not a full representation of who he really is, but he looks like a guy living the American Dream. Threes can over-identify with their outwardly created persona to the point that they lose touch of who they really are. They can almost be two different people. Sounds like Dave to me.
Threes can be ruthless in achieving their goals. While a One and a Three might both be workaholics with to-do lists, unlike a One, a Three does not mind breaking rules to get to the end point. “Their specific “superpower’ is their ability to make things happen by finding the most direct path to their goal, removing obstacles that might bet in the way – and looking good the whole time.” Hmm, this sounds familiar…
Threes are in the heart triad (Twos, Threes, and Fours), but since they are in the middle of the triad, they are asleep to their emotions. “Threes underdo grief, habitually numbing out their feelings so they don’t get in the way of working to reach their goals.” I think Dave could be the poster child for numbing emotions. I like to think Caroline broke the barrier between his inner and outer selves and that he will be on a path towards wholeness moving forward.
The day your lovely Sophia had taken her first steps was one to remember.
It was Sunday, early afternoon, and you were sitting on the new puzzle mat with her. She was playing with her plush toys and crawling left and right to study all the different patterns printed on the mat.
When she found something interesting, she stopped and raised her head, her sweet brown eyes studying the printed unicorn that peeked from beneath your left foot.
summary: [set in the desires & complications universe] after realizing he’s bi, marcus p goes to pride for the first time. he feels a little out of place. lucky for him, he has you and a certain mr. dave york to keep him grounded rating: T (kissing and a hint of daddy kink b/c it’s these three; otherwise pure self-indulgent fluff that made me feel a lot of feelings) word count: ~650 pairing: dave york x fem! reader x marcus pike a/n: happy pride! i wanted to do this bc there were so many of you that came to me after reading plead and said that you identified with marcus—i thought this might ring true, too. also, bisexuality is real, valid, and not transphobic.✌ quick shoutout to @purplepascal042 who gave me this lovely idea—if you’re not reading As It Should Be with Whiskey/Frankie/Bourbon, you’re not living.
~~
“You okay?” you ask. Marcus’s face screams anxiety. You pull him into you and stare into the immense crowd. The weather is sunny and beautiful. Colorful rainbow flags wave at you, fluttering in the cool breeze. In front of you, a group of leather-clad gentlemen passes by, waving cheerfully.
“I’m fine,” he says, shaking his head and sounding a little dazed. “I just…do I really belong here?”
i saw this and i said to myself “I’m gonna get emotional and probably cry” and guess what? i got emotional and i cried!!
I’ve had all those thoughts at pride before and i just it always helps to hear that reassurance and i love that Marcus has it coming from both his loves
"you don’t have anything to prove to anyone”
“kiss me like you mean it baby boy. you’re safe here”
Warnings: Organized crime, guns, violence, drugging, kidnapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, recording sex with out permission, fingering, domestic violence, threats, murder
Comments:You are a Smith, he is a York, pitted enemies in a turf war between your crime families. A meeting at the infamous neutral territory, The Lounge, ends up with Dave kidnapping you as a blow to the Smith family. Plotting to keep you until you give him something that would be priceless. Your virginity.
A/N: While the reader does have a last name, there is no description for the reader.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
ClickKeep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
The kind of wet work that went into the shading dealings of his family wasn’t for everyone. There were few that could kill a man with a baseball bat to the head and calmly go kiss their mother before cleaning up for the weekly family dinner. Dave York had been born for it. Only son of the powerful leader of the York crime family, he had killed his first man at fourteen. The blank stare in his dark eyes reported to shake a man to his core, rightly earned with the blood that stained his hands. Groomed to take over as the leader of family, associates and loyal men. To continue the turf war with their bitter enemies, the Smiths.
You are the only daughter of Lewis Smith, raised to take over one day despite your cousin’s desire to be the head of the family. He doesn’t think you’re strong enough, but that’s typical. Most men underestimate you, they think of you as some weak, delicate flower, and not the stone cold killer that you are. You don’t plan to have a turf war when you take over. No, you plan to end it. You plan to kill Dave York before he can kill you.
summary: “Are you lost?” Your heart seizes with fear at the deep rumbling voice, head jerking to look in the direction it came from. It’s too dark. You can’t see anything. “Who’s—who’s there?” You ask, hoping you sound braver than you feel. “You didn’t answer my question,” it said. “Are you lost?’ You swallow. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve never stepped foot in this building before today. You have no business here. But lost? No. You’re exactly where you set out to be.
rating: E [SMUT, dubiousconsent[reader wants to be with him, but he’s a demon so you know—it’s a little influenced]—dead dove, this is horror and Dave York is an actual demon who kills people, graphic violence, body horror, a dash of blood kink, oral sex, let me know if I missed something]
pairing: demon!dave york x fem reader
word count: ~3.5k
note:I KNOW I said I wasn’t putting stuff on Tumblr but here I am, a clown, sharing Demon!Dave with you bc i want everyone to love him like I do. Much love to @starlightmornings for the beta and @danniburgh for listening to me talk about this concept since like June.
“Keep them safe,” he says. His hand trembles as he signs the scroll, pressing a drop of his own blood next to his shaky, cramped signature.
“You have five years and one day,” a woman in black says. She blinks, and her sparkling blue eyes turn dark; inky black nothing where the whites of her eyes should be.
He says nothing, glaring hard at her.
“Don’t be so grumpy, David. Eternal life isn’t so bad,” she smirks. “You’ll enjoy it after a while.”
She disappears, and he exhales, finally, with his wife and his girls’ safety guaranteed. The only thing he has to give up is his soul.
Warnings: 18+. Adult Content, Dark Themes. There are angsty stuff in this fic. Reader experiences extreme paranoia. Mentions of sex. Dave calls reader sweetheart and smacks her ass. Pretty much no smut here, peeps. I can’t write smut for Dave .
AN: My first time writing for Dave so go easy on me . A little research went into this to create the plot, however I have changed up the details of things to fit the story. Also, I would like to give a big shout out to my mother as she helped me create the idea for this story,and even giving it a read before posting. And another big shout out to Naomifor creating this series for all of us to join in on. It’s been crazy fun!
We jump right in where Naomi left off, so enjoy the story my loves.
Two agents exit the vehicle to enter the home. They leave the home with whom you now know as Dave York in custody. He stares at you as you watch everything unfold. Never shifting away from your frozen form. A trained assassin, a contract killer, and he has his eyes on you.
And those eyes plagued your mind hours after you departed from the man.
After signing an NDA, stating that you wouldn’t discuss the things you learned or seen today, you were escorted home. However, once you were settled back into your little bubble of comfort and feeling safe within the parameters of your bedroom, Dave York’s eyes were still burned in your memory, leaving an everlasting disturbance in your gut.
You felt tense. On edge. It was the wayhe looked at you; like you were his next target, and shaking off that uneasy feeling was an uphill battle. You struggled relentlessly trying to rid the image of his two black merciless orbs. Barely sleeping a wink during the night, you sighed a heavy breath of relief the next day when seeing the man on the news.He is incarcerated - you are safe.
Although they left out a lot of details of why he was arrested, you can’t really say you are surprised. The whole ordeal was shady the moment you walked into that house on the island, but that was yesterday’s problem now. Today, you needed to get back to work at the local Red Cross Learning Centre and teach a class of forty about basic first aid and how to properly perform CPR.
Working in the medical field serves many great purposes, but the one you’re thankful for the most is the distraction it provided for you today. It was like slipping into auto-pilot. Check in, greet and welcome the guests, deliver the ten point programme with enthusiasm, then finish it off with the CPR dolls.
Time slipped by you during all of this and before you knew it, half the day was gone already. It was a good class, a lot of the participants actually looked like they were absorbing everything you were teaching so you were satisfied with the session, but now that it was lunch, you are ready to call it a day and go home to eat.
Clocking out and saying goodbye to your fellow volunteers, you headed towards your car outside, but once you reached your car, got inside and put on your seatbelt, you froze at the pair of eyes staring back at you in the rear-view mirror. They weren’t your eyes. That uneasy feeling began to creep back into your bones, sticking the tendrils up on your back the longer you looked at the reflection.
Forcefully tearing your gaze away, you turned the key in the ignition and focused on the road instead; giving yourself a distraction from the stranger in the mirror. Dave York apparently still had a lasting effect on you. That feeling came back quicker than a freight train and it didn’t go away, not until you were home and free of looking into the mirror of your car.
Entering your home hastily, you raced straight towards the TV in the lounge and turned it on. The news once again stating that the man was incarcerated eased your tensions a little, but even his mugshot on the screen stared at you. His eyes pierced through your soul the same way he did yesterday, still like you were his next target.
Changing the channel on the TV, you needed another distraction and walked into the kitchen to prepare lunch. A headache was now accompanying the disturbed feeling in your gut and you figured food would be the remedy. After you turned the stove on and set out a frying pan, you went to the fridge to grab some vegetables and the last cut of fish you have left.
Your mind was in a haze, too distracted by all your emotions as of late and you started grabbing everything from the shelves. Jam, yogurts and cheese. Things you definitely didn’t need for pan fried fish and before you could even comprehend what on earth you were doing, your hands were full of junk. “W-what the?” You stuttered to yourself, looking over all of the items. “What the fuck am I doing?”
Putting them back one by one, your brows furrowed with even more confusion when putting the jar of mayonnaise back. You grabbed everything but the actual items that you require. The fish still sat on the shelf and the vegetables in the little draw. Your brain must have hit a switch and reset itself. Finally retrieving the food that you intended for, you shut the fridge and stood before the stove.
You opened the packet and lay the fish down in the sizzling hot pan, eliciting a mighty flame to kick up in your face but you didn’t step back, not when your mind produced an image of a explosion erupting, not when you heard distorted voices yelling commands in your right ear and not when you felt a stinging pinch in your shoulder. Radio static from what you can only describe as an ear piece was replaced by the sizzle of the food cooking, snapping you back to reality. The flame died down and the images you saw were gone.
It was two seconds at most, but you had a glimpse of something in those two seconds and whatever it was exactly, was enough for you to abandon lunch all together. Turning the stove off, you turned quickly and b-lined straight for your bedroom, the headache now raging a war in your head, it was amplified by tenfold and crippling you so much that you just wanted to bury your head into the pillow with the sheets pulled over your face.
And that’s exactly what you did. Climbing into bed and laying under the sheets, you buried your head into the pillow before pulling the covers over, however you no longer felt that safety and comfort within the parameters of your bedroom any more. It felt foreign, just like those eyes in the mirror of your car.
They were your eyes, but they belonged to someone else.
One Month Later.
To say your problems eased off over time would be a crock of bullshit. They get worse. So much so, that you had finally reached the breaking point.
Headaches progressed into mind clustering migraines, scarring a seemingly permanent fog in your brain. They never faded. Normal everyday activities became a nuisance, like you were in a repeating cycle. It was boring. The only sense of excitement you got was from watching your favourite action movies, but they too became old and boring, until you took a drive one day and found yourself in the bad part of town. Accidental or fate?
The place was filled with delinquents, sinners and killers. And it felt like home, like you fit right in, but on the third drive into this part of town, you had an… incident. It was bound to happen, someone would notice your expensive car, notice how it didn’t belong here and act on that piece of information alone, but you were prepared for that. How?And why?
You were inadvertently seeking conflict and when it approached, you took them out like blowing out a birthday candle. It was easy. Skills and expertise locked deep within your muscles broke free like a reflex and you beat down four men, leaving them all a groaning, whimpering mess on the tarmac below. When you came to, realizing what you had actually done, you jumped back into your car and hurried home.
Your breaking point was when you looked in the mirror. The woman that looked back was not you. Eyes dark and sunken into the sockets, flecks of blood splashed across your face with bruising around the knuckles on both of your hands, you didn’t recognise who you are anymore. You should have been horrified by what you did, but instead, you felt alive. More alive than you ever felt in your entire life, and you wanted to feel that again.
That was your cognizance breaking through the hysteria, the jolt of reality you needed to seek answers. Dave York, a trained assassin looked you in the eyes, triggering your fight or flight response and your body chose to fight but your mind chose the latter. You’ve been at war, with yourself.
Why did he have this momentous affect on you? It all started with him and what better person to ask than the very man himself. It took you one month of hell to bite the bullet and pay the man a visit in the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center, to physically see him incarcerated.
Fear and anxiety drove you out of the city of Boston and into Worcester County where he is being held in a maximum prison. You need answers. Needed to see that he was chained up and definitely not out to kill you. That’s why you’re going batshit crazy, why you’re seeing a different person in the mirror. After a quick frisk search from the officer, you stood outside of the big metal door ready to enter. Your heart was erratic, pumping ferociously in your ears with terror but the demand for answers was soaring above every emotion that your mind could ever comprehend.
When the buzzer chimed and the officer opened the door, you looked inside to see the man himself lifting his head with an unreadable look. However, as you approached, a smirk started to appear on his lips. Tormenting and provocative, his smile got under your skin, boiling your blood with rage, and then he spoke. “Took you long enough, sweetheart.” Dave practically snickered, his chest falling with a sharp exhale. He leaned back into his seat, the chains around his wrists and ankles clinked with the action as you took a seat opposite him. If only looks could kill, the man would be dead with your expression, yet he still smiled. “Thought you’d never come around, Y/N.”
He knows my name. Your eyes narrowed with the thought, confirming your suspicions of being his next target. He must have someone on the outside doing their homework on me. “Why are you doing this?” You finally broke your silence with a question, but the dam burst and more spilled out. “Why am I on your radar Dave? Why do you - a contract killer - know my name and what the fuck do you mean it took me long enough!”
The man’s eyes widened with your outburst and for a second you thought he was surprised that you raised his voice but his expression slowly turned into what you can only describe as bewilderment. Knitting his brows together tightly, he tilted his head and looked you up and down like you were crazy. You are going crazy! Your eyes twitched with a rampaging desire to hurl yourself across the table and do things that you never thought you could possibly do with your bare hands.
“This was a mistake.” Muttering under your breath, you are done. Done with this conversation and done being made a fool. Your chair squeaked as you pushed back from the table, but his shackles clinked again, harshly this time as he tried to reach out. “No. Wait.”
“Why should I?” Retorting with a bitter tone, you didn’t even hear the sincerity cracking through his own voice. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to answer you but the man still looked at you with perplexity. He was pissing you off, wearing the only patience that you have left even thinner.
“Why did you come here?” Dave asked. His voice was now laced with concern, which you found odd, though you were intrigued as to what kind of game he was playing. He’s toying with me. You concluded. “Ever since that day…” but you took a chance on answering him, “…I’m different and it’s because of you that I am losing my mind. You have someone on the outside keeping tabs on me? Is that it? Is that why I’m out on the streets looking for a fight? Because I sense one coming?”
Shaking your head as you exhaled heavily, you lowered your gaze from the man and stared at the little chip on the edge of the table. You zoned out, thinking back on the last thirty days witnessing yourself going through these changes and not understanding why. Stupidly, you thought Dave would have all the answers but it seemed he just liked to watch you suffer.
“You’re seeing things, aren’t you?” He cut through your thoughts, calling your attention back to him, but you didn’t answer as he listed off some more of your symptoms.“Hearing things too? Intense headaches? Lack of sleep and extreme paranoia?”
After a few seconds contemplating what his intentions were, you reminded yourself as to why you’re here - to get answers. With a subtle nod of your head, the man leaned back into his chair with a chuckling sigh. He shook his head in disbelief before locking on with your gaze. “I know your name because I know who you are - who you really are.”
“W-what?” You stammered, rubbing your tired eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Dave tilted his head again, as if examining you before asking. “You really don’t remember do you?”
“Remember what god dammit!” You barked at him, to which he snapped back. “The Marine Corps! The DIA!” You looked at him like you had absolutely no clue what he was talking about, those things meant nothing to you, yet he leaned forward in his chair, speaking verycarefully.“You’re a DIA agent, or former DIA. I thought you were undercover that day you showed up on the island but apparently not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed, giggled actually. “I think you’re even crazier than me.”
“You joined the Marines when you were nineteen, transferred to DIA when you were twenty five and got put on my unit two years later. You don’t remember all of that? Don’t remember me, Kovac, Ari, and Resnik?”
“Oh, wow.” Shaking your head while laughing, you couldn’t believe you drove all the way out here for this bullshit. “Next you’re going to tell me I’m an astronaut.” Now you’re definitely done. Pulling back from the table and standing, you said farewell. “See ya later, Dave. Thanks for the laughs at least.”
“08, Middle East, Operation Green Sword…” He began yelling nonsense as you walked away, but you didn’t pay no mind to it. “2012, Korea, Campaign Z… 2014, The Congo, Project Alpha… 2017, Russia-” You halted at that one though. You recognise it, and Dave knows you do. “Of course you remember Russia. How could you forget?”
Releasing your hand from the handle of the door, you turned to face him, intrigued to know more. The year calls to you. The location brings a sense of familiarity, but you were in a coma the year of 2017, and the doctors said that when you awoke, it was kicking and screaming a name. That name has always bothered you, not knowing who they were or why you yelled for them.
“2016. Elista, Russia.” Dave expressed a thin lipped smile. He’s gripped your attention, but didn’t look happy that he has. “Buddhist Region hiding a high profile target. Operation-”
“Nighthawk.” You and Dave said the word in unison. Narrowing your eyes, you shook your head with a bafflement tone in your question. “How do I know what the operation is called?”
“Because… it was your operation, sweetheart.” Dave whispered softly. You could hear traces of remorse in his voice, as if he was apprehensive to speak. “And it was your last one.”
“Why? What happened?” You didn’t even know if he was telling the truth, if you were actually in the Marines or in the DIA firm, but one thing you definitely knew is that Dave York could shed some light on that name. “Who is Gemini?”
“He was your Russian target. Code name Gemini, birth name Ivan Stepanov.” You gasped as the words spilled from his mouth. Closing your eyes with an overwhelming flood of memories breaching the surface of your brain, you stumbled backwards when remembering whyoperation Nighthawk was your last. The mission was compromised; your failure was the cause. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Dave apologized as you fell to your knees.
Ivan Stepanov the leader of the Sanitater-88 Division, an international right-wing extremist and Neo-Nazi terrorist network, was your first case file. You had been tracking him down for two years before narrowing in on the small remote town of Elista in Russia. Severe the head of the head of the snake and the body shall fall, that was your plan, to take Ivan out.
Operation Nighthawk was a solo Op, undercover and hush hush. Only the top brass knew about it, but you failed your task and the mission was compromised. Ivan, was not alone. You found him lying in bed, beside his wife and three young children, and you couldn’t kill him. Although the man was a monster, you couldn’t go through with killing a father in front of his kids. Abandoning the mission for a later time, a time when he wasn’t using his family as a shield, the man went on to kill hundreds the very next day, women and children included.
Your judgment call to spare three innocent children the trauma of watching their father die, cost the lives of so many others. Ivan got away after that, your only chance to eliminate the threat was snuffed out like a light. When you flew back to the states, you handed in your resignation and left.
You weren’t in a coma the year of 2017. You were in a scientific lab that had the facilities to replace your memories of that night in Elista, of your time in the DIA and the Marine corps. They replaced your memories with fake ones, as per your request, because you couldn’t live with the grief and guilt.
Now, all of those memories came back. Not just the memories of your mistakes, but also the many nights of passion you had with Dave. That’s why he thought you were working undercover that day on the island. The man thought you had come out of the shadows to save him.
Lifting your head to look in his eyes, the fear and anxiety long gone now, you no longer have that unsettling feeling in your gut. The look Dave gave you that day was not like you were his next target. He looked at you like you were his saviour. His golden ticket out of this hellhole mess that he got himself into. The same look he is giving you right now.
“There she is.” He says with hope and optimism. “You’re back, sweetheart.”
A smile appeared on your face and it grew wide as you began to laugh, the sound demonic and twisted. “Hello, Dave.” Pulling yourself up from the floor, you winked at him with a curt nod of your head. “Hm, it’s sure been nice catching up, but I best be going now.”
You had great pleasure watching his expression drop with disappointment before turning and rapping three knocks on the cell door. “Y/N, wait! Please, wait! You gotta get me out of this shithole, I don’t belong here! You hear me! I don’t fucking belong here!” His pleas faded out as you walked down the hallway towards the exit.
Dave York, is right where he belongs.
-
Three months passed by like days before you saw the man again. You found him sitting on your chair in the dark, waiting for you to get home.
Life has been good as of late, things have gone back to normal - sort of. You do a little contract work on the side here and there, taking down vigilantes, but you wonder why Dave York has broken free from prison, came here and not home to his wife and children.
“Come for revenge?” You say jokingly while emptying out groceries from the bags. He’s looking for a death wish if he’s actually here to kill you.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Dave chuckled. Still sitting in the dark corner of your lounge, he switched the lamp on and smiled at you. “Nope. It’s not revenge that I’m seeking.”
“Um-hum.” Humming away without so much as a care in the world, you grabbed two whiskey glasses and joined him. “I don’t care, Dave. Here, have a drink with me, it’s been a while.”
Perching yourself on the sofa opposite him, you placed the glasses down on the table top before popping open a bottle of whiskey and serving. Dave groaned deeply when standing. Taking the glass and tossing back the contents, he savoured the taste for a second before swallowing.
“Nice stuff.” He put the empty glass down then looked at you. “There, I’ve had my drink. Are you ready to hear why I’m here?”
“Hm, no not really but whatever.” Leaning back into your seat, crossing one leg over the other, you took a sip on your drink and relished the taste with closed eyes. When the name ‘Ivan Stepanov’ slipped past his lips, you reopened your eyes and looked at him with disdain.
“I’m back to work now - naturally, you know me and it’s been brought to my attention that the Neo-Nazi is on the radar again. Arms deals, wired transactions and other bad guy stuff.” Dave explained, to which you snickered in return. “Yeah, you know all about bad guy stuff don’t you.” Finishing off your drink, you sat up straight and rubbed a hand across your face with a sigh. “So what are you here for? You have info on him or what?”
“I’m looking to partner up. Help me get back on my feet and I’ll help you take down Ivan in return.” There it was. That’s the catch. Laughing to the man, you shook your head and stood up to face him. “Goodnight Dave, show yourself out.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Same mud, same blood, remember? It’ll be like old times.” He reached out for your hand and pulled you into his chest. “Minus the sex of course… unless you want to?”
“Ugh.” You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. His grip was strong, assertive, although you could break free if you wanted to. Sensing your hesitation on the idea, he countered with a different suggestion while lowering his hand to your hip. “Ok. I’ll help you take down Ivan, but I get to keep whatever we find along the way. It’s expensive being a bad guy, so he will have money, you know?”
“No, I wouldn’t know.” Pulling away from his hold, he was getting too comfortable with letting his hand wander to the expanse of your ass, but you seriously considered his counter offer. “Hm. I suppose it would be nice to finish off what I started.”
“Great!” Dave clapped his hands together, then slapped your ass as he walked towards the door. “Pack your bags, I have a jet ready to take us to London.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, bubba.” Shaking your head at him, you rolled your eyes when gave you a wink and warned. “I’m going to kill you for that when this is over, Dave.”
“You’ve said that before and how did that work? Couldn’t walk for the rest of the day after I was done with you.” He jibed in return. With a smirk growing on his face, you ignored his comments and headed upstairs to pack for London.
Ivan Stepanov, is now yours and Dave’s target- a dangerous duo when together.
Summary: It’s hot, both Dave, Georgia’s dad’s dark, tall bodyguard and the weather. Dave was always there, in her house and in her mind, as if it was his job to guard her thoughts instead of her dad’s well being.
Happy birthday, @danniburgh! Hope you enjoy my little adaptation of your fic — starring Dave and Georgia exploring their dark sides. Lots of love, bby!!
what
WHAAAAAATTYTTTTTSHFLXJEKCJSJFKDJD
ok yeah yes ajá yes okay alright IM FINE IM FINE
i screamed and I couldn’t stop screaming at this ejxnrjxkfjd
this is more like a second part to the whole fic and i love it and i just UGH THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER KAYLIE THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!
Fatal Break In {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Dave York}
Rating:Explicit
Word Count: 7.6k
Warnings: Polyamory, MMF relationship, guns, threats of rape, threats of death, restraints, violence, so much violence, gore, torture, dismemberment, death, blood, biting, rough treatment (Frankie’s a little feral), hand jobs, face sitting, vaginal sex, soft aftercare.
Comments: Your weekend away with your men turns into something from a movie. Escaped convicts ruining the quiet peace of the lonely mountain cabin. They think they have run into easy targets, until Dave and Frankie prove to them how very wrong they are.
DEAD DOVE - DO NOT EAT : This work does contain materials that might be disturbing to some. Consume at your own risk.
ClickKeep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
Your relationship with Dave York and Francisco Morales was anything but conventional. You were completely aware of that, but you honestly didn’t care. You know you sometimes received looks when you were out in public and switched from having your arm around Dave’s waist to sticking your hands in the back pockets of Frankie’s jeans. Obviously squeezing what little bit of booty the man possesses with eagerness.
All that mattered was that for some strange reason, the three of you worked together. Amalgamated together in a partnership that was easier than you had ever thought possible with you had ever thought about the entire polyamory thing. Not that that was what you defined your relationship as. They were yours and you were theirs. It was as simple as that.
“You know he’s going to spend all day on that dock with his fishing pole in the water.” The steam from Dave’s coffee cup curls lazily into the air. His breath just barely shows in the crisp morning as he grins and blows on it so he can take a sip. It wasn’t quite spring and for some reason, the need to get away from the city and come out into nature just called this weekend.
“I know.” You lean in behind him and press your lips to his cheek, freshly shaven and you smirk at the obvious differences between the men. Dave was clean cut, freshly shaved even on an early Saturday morning. Whereas Frankie’s hair still stood up, poking out from where he had rolled out of bed and jammed that beloved Standard Heating Oil hat on his head leaving the house before the two of you had even opened your eyes.
Holy shit the Dead Dove is real but holy fucking hell was it hot reading these two go ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY FERAL.
This is brutal, and not for people not ok with reading that but goddamn did it capture the ruthlessness that would rise up in these two if their loved ones were threatened.
