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cozylittlepigeon · 7 days ago

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Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 6

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford)

Word count: 3,761

Summary: You and Dave reconcile, but a heavy confession brings you to realize just how similar you are. And when an unfamiliar name slips off an innocent tongue, a professional is called in to get the truth.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Angst. Idiots in love but they're too blind to see it or are really good at ignoring it. Mentions of eating and drinking alcohol. Masturbation (m) while watching porn. Marital strife. Accusations of adultery. A certain broad-shouldered detective comes in to find out what's really going on. Reader has hair long enough to blow in the wind & wears a dress and makeup. No use of y/n. (anything I've forgotten please LMK)

Author's note: (at the end)

Series Masterlist

Your employees are gathered around you as you display your next creation, the dessert of the month at Fiction & Frosting.

"This is the perfect Mille-Feuille," you show them. "Puff pastry, cream, fresh strawberries.."

You tear your glance away from the glossy page in the cookbook and force yourself to gaze upon your own creation: the puff pastry is wilted, the icing is melted, and no amount of fresh fruit decoration can save it.

"So why doesn't mine look like that?" you pose the frustrated question to yourself.

Suggestions are made, recipe changes offered, and you listen to each one, still amazed at how you haven't mastered such a simple dessert. You don't even want to think about the macarons you had to dump out after they burned. ("Shit. They're utter shit," you murmured as you tossed them in the bin.)

With the bakery open everyone moves to their assigned spots and you're free to stay in the kitchen in the back, pondering why you're making so many mistakes. There's no doubt about it, you're not in your right mind. You haven't been okay since the night Dave kissed you.

A sharp twist of wistfulness lodges itself into your heart when you pull out your phone to see he hasn't texted or called. Two weeks of no contact. Then again, you haven't really reached out to him either, afraid of his icy demeanor.

When he'd finally come by to pick up his car, you weren't home. You'd hoped for at least a glimpse of him, but he probably timed it so that he wouldn't have to see you. You can't help feeling pity for yourself for that.

With a sigh you take a bite of the awful mille-feuille. It isn't that bad, just not very presentable, probably because you weren't paying attention. You were never this scatterbrained in your work when Javier was being his idiotic self, so why is this married man taking up so much space in your brain?

"Friendly? Is that what you want me to be? Just friendly?"

His words ring in your ears, a taunting tune. What if you'd said no? What if you'd given in to your true feelings and slept with him that night? Would you be swimming in guilty feelings now instead of wondering What If?

Could you just push aside your doubt and reach out to him? Even if it's just to selfishly calm the torment of being away from him?

Girl, you're talking like you're in love with him.

You push the thought away, not ready to peek inside that particular Pandora's Box. Avoidance is easy for you, you've perfected the art of looking the other way when Javier fucked every woman in sight.

You check your phone again, but the only recent text you have is from your sister, who's trying to talk you into doing a pastry course in Paris, part of her school's program that's doing an art course there as well over the summer.

Years ago you would have jumped at the chance, despite what Javier would do to get you to stay. But now you feel you have nothing to keep you here, even if it is only for two months. You've told her maybe for the time being. You still have a few weeks to decide.

Scrolling back to your texts with Dave, you feel a loneliness there that cuts deeper than your split with Javier. Led by your desire to do what's right, what you want more than anything is to renew your friendship with Dave.

Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, you shut your mind off and let your body take over as you mill about the kitchen, gathering bowls and utensils, turning on the oven and pouring ingredients.

Across the street, Dave's in a meeting with a potential client. Another scorned woman, another broken heart. Unlike with you, he feels a detachment from her. He's here for business, and he's damn good at what he does.

The new client, a young woman who's giving him lascivious looks from beneath her false lashes, is giving him obvious signals. She's leaning forward to show off her generous cleavage, and he should earn an Academy Award for pretending that he doesn't feel the slide of her silk stocking-ed foot under the hem of his pants, against his shin. She must sense his disinterest because she takes it up several notches when she places her palm on his upper thigh, practically begging for it.

He refers her to another lawyer, politely passing her off to his lucky cohort before going back to his office to reassess.

If he was younger and still in this same predicament with Carol, he wouldn't have given her blatant come-ons a second thought. But it's not his wife who keeps him from forsaking his marriage vows. It's you.

Sighing, he puts his hands in his pockets and goes to the window, seeing your bakery/bookstore across the way. He imagines you scurrying about, a dusting of flour on your face as you roll a rolling pin across a lump of dough, and straightening the shelves to showcase a new book coming out. He hopes you're not thinking of him, then he kills that hope and tells himself he wants you to think of him the way he's thinking of you.

He pushes down any second guesses about the situation you're both in, and puts on his jacket as he leaves the office, heading straight for your building.

You wrap your green sweater around you as you make your way on the crosswalk connecting your side of the street in his. An olive branch in the form of a cake in a mint green pastry box is in your hands. Your heart races as you wonder if he'll even see you after all that's happened, but those worries drop down and die when you spot him in the crowd walking towards you. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he spots you, and he smiles.

He's on his way to your place, to say hello and see if you're willing to talk to him. He wants to set things right, and the moment he lays eyes on you in that white floral dress and green sweater, your hair held back in matching ribbon, his heart (and his dick, if he's honest) react in a very positive way.

Both of you meet in the middle, the crowd rushing around you on either side, but neither of you take any notice of them. Time stops for a brilliant, beautiful moment.

"I was on my way to you," he says.

"I was bringing this to you," you tell him. "To say sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Really, I'm to blame."

"A lawyer accepting blame? Won't you get disbarred for that?" you joke.

He laughs at that, and the sound of it sets your heart alight. "So that's for me?"

"Yeah.. black forest cake. I remember you told me it's your favorite."

Maybe it's the way the breeze gently lifts the ends of your hair, or the luscious curve of your cherry lips, but he will think of this moment, this small act of kindness, for the rest of his days.

The crosswalk is empty and the light's about to change. And the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "I think Carol's cheating on me."

You quickly bring him back to the cafe where you pour him a cup of strong black coffee with a splash of amaretto added from your stash in your office.

He spills his guts to you: Carol's leaving at random times, more often at night to go to "work". He wonders how often a hospital director is needed overnight. He's called, on a whim, just to see if she's really there, but is always given the "she's here but she's unavailable" runaround.

You ask if she gets dressed up for these late night work shifts, if she wears perfume and makeup. (Yes to all.)

Does she shower right after coming home? Has she shown less interest in having sex? (That question really hurts to ask, but you can't help a little selfish joy when he answers that they haven't been intimate in a long time.)

"Maybe she's spending time doing something else," you tell him, your cake untouched on both your plates in front of you. "Maybe she wants time away from you and the kids and is too afraid to say it."

"That sounds like her. She's always put her job first," Dave says glumly.

You hate seeing the dispirited look on his handsome face. "You should talk to her about it. Come on, use some of those lawyering skills you're so famous for," you smirk.

"It's like talking to a brick wall," he quips, leaning forward to enjoy his cake. "I'm actually sorry I even brought it up."

"Don't be. If it's important to you, it's important to me." You pause. "Can I admit to doing something stupid?"

"Are you asking for confidentiality priveleges? Because that only counts if I'm still representing you," he smirks.

"Ha ha," you roll your eyes. "The night you left my place.. I ended up going to Javier's."

"Oh." He puts his fork down, jealousy nibbling away at his rational thought. "Did you..?"

"Yeah," you nod, lips pursed. "I got what I needed, but it wasn't really the same anymore, you know? I didn't feel anything for him."

You lighten the mood by telling him about poor Cindy, the way karma had played the Uno reverse card on her.

A little smile curls the corners of Dave's mouth. "I could write a book on how much I hate that guy."

It's a good feeling to spill to him the secrets of your soul. But what you refrain from telling, the one thing that could turn around and bite you, is that while you were in Javier's bed you were thinking of Dave.

Carol has been gone for a couple hours, the aroma of her perfume still lingering in the air of their en suite bathroom as Dave brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed.

Laying there alone, as he's used to by now, his thoughts drift to you. His heart is full now that you've reconciled, and even though he has a feeling there's always going to be complicated feelings, he takes the risk because you're worth it.

Your smile, the light in your eyes when you laugh, how your fingers always find a way to brush against his or your hand rests on his arm. The way you kissed him back that one night is burned into his brain. The taste of your mouth has become his new favorite flavor, at least until he can taste another part of you-

Stop it.

With a deep sigh he takes his phone from the nightstand and does a quick search. Not his first rodeo, what he's seeking is already colored purple as he's accessed it many times. When the porn site pulls up it offers every scenario anyone could possibly want, but he has something very specific in mind.

He searches by your features, looking for an actress similar to you, trying to avoid the guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. What would you think of him if you knew? But he's already getting search results, salivating over the thumbnails of women who bear a passing resemblance to you in various positions, scantily clad or even just naked.

Selecting one, his heart pounds in a drumlike fashion as he waits for it to load, the site's short theme song filling him with anticipation, his dick already raging hard. Getting lost in the unlikely scenario between the two actors, he strokes himself, pajama pants pulled down over his thighs. He turns the volume down as low as possible, the moans and sighs barely audible. But after awhile he doesn't even need the video. Just the memory of you is enough, and better than any video.

And then, as if she has a sixth sense for when her husband is trying to meet his needs, Carol comes in and he quickly puts his phone away and stops what he's doing.

"Were you watching smut again?" she sighs in exasperation.

Dave flushes with embarrassment, but he's not going to lie about it. "Yeah, I was," he shrugs, pulling his pants up. Carol just shakes her head and goes straight into the shower, another tally mark in Dave's mental stack of evidence against her.

She comes out later, freshly scrubbed, wearing her usual nighgown and applies some cream to her elbows, facing away from her husband. "If you're going to watch anything crazy just put your earbuds in, okay?" With a heavy sigh she gets into bed next to him and lays on her side, her back to him.

He doesn't even give her the satisfaction of answering. As if he could even get hard in this moment. He lays awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wishing himself anywhere but here.

Carol's voice, unusually soft, finds him in the dark. "I think you're having an affair," she accuses.

His heart jumps in his chest. Is there something she knows? Has he been careless? Has she had him followed and been seen with you? He sits up. "An affair? Are you serious? Why would you think that?"

She sits up too, ready to accuse him further. "We haven't had sex in weeks. You're always too tired."

He has no defense for that, but it's not as if things are entirely his fault. "I've just been busy. And tired," he adds. "Besides, your'e the one always running off to work at strange hours."

She huffs. "Are you really going to use my job as an excuse? You're never in the mood.. do you not find me attractive anymore?"

"Of course I do.. you're still the same gorgeous woman I married."

"Then kiss me. Right now."

He's taken aback by the sudden command, surprised by the directness of it. "What?"

Carol lays back down. "The man I married wouldn't hesitate like that."

A pang of guilt flares in Dave's chest. She's right, but as her accusations have gone no further he rests in the meanwhile safety. "I'm just tired," he mumbles, head falling onto his pillow, his back to her and her back to him.

"So am I," she answers, a cold finality in her tone.

The next evening while Carol's out of town for a conference. When he's called into the office on an emergency case, he asks if you're free to keep an eye on the girls. With nothing else to do, you happily accept, and spend the day baking chocolate chip cookies and watching their favorite movies.

By the time Dave comes home in the late evening, the three of you are watching the classic version of Cinderella. He smiles at the domestic little sight, heart warming at the brief fantasy that this could be what he comes home to every night.

As the girls fall asleep between you, Cinderella meets her handsome prince at the ball. "So This Is Love" plays while the fated lovers dance. Your hand and his find their way across, gently clasping.

And just like Cinderella, it's almost midnight and you have to go. But not before cleaning up, even though Dave insists he's fine to do it on his own.

From her bedroom, Alice calls out for her daddy, and you both go up to see what's the matter.

"I want a glass of water," she mumbles. Dave smiles at her groggy little voice and goes to fetch her a cup. While he's gone you sit on the edge of her bed and she shows you her stuffed animal collection, her favorite one is a purple unicorn named Mr. Fluffy.

"Where's Mommy?" she asks when her dad comes back with a cup of water for her.

He ruffles her hair. "She's just working late tonight, kiddo. She'll be home soon."

"Is she with Uncle Joel?"

Dave's heart drops but he covers his surprise just in time. "What do you mean, baby? Who's Uncle Joel?" Carol's an only child. The girls don't have any uncles on her side.

"He's Mommy's friend who comes to fix the pipes," she says, chugging her water before getting back under the covers.

He forces a smile, sitting between you and her on the bed. "Does Uncle Joel come over a lot?" he asks innocently.

"He comes when you're not here. Mommy tells him you can't fix them, Daddy. Only Joel can."

A thousand thoughts swarm his head but he's used to keeping his cool in unexpected situations. "What happens when he comes over, sweetie?" His voice is still calm and even, belying the fear constricting his gut.

"He talks to Mommy in private. She giggles a lot."

The dots are connecting and not in a good way. A man in my house, the house I bought because Carol liked it so much, shaking the mud off his boots like it's no big deal before doing god-knows-what with my wife.. His blood runs cold as he wears his facade once more. "Okay, sweetie, why don't you get some sleep. I'll make some cinnamon waffles for breakfast tomorrow."

Alice nods excitedly, then looks at you. "Will you eat breakfast with us tomorrow?"

Shaken by what she's revealed so far you do your best to give an answer. "Uh, we'll see, honey. Maybe." Your smile is strained but she doesn't seem to notice.

Leaving the bedroom door open just a crack he walks down the hall, running his hand over his face.

"Kids," you force some light-heartedness into your words. "They have such big imaginations, you know?"

He doesn't answer you, his back turned to you as he hides his face in his hands.

"Are you okay, Dave?" you place a tentative touch on his shoulder.

Finally he turns to you, face reddened with an anger he never thought he'd have to feel. "My youngest daughter just told me that my wife has been having another man over to the house behind my back. Alice is a bright girl but she wouldn't invent a story like that."

"Hold on," you tell him gently, your hands on his biceps, willing him to loosen up, even just physically. "You don't know anything for certain. Just hearsay. Right, Mr. Big Shot Attorney?"

Your attempt at humor only gets you a bitter laugh from him.

"Is it possible Carol's just friends.. with a plumber?" you speculate. But of course you don't believe it either.

Dave narrows his eyes at you for a moment before realizing nothing about this is your fault and you're just trying to help. The moment that you step into his arms they immediately close around you. He marvels at how you fit together so perfectly.

"You should talk to her when she comes home," you suggest, not moving an inch from his embrace. The last thing you want to do is give him marriage advice when it's a real possibility that his wife could be unfaithful.

"Somehow I doubt she'll be amenable to an honest discourse on her fidelity," he grumbles, not wanting to think about her, shutting the bad feelings away while you're in his arms.

You inhale the scent of him, the warm spice of his lingering aftershave. The spark between you only intensifies. You're tempted to press your lips to his strong, soft neck, you can already imagine his pulse point racing beneath your lips.

When he pulls away it snaps you out of your fantasy, and you are acutely aware of the heat blooming between your legs, the slick pooling in your panties.

"How about a private investigator?" you ask.

He shakes his head as if he's already thought of it. "The only ones I know are in a professional regard. I don't want it bandied about that I've had to resort to surveilling my own wife."

"In that case it's your lucky day. I know a guy."

After emailing the pertinent information to your contact, he's at Dave's address within half an hour.

Clad in a classic tan trenchoat, white button down with hastily done striped tie and black trousers, Tim Rockford looks every bit what Dave had expected. The former detective sizes up his prospective client from behind thick black eyeglass frames before turning to you with a soft smile. Tim often does background checks for your employees, and you trust him with an even more personal task like this.

"Are you David York?" the man asks, a to-go cup of coffee that's going cold very fast is in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

"Yeah, I am," Dave answers. "Come on in."

The three of you settle in the living room. "Now, tell me about why you want me to surveil your spouse," he says, getting down to brass tacks.

Seated next to you, Dave explains his situation, the late nights that Carol's had to go in, the mention of "Uncle Joel" by his daughter. He leaves out the part about him spending much of his time with you possibly contributing to the lack of affection in his marriage, and you keep quiet as well.

Soon Tim has all the information he needs to move forward. He has Carol's work address, and will do some digging on the Joel fellow. "It'll take a couple weeks to get some basic information, given they're still meeting each other. I advise you not to start any arguments or accuse her of anything in the meantime or it'll risk ruining the investigation. If she catches wind that you're onto her, she may change her plans or even call it off with him altogether. For the time being, just play dumb."

Dave nods, even though he doesn't like it.

"There is a fee, of course," Tim adds. He writes the number on a scrap of paper and Dave, sighing, accepts.

"He was on the force for over a dozen years," you tell him. "It'll be money well spent. Even if there's nothing going on."

"Whatever is going on, I'll debrief you at our next meeting once I've collected the proper evidence," Tim says.

It's a plan set in motion, and Dave isn't really sure what he wants the outcome to be. If Carol's fucking around, he gets his heart broken. If she's not, it's even worse. Because now he knows he'd leave her for you.

A/n: So yeah, two more Pedro boys in the mix.. yes it is that Joel 👀One of y'all needs to come get your man because he's filling holes that aren't his 🫢And Tim! I've been waiting to bring him to the story ❤️

dividers by @strangergraphics and @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

#dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york

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cozylittlepigeon · 7 days ago

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Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 5

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring nightclub owner!Javier Pena)

Word count: 4,200

Summary: Dealing with emotions is difficult when you and Dave realize how you really feel about each other. When a night in turns sour, you seek help from an unexpected source.

(spoilers beneath the cut so beware)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Feelings of angst about failed relationship. Fantasizing. Dave in gray sweatpants OML. Fix-it Dave ooh la la! Mention of sex toys/masturbation (f & m). Reader and Dave are down so bad for each other and feeling extremely guilty over it. Pineapple on pizza is its own warning. Fluff. Soft!Dave. Tipsy kissing/making out. Dry humping. You and Dave have your first big fight. Shower self-love. Sex with an Ex. (Sorry about that, but we all make mistakes, right?)

Author's note: We've reached the angst-y part of the story. The course of true love never runs smooth round here, folks. Thanks for everyone sticking through!

Series Masterlist

Despite your blossoming friendship with Dave, who's been a rock and a safe space for you post-divorce, sometimes intrusive thoughts come in the form of your ex-husband Javier.

You really can't help it - you'd been with him so long and he'd been the main man in your life, your first, your only. It still feels like infidelity when you try out a dating app just to test the waters. You imagine him doing the same thing then chastise yourself for thinking that Javier would even need to advertise himself just to get a woman. He's probably forgotten all about you by now, probably fucking every cocktail waitress in his establishment, not a thought or care for you while he's chasing tail.

It makes you angry when you linger on who's been in the bed you shared with him, rolled around in the sheets you picked out, whose moans were muffled by the pillows you'd bought specifically for their perfect fluffiness.

Whenever you get an intrusive thought about Javier, you simply think of Dave, and the first detail that comes to mind is his eyes.

You've noticed the subtle way they scan you from head to toe, making you hyper-aware of your chosen outfit of the day. He doesn't linger on any certain part, and you're grateful he can hide whatever thoughts he has. When you speak he seems to truly listen instead of waiting for you to finish so he can talk. And when he smiles or laughs, his eyes have the most adorable crinkles in the corners. You've caught yourself staring too long more than a few times.

If you let your imagination drift even further you think about his lips, how soft they look, the way his tongue swipes across them after a sip of your freshly brewed coffee.

It's easy to forget that he's married, especially when it's just so easy between you, so natural. You tell yourself not to get too sentimental over someone who has a wife and kids, an entire life separate from you that existed before you knew him.

Trying to put your new bed frame together, you realize you don't have you don't have the right tools to complete it. When he finally calls you back you can hear him out of breath on the other line.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?" you ask, a little flustered.

"No, just finished my run," he says.

You explain about your task, and lack of tools for it. He offers his own toolkit and says he'll meet you at your place in twenty.

When you answer the door for him, you're taken aback. Usually in a suit, or at the very least, trousers or jeans and a button-up, it's a strange thrill to see him so casual in dark blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants, toolbox in his hand.

...gray sweatpants.

Your eyes drift downward of their own accord, the quintessential female gaze. Dave waits patiently for you to let him in.

"Sorry!" Heat rushes to the surface of your skin as you lead him to your bedroom, offering water or anything else to drink. Less than an hour later you have the bed frame put together, boxspring, mattress, and sheets on top.

"You can shower here, if you want," you offer, bringing him a green apple Gatorade. He hesitates at first, then admits it'd probably be easier than having to drive back home in sweaty clothes.

While he's in the shower you wash his clothes, trying not to think about him under the hot spray. Has he left the door unlocked? Do you dare to test it? You tell yourself these are irrational thoughts, brought on because he's a new friend and you find him attractive. Once he leaves you're going to put your rose toy to good use for the rest of the night.

Of course he's perfect. He's a lawyer for god's sake. And he's kind, and gorgeous, and so smart, and funny. He likes old movies, he's a good dad, he remembers little things about me, he really listens when I'm talking, and of course he has a perfect cock. I haven't seen it yet, but I know it's big. Maybe even bigger than Javier. Ugh, don't think about him. Think about those gray sweatpants and how good they'd look on my bedroom floor, or maybe even slid down just low enough for him to slide right in-

"Sweetie?" your mom's voice cuts through your fantasy.

"Hm?" You sit up in your chair, swallowing the saliva that's pooled in your mouth, along with the tanginess of the mimosas your mom had made for brunch. Your mom and sister chuckle, exchanging a glance.

"You're on another planet," your sister remarks. "Mom's got a menopausal snail trail going. You're better off tuning out."

Your mother swats at your sister's arm. "I was just talking about that gorgeous Idris Elba. He's my hall pass, you know."

"Mom," you groan. "I don't think we need to know everything about you."

The Sunday morning conversation has turned to men, and you wonder if you've given off signals of your own romantic confusion. You cheeks feel hot and you blame it on the champagne cocktails.

"You've hardly touched your crepes," your mom says, fussing over you. "I hope you're not running a fever." She checks for a temperature on your forehead.

"I'm okay, I promise," you tell her.

"I hope you're not overworking yourself, dear."

You don't want the attention on you because you're sure your mother will tap into her trusty intuition and notice something's off, maybe even read your thoughts.

Luckily your sister takes over, talking about the art program she's starting next semester, and you mouth a 'thank you' as your mother gives her attention instead.

To properly thank Dave for his help, you invite him over for homemade pizza. You hold your own little contest to see whose toppings are better, You allow him the win, simply because he's the only other person you know who adores pineapple on pizza.

Dinner turns into a movie night, and you open up to him in a new way as you scroll through the streaming service app, giving him a glimpse of tv shows and documentaries you've not caught up on, and ones you listed as to-watch.

Over a bottle of moscato and a shared bag of Starburst (you disagree on your favorites when he says strawberry is best, when clearly cherry is the winner) you settle in in front of the warm glow of the tv as you play a movie.

You lean your head on his shoulder and Dave tries to ignore the way his body reacts to your closeness, the way your soft hair brushes against his skin, the subtle scent of your shampoo rising up to greet him, to tease him. He wraps his arm around your shoulders.

"I really like this.. spending time with you," you murmur, eyes on the tv before they flicker up to meet his. "I mean it."

"I like spending time with you too. You seem happier," he notes, eyes taking in every feature of your face from the sparkle in your eyes to the chicken pox scar right above your eyebrow that he finds so endearing. Technically, his words are a lie. He loves spending his time with you. The more he's with you the more he realizes the small things in life he's been missing out on, like seeing a painting for the details for the first time rather than the big picture as a whole.

You shrug. "I'm happy for the most part. I have mostly everything I want. I should be really happy with 'mostly.' Not everyone gets to have a 'mostly.'"

"That's true," he responds, feeling as if you're talking about his own life, the missing pieces somehow missing when you're together. "Maybe all life is, is just enjoying the 'mostly.'" Without thinking about it he brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The small simple gesture makes you shiver as the air between you thickens with tension.

"More wine?" you ask in hopes of breaking the spell

He accepts, and you refill both your glasses, clinking your glasses together in a quick toast. For one brief moment as your lips touch the wine you allow yourself the audacity to think about his wife.

You open your mouth to speak then shut it, thinking better of it.

"No, say it," Dave smirks. "What's on your mind?"

Guilt, the kind only truly innocent people can feel, keeps you from looking at him when you ask, "Does Carol ever accuse you of anything going on between us?"

He honestly hasn't expected that question, the wine dulling his usually sharp perception. "No, she doesn't. I don't think she knows about 'us' at all."

"Okay," you nod. "Good.."

"Why'd you ask?"

"I just think if she had any suspicion then we'd have to take a step back, out of respect, you know?"

Suddenly the thought of stepping back into anything resembling the life he had before he met you sounds unpalatable. "Do you want to take a step back?"

"No, I don't," you're quick to reply. "But if she ever thought.." you sigh, leaving that thought unfinished. "I'm just projecting my trust issues where they don't need to go.."

"I see where you're coming from," Dave says. "But I'm telling you, I could leave town for a week and Carol wouldn't question it, so long as the money shows up in our joint bank account and as long as I'm on time for whatever black tie charity event she's spearheading that week."

You smile, stroking his arm. "See? This is why I like you. We hold our own little pity parties and drink wine and watch old movies." And when you rest your head on his shoulder again, it takes everything in him to keep from pressing his lips to the top of your head.

"Do you want to watch another one?" you ask. "Or do you have to get home?"

He's tempted, so tempted to stay, to bask in the lovely warmth that is you. But now you've put Carol in his mind and he's starting to sober up just a little. "I should probably get going. I've got a meeting tomorrow morning."

"Oh.." you try to hide your disappointment. "Of course. I understand."

Dave takes a breath to clear his dangerous thoughts, downing the last of the wine in his glass before he focuses on ordering an Uber. Though you'd promised you could drive him home, he didn't want to risk it as you'd also been drinking. "Should be here in fifteen minutes," he says, stumbling forward as he tries to stand.

"Whoa.. hey," you chuckle, holding him steady. He manages to stay on his feet, holding onto your shoulders. He feels the heat radiating off you, he can smell the freesia of your perfume. His body reacts on an instinctual level, one he hasn't allowed in so long. He needs to have you. Right now.

"Are you okay?" you ask softly, steadying him. "I can drive you home. Cancel your ride." Your hand cups his cheek.

The heat that's been building up in his chest has moved further down towards his groin, your touch only furthering his struggle to control his thoughts. "No, no.. better not risk it. We've both been drinking," he says, the one principle that hasn't been clouded by your proximity.

"I guess wine sneaks up on the best of us," you admit, feeling the effects after all. "I just want to make sure you'll get home okay."

His hands travel down, landing at your waist as he leans his head on top of yours. "I am home.."

Your eyes close, body heating up with the closeness of him, the familiarity that you've thought about but never acted on. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, bringing you close together, the beat of your hearts nearly tangible.

"No one's touched me since.." Since Javier is what you mean to say, but uttering his name feels sacrilegious in the intimacy of the space you share, and a sweet chill goes through you when Dave's hands wander down to your hips. His voice is husky as he says, "I don't know how anybody could keep their hands off you."

Lips parted as you gasp, you try to explain. "I meant touched as in something simple and nice.. like this.." You realize how needy you must sound to him. "..like, how you're holding me now. Just.. friendly."

There's a tightness in his chest at your word. Friendly. That word alone should calm him down, but it has the opposite effect, exciting him further. He wants to give you more than just a friendly touch. He wants to do more than just be friends with you. "Friendly? Is that what you want me to be? Just friendly?"

You nod. "You're my best friend, my only friend these days."

That word is like a knife in his chest, taking away all his restraint. Suddenly both his hands grip your ass, pulling you into an embrace that is more than just friendly. "Is that all you want me to be?"

"Dave!" you gasp as you're pressed close to him. And fuck he's hard. Maybe this was what you needed to finally cross the line, not just blur it. Desire pools in your abdomen, slick suddenly coating your panties as your mouths finally meet in a hot and hungry kiss, tasting of wine and candy as you roll around on the couch.

Every part of Dave's body that isn't touching yours feels empty. His tongue invades your mouth, hips settling between your thighs, grinding himself against you. Your fingers card through his hair, tongue dueling against his. He'd imagined this for weeks now, but was never sure he'd ever feel this with you. He wants more, he wants all of you. This fact is cemented as you pull his tongue into your own mouth, sucking on it.

"Wait.. wait.." you groan, pushing him away. "We can't."

He groans as well, all rational thought foreign to him as most of his blood has journeyed south, evident in the unmistakable bulge you'd just enjoyed him teasing you with. He gives himself some time to cool down as you move away from him. "Yeah.." he says eventually, head in his hands. "You're right, we can't."

Still worked up, you sigh deeply, still tasting him on your tongue, still feeling the rocking of his hips. "If I sleep with you then I'm no better than any of those bitches who slept with Javier."

There's a sharp look in his eyes as he pins you down with his stare, his pride wounded. "Hey. Don't ever compare me to that bastard. I am nothing like him."

"Dave, I didn't mean-"

He knows it's probably the blue balls talking, all the heat of the moment soured from its initial passion. He holds up his hand to stop you from saying anything further, from explaining what he doesn't want to hear. His mind starts to clear. He'd let himself get carried away. He's in your home, drinking your wine, sitting on your sofa, and getting ready to fuck you the way he'd imagined it so many times before. He stands and steps away from you. "If I was just like him I wouldn't give a damn about you. I'd have taken what I wanted and left without a single thought for you." To add salt to the burn he adds, "It would have been that easy."

Anger and hurt flares within you. "Careful, Dave. You're on the same path he started on, and it's a slippery slope for cheaters."

His eyes widen in surprise at your coldness, forgetting how icy his own words had been towards you. He'd come to you for fun and comfort, to shed the stress of work and life, not to get in your pants, though he's not upset it had nearly gone that way. "You think I came here tonight to cheat on my wife? You think I'm trying to be the next scumbag to break your heart?"

"You spend all this time with me instead of your own wife. And just now.." you release a shuddering breath, "you mean to tell me that if I hadn't stopped you we wouldn't be rutting against each other like wild dogs?"

Dave's anger dissipates, replaced by a sense of shame. You're calling him out big time, and he doesn't really have a response. He's spent more time with you in the past few months than he has with his wife in over a year. With a frustrated sigh he lets his head hang.

Through the living room window you see a pair of headlights pull up to the curb outside your house. "You should go. Your Uber's here."

"Yeah," he mutters, getting his jacket before he heads for the door. You watch him leave, so many other things you want to say are on the tip of your tongue, but you don't dare let them loose. You've already crossed a line with him, and you can't forgive yourself for the way you feel about him. His leaving is for the best.

The air is cool outside, letting the heat dissolve in his system, bringing some lucidity to his situation. But it doesn't help the gnawing feeling inside, his anger at himself for speaking that way to you. He's a ball of emotion right now. Before getting into his ride he casts one last glance at your window. There you are, the most beautiful woman he's ever known, the one he's fantasized about and lost sleep over. He came so close to having you to himself tonight, but you were right to stop him. It was a mistake.

He tries to compose himself in the backseat of the Uber, to make sense of who you are and what you mean to him. Of course you would attach yourself to the one man who'd been there for you to sever your connection to your ex. Maybe you had an innate gratitude, maybe you saw him as a hero. That's all it could be.

Suddenly his cell phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. Carol's name flashes on the screen.

"Honey, where are you?" she asks when he answers.

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. "Hey, babe. I just went for a drink after work. What's up?"

"I just miss you," she says.

A wave of guilt courses through him, sharp and hot. Nauseating. "I miss you too, babe. I'll be home soon."

It's a surprise for him to be greeted by her as soon as he comes through the door. Even more so when she reaches up to kiss him. "You taste sweet. Like candy," she comments with a smile.

Her lips are soft, familiar, but they cause no reaction in him like they used to. Not like how kissing you felt. He gently pulls away, removing his jacket and putting it on the coathanger. "I had some jello shots at the bar," he lies.

Behind him, she puts her arms around his middle. "The girls are asleep. Want to come upstairs?"

Dave's body and his mind recoil, his guilt piloting his next move. Does she know? Can she sense it? "I'm a bit tired," he answers. "I think I'm just going to shower and go to bed."

"I could join you.."

A rush of heat is sent straight to his dick at her persistence. The thought of getting any type of action tonight is intriguing. But for some crazy reason he can't find the will to say yes.

"Not tonight, babe. I can barely stand straight as it is.."

"Oh." Carol is disappointed. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "Next time, yeah?"

"Yeah. Fine." She moves past him to the kitchen.

Once again he's disappointed her. What if it was a test? Things haven't been great between them, yet she's never accused him of having an affair. Not that he hasn't been tempted, heaven knows he's only a man. But you're the first person to actually make him want to cross that line.

He hates himself and he hates disappointing you and Carol.

Your scent is still on his clothes as he discards them before getting in the shower. He lets the water beat down on him, grabbing the soap and washing away any trace of you on his skin. But if only it could wash away the memory of the way you kissed him back, your body pliant beneath his on the sofa, the way he fit so perfectly between your parted thighs-

Without thinking about it his hand is already fisted around his cock, the soft suds a sad replacement for what he imagines the glorious slipperiness of your tight channel must feel like.

Carol's voice comes through the door, knocking him from his fantasy. "I have to go into work for a little while. I'll see you later."

He rinses the last of the soap off him before turning off the spray. "You're going in now? At this hour?"

"Dave, it's a hospital. They never close. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Okay.. bye. Be safe," he says, getting out and drying off his hair.

It's hours later and Dave still hasn't caught a wink of sleep. He's tossed and turned, punched his pillow, flipped it, punched it again. Carol is still gone. Once, Alice wakes up and asks him for a glass of water, which he happily obliges as it allows him to do something other than thinking. But as soon as she's had her drink she goes back to sleep and he's left alone with his thoughts again.

It's a few hours before dawn when he gets a text from you:

Hey, I'll pick you up later today to get your car from my place.

Dave exhales deeply. He can't just ignore you. He really does need his car back. But distance is the only way he can control himself right now.

Don't worry about it. I'll get Carol to drop me off and get it. Thanks though.

He waits for the read reply and gets no response from you. In this he feels more regret than satisfaction. Yet his thoughts still drift to the taste of your mouth, your body crushed against his, your hands in his hair. Desperate for release, the only way he's going to get any sleep is to take care of himself, to finish what he'd started in the shower earlier.

He'd left you so on edge, but it wasn't his fault. As Dave's Uber left with him in it, you hated yourself for what you did next. You picked up your phone and called the one person you shouldn't have.

Still wrapped in the bedsheets, you watch as Javier lights a cigarette and exhales a puff of smoke as he rests against the headboard. Both of you are still sweaty, the pleasure fading to a gentle throb between your legs as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

"I miss you," he says, running a finger along your bare arm.

"This was a mistake," you tell him, shaking your head. You never imagined that you'd feel disgust and shame after such a passionate encounter, but the life you've lived since leaving your husband has shown you a million more possibilities, and you're ashamed that you've fallen back into one that's already been proven not to bring you happiness.

"Don't say that, mi amor" he begs, stamping out his cigarette and reaching out for you as you reach over for your clothes on the floor. "You came to me for a reason. You must still have love for me in your heart."

"I came back to familiarity," you correct him, cursing when you can't find your underwear. Just moments before he'd had you in every position and even a few ones you didn't know existed. He'd counted out loud each time your cunt quivered around him, as if taunting you. "And now I'm truly done."

"Done? With me?"

"Javi, honey, you're only good for one thing," you tell him, shimmying into your panties.

And just to prove the universe has a sense of humor, in walks Cindy, the woman you'd found Javi cheating with in this very bed.

"Great.. just great," you mutter, getting the rest of your clothes on. "Don't worry, Cindy, I'm not staying, Not ever again, I hope you enjoy the house. I did all the decorating. But a little word of advice: give your relationship a second thought. If he cheated on me, he'll do the same to you. You can't build your house on another woman's tears and expect it to stand."

Cindy is still speechless at your presence, and Javi just hangs his head.

"Everything that's attractive and charming and fun about him now will eventually wear off. Cindy, you're young and beautiful. Find someone who isn't going to ruin that."

With one more look around, you leave, more confident than you've ever felt in your life.

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk

@almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647

@milla-frenchy @everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love

@ppascalq

#dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york

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cozylittlepigeon · 7 days ago

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Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 2

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring nightclub owner! Javier Peña)

Word count: 1,736

Summary: After reflecting on the ups and (mostly) downs of your relationship with Javier, you make a decision about your future.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for allusions to smut. Mention of selling drugs (Javi). Mentions of past infidelities (Javi again). Mention of illegal activities going on in Javi's club. Threats towards Javier. Basically Javier Pena is a walking red flag but reader was in love.

Author's note: this is basically just backstory on how reader and Javi got together. Dave makes an appearance at the end. Also, big love to everyone who's taken the time to read/reblog, or leave a nice little comment. 💜

Series Masterlist

I told you so.

That's the phrase booming through every thought in your brain as you try to come to terms with Javi's infidelity.

And it wasn't even the first time. You could kick yourself for being so trusting and so blind.

From the moment you'd met Javier Pena, who sold drugs to your friends behind the football field bleachers during your senior year of high school, you'd fallen for his bad boy persona. Motorcycle, leather jacket, aviators, cigarette resting between pouty lips, perfectly groomed mustache. He looked like the saxophone solo from "Careless Whisper".

He'd graduated six years ahead of you, and still came around campus, a legend in his own mind. That should have been your first red flag.

But out of all the girls who flirted with him, you were the one he wanted.

He'd whisked you away on his motorcycle, bringing you home so late that your parents forbade you from seeing him. But nothing could stop true love, that's what you had with him. Javier saw you, made you feel seen. He listened to you, big brown eyes studying your every feature, compelling you to kiss him, to do things you ordinarily wouldn't have.

You were engaged right after you graduated, much to the consternation of your family. But when your engagement seemed to go on and on without an actual wedding date in sight, you had your doubts that he really wanted to marry you.

After giving him an ultimatum which led to Javi telling you he wanted to wait another few years to actually tie the knot, you'd separated from him, giving back his ring, crying yourself to sleep as your mom or your sister would make their best attempts at soothing you. Seeing him with other girls - a different one riding behind him on his motorcycle each time - during those separations only further broke your heart. You found out you weren't so special after all.

But he always came back, always smooth talked his way to your too-good heart. And you let him back in, grateful for his kisses again, grateful for the way his body molded to yours, the splay of his hands across your hips as he bent you over and fucked his way back into your life.

The wedding, when it finally happened, went by in such a blur-- the two of you at the county courthouse, Javi in his best suit, bolo tie and new shiny boots, you in a simple lacy white dress you'd found at a consignment store, tailored to your measurements, and flowers in your hair. Javi had whjisked you away right after the ceremony, unceremoniously fucking you in the backseat of your car.

You'd always wanted kids, your maternal instinct going haywire any time any of your friends announced they were pregnant. You'd run your fingers longingly along the wooden cribs and quilted blankets on display at Target. It felt like the end of the world when Javi admitted he couldn't give you any children. His 'family visit to South Texas' just a couple months after your marriage was actually him recuperating after his vasectomy. You'd nearly left him then, deeply hurt by his secrecy and betrayal, but considered that you could make him change his mind one day, and he'd have it reversed.

A married man, he wanted to rely on steady income to support you besides selling weed and adderall to high schoolers. One thing he was good at was showing people a good time. He had his heart set on opening a strip club, but when you vehemently refused to stay married to him if he did just that, he set his sights on the next best thing and bought out an old roller rink with the help of his lifelong buddy Steve Murphy and renovated it into a nightclub.

His purchase of the club drained any savings you'd amassed in the first few years of your marriage, and you only saw a return on the investment once he'd promoted every night, made deals with shady people, allowed a few illegal gambling, drug, and prostitution outfits to operate within the walls of his new sanctuary. You looked the other way, only able to stomach the idea of being okay with it when Javi offered to buy you your own small business.

All your life you loved two things: baking and literature. Fresh croissants over the latest Janet Evanovich, homemade chocolates and The Great Gatsby. Ever the businessman, Javi talked you into creating your own business, gifting you the seed money to open Fiction & Frosting more expeditiously than you were comfortable with, mainly because you knew just where the funds for your business were coming from.

Planning and decorating had been the fun part to get you away from that thinking. You made the place your own, with your stylistic touches and smooth melodies to play over the ambience. You handpicked the titles that went into your store, including New York Times bestsellers along with lesser known authors and self-published works. Meet and greets were held, helping to gain traction when well-known authors were brought in to do press for their latest releases and for up and coming writers to display their own works.

You were proud of your own business, and eventually made enough money to pay Javier back for his investment. But even though your conscience was clean, your problems weren't necessarily over.

With Javi at the club most nights, you were lonely. It would be near dawn when he'd come home, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol, and, occasionally, another woman's perfume. And still he'd curl up next to you, kissing your neck as if nothing was wrong, spooning you so you could feel his bulging erection through your pajamas.

You'd stayed away, hoping to keep separate the Javi you loved and the Javi you knew had a business to maintain. But one night in particular your curiosity got the best of you and you found yourself driving to the club close to closing time.

The interior, tacky red and orange lighting that gave you the feeling of entering Hell, glowed with an intimidating glare as you looked around for your husband. Music blared from the DJ booth. The bartender on duty gave you vague answers as to Javi's whereabouts, but Steve was there, nursing a glass of Stoli. He coolly informed you Javi was in his office, and you chose to ignore the wry little smile on his face.

The closer you got to his office in the back, the more muffled the music got. But that only served to make louder the pounding of your heart, booming in your ears.

Seeing him at his desk with a woman on her knees, bobbing her head up and down enthusiastically was not what you expected to find. You immediately ran away, tears streaming down your face as you went out the back alley, slumped against the wall, defeated and heartbroken. When Javi found you, apologizing and telling you she didn't mean anything to him, you pushed him away, cursed him, wanted to kill him.

But Javi was Javi, and despite the way he broke your heart so many times, you couldn't make yourself stop loving him. And so you made the choice to believe him, to hug him, to keep from leaving him.

You think about that night now that you're actually leaving him.

Like a bird with a broken wing you go straight to your parents' house, and they invite you in without a second thought, holding in their own 'I told you so's' until you repudiate Javier yourself, recounting every time he 'interviewed' for bottle girls, groped a waitress, or lied about any little thing. You shine the light on his villainy, and in your hurt and angst, it feels good. You leave out the parts about the illegal activities.. it's already too much to tell them of his more hurtful iniquities.

"He never deserved you, sweetheart, I knew it from the beginning," your father says to comfort you.

"He made a pass at me last Thanksgiving," your younger sister says.

"He made a pass at me on Mother's Day," your mom says.

You shake your head, hating everything that you're hearing. But you force yourself to face the facts you've been avoiding for so long.

Your dad and brother go with you to get your things, providing a buffer between you and Javier, who's begging you to come back. He looks bedraggled, unshaven and unkempt, so unlike the put-together man you've come to know. You don't have the heart to meet his eyes, only gaining some satisfaction when your brother shields you from him while your dad helps carry your stuff out to his truck. It's the only bright spot in your day when they threaten to beat the ever-loving shit out of him if he dares to come near you again. You've never seen Javier scared until that moment.

You're so strong, your family commends you as you as you find a small place to rent, making your split official.

Your first night alone, after your sister has left and you're tidying up, putting away the washed wine glasses, you remember Dave.

In all the hubbub of the messy end of your marriage, you think of the divorce attorney, and you grab his card from your purse.

David L. York, Divorce & Family Law

The next morning you call and are put through to his direct line. Hearing his voice over the phone, so professional and yet warm, brings you back to that day you met him, and you feel a sensation of butterflies in your stomach.

"It's me," you give him your name and he remembers you immediately, bringing a smile to your face for the first time in days.

"I've been by a few times for coffee but I haven't seen you there," he says with some concern, and the butterflies multiply when you realize he'd actually sought you out.

"I've been busy," you make a lame excuse. "And not feeling very well."

"Oh," he replies. "Which is it? Busy or not feeling well?" he teases.

"Considering what I'm about to tell you.. both."

"What's going on? What can I do for you?" he asks, as if he'd do anything at all you ask.

"Oh, I heard you handle divorces. And I'd like to hire you to do mine."

dividers by @strangergraphics & @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @eviispunk @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal

@sunnytuliptime @mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk

@almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647

@milla-frenchy @everybodylovedcontractors

#dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york

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cozylittlepigeon · 7 days ago

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Javi, how could you!!??

This is beautifully written, I'm smitten with these two already...looking forward to diving into the rest of the series!

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 1

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring nightclub owner! Javier Peña)

Word count: 2,779

Summary: A chance meeting at a museum brings you companionship when you least expect it.

(Warnings contain spoilers beneath the cut)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for allusion to smut/light smut and eventual smut. Rom com vibes throughout. AU as stated above. Reader wears dress and makeup. Mentions of loneliness. TW for infidelity and some violence (nobody harmed.. physically)

Author's Note: Some of you may be thinking, 'but Adriana, don't you already have a series about Dave?' to which I answer a resounding Yes, but I've left that story at a good place for right now and will get to updating it as time allows. Plus I really just wanted to do a light and fluffy story 😊 Fun fact: all the chapters are named after rom-com tropes 😉There will be more Pedro characters added in later chapters, so be on the lookout. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

You put on your earrings in the mirror, little violet flower earrings that match the soft purple in your dress. Your mascara, freshly applied, is at risk of being cried away before you grab a tissue to dab at your eyes.

"You're sure you're not upset?" your husband Javier asks behind you, sitting up in bed with a fresh cigarette between his lips.

"Of course not," you smile, doing your best to tamper down your feelings and brush your selfishness aside. "I know the business comes first." Javi has important meetings regarding his nightclub, more than ever these days, it seems. You're a good wife in letting him do what he needs to do.

"You know I'd come with you if I could. And hey, the museum's always gonna be there," he reasons. "Besides, we'll catch dinner later tonight at that new steakhouse on the east side."

"It's just.." you turn to face him, leaning against the vanity. "Today's the last day of the Kusama exhibit. I wanted to see it with you."

"Baby, we can catch it another time."

"After this they're moving across the country," you pout, not meaning to, but it's the umpteenth time Javier has broken his promise to you.

"Come here."

You obey his soft command, sitting on the edge of the bed, your skin warming to his touch as his fingers graze up and down your arm. "You smell good, baby. You used that perfume I got you?"

"Yeah," you smile, lifting your other wrist to your nose. "Roses de Chloe. My favorite."

"My favorite too, on you." He stubs out his cigarette and pulls you in for a kiss.

"Javi," you giggle as his hand dips below the scooped neckline of your dress, cupping your breast. "Didn't you get enough earlier?"

"I didn't fuck you good enough if you're still able to walk," he smirks, pulling you down against his chest.

"I'm already running late," you sigh as he pulls the top of your dress down and his lips pucker around your nipple, sucking and pulling.

"Late for a museum? Only you would worry about that, honey. Now come on," he says, scooting down on the bed. "Lift up that dress, baby, and sit on my fucking face."

Dave has been waiting in line with his daughters for only fifteen minutes when the announcement is made that tickets are officially sold out. Alice and Molly look up at him, expecting him to do something, but what exactly can he do? "Look, girls, I'm sorry. We'll have to come back another day."

"We wanted to see the exhibit. I wanted to take a selfie with those big neon wiggly things," Molly pouts.

"I know, sweetie, but it's just not in the cards today." He ruffles her hair, hating to disappoint them.

There's a scent of roses as he feels someone approach the three of them. "Hey, sorry, I heard you wanted to get into the exhibit."

Dave looks up and sees you, and has a momentary lapse of thought, struck by how pretty you are. Floral dress, white sweater, lavender bag. It's like you've stepped out from a commercial.

"Um.. yes, my daughters are kind of upset that tickets sold out so quick. It's my fault for not purchasing them ahead of time." He smiles sheepishly, wondering what you must think of him.

"I can get you in with me," you offer. "I have a membership pass. Kids get in free and I can bring one other person."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Please. I want to." You take a look at his daughters, who are looking back at you with hope in their pretty little eyes. "You'd be doing me a favor by accepting," you tell Dave.

The girls tug on his hands, jumping up and down, begging him to take up your offer until he at last relents. "Okay, okay," he chuckles. "Thank you, Miss..?"

You give him your name, offer your hand, which he takes in his own. He repeats it back to you, making sure he's got it right, the taste of your name like a sweet swig of wine in his mouth.

He introduces himself, Dave York, and his kids Molly and Alice, minus the wife Carol, who's working a double shift today. The usual pleasantries are exchanged, nervous smiles, comments about the weather.

Even after you break the handshake he swears he can still feel your skin against his, soft and delicate.

You willingly split from him once you're inside, not wanting him to feel beholden to stay at your side because of your help. Besides, you're used to outings where you're by yourself. It gives you time to think.

The exhibit is just as gorgeous in person as you've seen online. Love is Calling is an area filled with brightly-lit neon orange, purple, green, and yellow inflatable shapes that remind you of large stalagmites and stalactites covered in big black polka dots, which change colors gradually.

"It's like being in another world," someone says next to you, and you look up to find Dave.

"Yeah," you agree, smiling as you look around. "Like Dr. Seuss's world."

He laughs at that, and watches his older daughter take a selfie just as she'd wanted to do. You like his laugh, and a deeper part of you wants to hear it more often. From the corner of your eye you watch him in profile. Dark brown hair, neatly combed to the side, coffee-colored eyes, aquiline nose, soft-looking lips with a prominent cupid's bow, and a clean shaven jaw.

You realize you've been staring too long, blush creeping up your neck as you turn away just before he sees.

"Do you hear that?" he asks, brows drawn together in concentration.

You grab the brochure from inside your bag. "It's the artist, Yayoi Kusama, reciting a love poem in Japanese," you read. "The poem is called 'Residing in a Castle of Shed Tears'."

"Sad title for such a whimsical place."

"True.." you watch his girls playing, hiding from each other among the colorful shapes. "They're having fun."

"Do you have any of your own?" he asks.

"Oh.. no. My husband and I didn't want any." It was a little white lie-- Javier had gotten a vasectomy without your knowledge right after you'd gotten married. But it's not anything a stranger needs to know.

"They're.. life-changing," Dave says.

"No boys?"

He shakes his head. "We are pretty much done ourselves."

"Ah. Got it."

Entering into the next area is the most magical part. The infinity mirror room, dark but for a blue tint cast throughout, and hundreds of tiny LED lights. You're multiplied throughout the mirrors within, in seemingly endless space. It takes your breath away.

Next to you, Dave's fingers accidentally brush yours and you both startle from it, laughing a little nervously before you move away. You try not to think about the jolt that went through you at the contact.

You try to stay as long as you can in this area, before the next crowd comes in. It's in this one place you don't feel like yourself, as if you exist far apart from your life, and it's a very freeing feeling.

Dave loses you after the exhibit, and stamps down the disappointment at realizing he might not ever see you again. He tries to show the girls some art, what little he studied in college, explaining the way certain painters painted the way they did, or the intricacy of a sculpture. Molly and Alice don't seem interested, but they like spending time with him.

His heart jumps when he sees you across the gallery, studying a Renaissance painting, staying long after the others have moved onto other pieces. You must feel his eyes on you because you turn, and with a little smile you wave at him. He waves back, holding back a full on grin as you approach him. "Thought you'd left by now."

"I could stay here all day," you tell him, and there's something about the dreamy look in your eyes that melts his heart. A silent agreement crosses between you and you circle the gallery together.

So close to you now, he tries to be stealthy about his glances at you. He can't defend the awkward rhythm of his heart when you move closer to whisper some fact about the painter of this particular still-life. All he can think about is your scent: rose perfume, a sweet vanilla in your shampoo, and something else, unfamiliar and yet he'd know it from a mile away.

Sex. You smell like sex.

His eyes dart quickly to your dress, the flesh of your thighs not covered, wondering if you know, if you even care, because truth is he doesn't mind it at all.

Stop looking at her. You're married. She's married. The band of gold glistening on your finger is a dead giveaway.

"We need to come out here more often," he says, hoping to find a reason to run into you again. "We should get going. But not before a stop at the gift shop, right?" And the girls agree excitedly.

You pop in with them, not really knowing why. Maybe it's because Dave is so nice, or because his daughters are adorable and you'd like to have your own someday.

You're perusing the section near the cashier's desk you and Dave both reach for the same poster: Starry, Starry Night by Van Gogh.

"Sorry," you say at the same time, awkwardly letting go.

"You should take it," he offers.

"No, no.. your girls should have it. I wasn't going to buy it anyway."

He shakes his head, a little smile on his lips, which you can't stop glancing at. "You've done so much for us today.."

"Please," you insist, handing him the poster tube.

It's a warm feeling to watch the girls so excited, ending their day on a high note. You walk outside altogether, the late afternoon giving way to early evening.

"We wanted to thank you again. Right, girls?" And his daughters give a polite 'thank you' in unison, their cute faces beaming.

"It's my pleasure," you smile serenely at them. "I hope I'll see you again sometime. I actually own a little place a couple blocks away. It's a bookstore-slash-bakery."

"We could go check it out," Dave offers, and the girls are excited to spend more time on their adventure.

Dave doesn't know what to expect when he steps foot into your bookstore/bakery, Fiction & Frosting, but he can tell right away it's absolutely your creation. The bakery section is at the front, the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee greeting him, giving a cozy atmosphere right away. The glass display cases boast treats of all kinds: cookies, cupcakes, cake pops, brownies, everything a bakery could have. Down the counter, employees are making coffee, preparing orders as customers wait patiently, thumbing through the books they've already purchased.

He smiles when you slip behind the counter, getting the girls some treats after making sure it's okay with him, and strawberry milk to go with their sweets. Dave declines at first but is unable to resist a blueberry muffin and a black coffee. He insists on paying you, but you refuse his money. It's easy to be kind to him and his kids. You like taking advantage of being able to do nice things for others.

The four of you stroll the bookstore area, the atmosphere cozy, the scent of paper and ink that only a literary shop can provide. There are new releases as well as classics; magazines and journals. "This is impressive. I can't remember what this place used to be, and I've worked across the street from here for years." Dave says. Alice and Molly are looking at the kids' section.

"Oh you have?" you smile. "I've always wondered what that place is." All you know is it's a high-rise building, sleek glass and metal, with expensive suits coming and going.

"Here," he says, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his business card. Your fingers brush together for a moment during the transfer, and you both smile.

"You're a.. divorce attorney," you say, voice somewhat flat.

"Uh, yeah," he says as if he could apologize. He glances at your ring again, twisting his own gold band as if to ground his thoughts and remind himself that you're both taken.

When you burst into tears he freezes, his jacket left behind in his car with the handkerchief he would have given you. Luckily you pull a tissue from your purse and press it to your face.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you," he says, softly rubbing your back.

"I'm fine," comes your muffled reply. "I just.. I'm just emotional, that's all."

"Is everything all right.. at home?" he asks, concerned by your tears. So many years in this field and he knows an unhappy wife when he sees one.

"I don't.. is it okay if I don't talk about it?" you sniffle.

"Of course. I didn't mean to pry," he assures you, his voice soothing. He keeps his hand on your back, waiting for you to let it all out.

"I'm such a fool," you manage a smile at him through your tears. "I didn't mean to blow up like that."

"It's okay," he says, dabbing at a streak of mascara you'd missed on your cheek. "My number's on the card. If you ever just want to talk, please call. I promise not to charge you," he adds with a little chuckle, hoping to lift your spirits.

"Or maybe.. you could come by for a coffee. I promise not to charge you." You give him a real, true smile.

It's almost as if you don't want to go home, but there's no reason to stay once Dave and the girls have left the shop. The drive home isn't as long, despite the traffic.

You can hear the music from the front hallway. "Moment" by Victoria Monet, the smooth bass and vocals providing an atmosphere you typically walk into when Javi's in the mood, which is often. You smile, wondering if he's expecting your arrival and setting the mood before you go out to dinner. As often as he does break his promises, he has his ways of making up for it. You open the door to your bedroom.

"Babe, I--"

You freeze into place as your world breaks wide open.

Another woman is in your bed with your husband, her body writhing on top of him.

Rooted to the spot, you watch helplessly as this happens. His hands are all over her body, he's calling her all the pet names he calls you. Mami, hermosa, carino, ven por mi.

"What the fuck??" you shout over the music, putting a stop to the extramarital fucking going on in your marriage bed. Javi and his bitch scramble to cover up. "This is the meeting you absolutely couldn't miss??" You glare daggers at the woman, who's avoiding your gaze as she hurriedly puts her skimpy dress back on. You recognize her-- Cindy, one of the bartenders at his club. "Get out of here, you slut! I don't want to see you in this house ever again!" You throw nearest thing - a bottle of perfume from your vanity - at her, narrowly missing her as Roses de Chloe crashes against the wall. Cindy manages to escape unscathed but the true target of your fury remains.

"Didn't expect you back so early, baby. I can explain," Javier says, getting his jeans back on, forgoing his underwear. But you back away before he can come near you.

"Explain?? Explain to me how you fell into your employee dick-first!"

He looks guilty for only a second, a little smile on his lips as he tries again to broach your defenses. "She means nothing to me. She's just going through a lot right now and I wanted to help her. I can't help that she came on strong." He studies you, his face a perfect facade of innocence, eyebrows slightly lifted, plush lips pouting beneath his perfectly groomed mustache.

But you know better. You shrink from him as he tries to reach out and hold you.

You're sick to your stomach over his lies, and the readiness with which you have accepted them in the past. "Don't touch me!" you shout, ready to hurl something at him. "Don't ever come near me again," you manage, right before tears spill over your eyes. Without a second thought you hurry out of the house you've shared with him for years, get into your car and drive away.

dividers by @strangergraphics & @cafekitsune👑

Taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @eviispunk @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal

@sunnytuliptime @mysticsuitcasealmondwombat

@joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40

@604to647 @milla-frenchy @everybodylovedcontractors

#dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york

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cozylittlepigeon · 7 days ago

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So hot!! I could feel how conflicted reader was there at the end...Dave would be hard to give up! Love this so much!

Overtime

Status: Complete.

Pairings: Boss Dave York x Secretary Female Reader

Word Count: 1008 words

Summary: Preparation for an investor presentation kept you and your boss Dave York working overtime.

Author's Notes: Hey, it's been a while and I know I have a shit ton of WIPs lol but I hope you all enjoy this new Dave York piece. I am open to requests and prompts, too.

Warnings: Minors DNI. 18+ only. This fic contains explicit sexual content, themes of infidelity, and unhealthy relationship dynamics/power imbalance, employer-employee relationships. Reader discretion is advised.

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The office is eerily quiet, the low hum of the central air system the only sound as you perch yourself on Dave’s lap. Your back arches slightly, your hands gripping the polished edge of his mahogany desk to keep your balance. The soft fabric of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the creamy expanse of your thighs and the black lace of your panties pushed to the side. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as you move atop him in slow, deliberate rolls of your hips.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and it’s not just from the pleasure coursing through your veins. It’s always like this. Heated. Urgent. Completely reckless. You bite your lower lip, stifling the sound bubbling up your throat, your mind warring with itself. You hate and love this in equal measure. You love how his touch makes you feel alive in a way nothing else ever has, and you hate the reality you always face when it’s over.

His thick cock stretches you perfectly, filling you in a way that makes your breath hitch with every movement. Each upward thrust of your hips meets the firm grip of his hands, steadying you as he guides you into a rhythm that is both demanding and intoxicating.

“Fuck, baby, I love this so much…” he groans, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His head rests against the back of his executive chair, his sharp features cast in the dim light of the desk lamp. “You feel so goddamn good. Always so damn good…”

Your chest tightens at the words. They aren’t new. He always says things like that when you’re in a moment like this. And the pounding in your chest isn’t from the building pleasure but from the knowledge that this will never be more than what it is… A dirt little secret from the world.

Your internal conflict swirls in your chest, tangled with the physical ache of your body chasing the high he always brings you to. He shifts slightly, leaning forward to press a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder. His teeth graze your skin, making you clench around him involuntarily.

“Don’t stop,” he commands, his voice low and rough. One of his hands slides from your hip, skimming over your stomach before dipping lower, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He presses tight, deliberate circles there, and you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as the sensation shoots through you like a bolt of lightning.

“Dave,” you whimper, your grip on the desk tightening as your thighs tremble. You’re so close, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

“Not yet,” he growls, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You don’t cum until I tell you to.”

You whimper, biting your lip hard to stifle the moan threatening to escape. You try to focus on the desk under your hands, on the steady rhythm of your hips against his, but the sensation of his fingers rubbing your clit while his cock fills you to the hilt is too much. Your body quivers, teetering on the edge of release.

And then the phone fucking rings.

You freeze, your breath hitching in your throat. He lets out a low growl of frustration, his hand stilling on your nub as he reaches for the phone on his desk. He glances at the caller ID and sighs heavily before answering.

“York,” he says, his voice clipped, though his fingers resume their torturous circles on your clit. Your eyes widen, your body trembling as you try to stay still, to keep quiet, but it’s impossible.

“Yes, the investment presentation is on track,” he says into the phone, his tone professional despite the way his hand works you over, keeping you on the brink. He leans back in his chair, his free hand gripping your hip tightly to steady you. His voice drops slightly as he says, “I’ll call you back. My secretary is… coming.”

Your cheeks burn, your breath coming in sharp gasps as he ends the call and drops the phone back onto the desk. Before you can recover, his hands grip your hips again, and he thrusts up into you hard, his movements unrelenting.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Now.”

Your body obeys, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cry out, your walls clenching tightly around him as your thighs quiver. Your head falls back, your eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure wracks through you. He doesn’t stop, his pace relentless as he chases his own high, your body tightening around him only spurring him on.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head against your nape as he comes, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his release. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you tightly against him as he empties himself inside you. You swear you can feel every hot rope of his release, leaving you feeling bloated and utterly spent.

The room is silent except for your ragged breathing. You slump forward, your hands still braced on the desk as you try to catch your breath. His hands soften their grip, his fingers brushing over your skin in lazy, soothing strokes.

It’s always like this. Passionate and consuming. And yet, as you clean up, straightening clothes and fixing hair, the reality always looms. He kisses you softly, his lips lingering on yours for a moment longer than usual, but it’s not enough to chase away the ache in your chest.

You watch him leave, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he walks to the elevator. He will go home to his family, to his wife, and lay in bed beside her while you lay awake in your own. And that’s the part that hurts the most. This is all you could ever be. And you hate that it isn’t enough—but you hate even more that you can’t stop wanting him anyway.

#dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york

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cozylittlepigeon · 8 days ago

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Pedro Pascal Dancing The Bubble: Behind the Scenes B-Roll Footage

#he has the best expressions #dieter bravo #the bubble #pedro pascal

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cozylittlepigeon · 8 days ago

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I'm so glad you continued their story!!! I've been craving Dave lately!! This was so hot!!!

In Vino Veritas ('in wine, there is truth')

18+ account - minors do not interact

dave york x f!reader Word Count: 4.5K Rating: E

Summary: You start interviewing candidates to find your replacement. As you go through the process, you stumble upon a surprising discovery that pulls you back into Dave's darker world, complicating your feelings for him — yet again.

Warning: dave is a freelance assassin (and you know — if that wasn’t obvious), language, sexual tension, mutual pining, yearning, petnames (your daves ‘sweetheart’), jealousy, possessive thoughts, semi-public smut, masturbation (f and m), phone sex, david york’s whore mouth (aka dirty talk), praise, toxic dynamics / dependencies

A/N: This was written for @jolapeno’s Dear-uary Challenge. Here was my prompt. I hope I did it right? You don’t have to read Two Weeks Notice, but consider this a follow-up to that story. As I always say, Dave York is slept on in this fandom. We need more Dave. Justice for Dave. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Don’t forget about the clean shaven boyz.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging thots

dividers by @saradika-graphics

The next week dragged on, each day blurring into the next, filled with an unrelenting tension that settled deep within your bones. You had made your decision to leave, and that choice echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat. But the reality of it was far more complicated than you had anticipated.

Were you really ready to leave?

You had too. The pull of Dave was far too dangerous.

HR was fast—faster than you had imagined. They had a database of candidates, and the minute your two weeks’ notice landed on your Dave’s desk, the wheels were already in motion. Dave was pretty senior, so it made sense that they were trying to find a replacement as soon as possible.

HR set up the first round of interviews sifting through the applicants—all temp workers at the DIA hoping to transition into something permanent. You then had been given access to the candidate profiles who made the next round, as you had to interview them next and decide if they should meet with Dave.

As the days progressed, the interviews felt like an exercise in futility. Some candidates were too timid, some were too overconfident to the point of arrogance.

On the fifth day of interviews, you found yourself sitting across from a woman named Carol. She had a sharp mind, the best candidate so far. As she spoke about her experiences and her goals, it wasn’t just her intellect that caught your attention; it was her appearance. Your thoughts drifted to Dave—how he would react to her. She had a striking face, the kind that could easily turn heads in any crowd. Her body was to die for. And, she looked like she could be in a fucking hair commercial.

Even in the confines of an interview, she exuded a sense of poise and grace. You found yourself inexplicably jealous, an emotion that twisted in your gut like a vine choking a tree.

You forced yourself to focus on the interview, to listen to what she was saying, but the nagging thought persisted—would Dave find her attractive?

"….I’m glad to hear that the office values work-life balance," Carol said as she wrapped up her final thought.

Well… the DIA office did. Dave didn’t

You forced a smile. "Thank you so much. I do have a hard stop, but we’ll stay in touch. If you proceed to the next round, you’ll meet with Mr. York next week."

"I appreciate you answering all my questions about the role,"

"Of course, Carol, have a nice day,"

You reached out your hand, signaling the end of the conversation. She accepted it with a firm yet friendly grip, maintaining eye contact and offering a courteous smile.

As Carol turned and began walking towards the elevator, you couldn't help but notice that some of the men on the floor discreetly glanced in her direction, their eyes momentarily following the sway of her hips and the rhythm of her steps. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside, giving one last polite nod before the doors closed.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Just as you were about to leave for the day, your computer chimed, the screen lighting up with a message from Dave. You opened the message.

Need to see you. My office. Now.

You pushed yourself up from your chair and made your way to his office. You hadn’t been alone with him in his office… since his glorious fingers had been inside of you. Everything had gone back to 'business as usual' when you told Dave you were quitting. You knocked lightly, the sound echoing in the stillness before you heard his voice beckoning you inside.

When you entered, Dave was standing by the window, arms crossed, watching the city below. He turned as you stepped in.

"Close the door," he instructed, and you did so without hesitation. "Did you find someone?"

"I found a few candidates. I just wrapped up a prospective candidate. I think I’ve I narrowed it down to three, including the last person I just interviewed,"

He nodded, his expression shifting slightly, an almost imperceptible flicker of disappointment crossing his features. "I want to meet them all."

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "They’re great—"

"Not just great," he interrupted, stepping closer. "I want someone who can handle the demands of this role. I need someone who can keep up with me."

"Are you sure you want me to choose?"

"Don’t you want to know who I’ll be working with?"

"I—" you stammered.

"What?" his eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized your expression. "You’ve been doing this long enough to know how important it is to have the right fit."

"What exactly are you looking for in this new hire? Are you thinking more along the lines of a 'traditional assistant', or someone like me?"

"There’s no one like you, sweetheart,"

Your heart raced as you processed his words. Why was he teasing you? He was making this difficult. You wondered if he could smell how drenched your panties were, you could feel the fabric clinging to your pussy underneath your skirt.

"And you’ve already asked me this question before," he added, sounding annoyed.

"I want to double check,"

For all you knew maybe he was looking for someone that was going to also help him with his… other tasks.

"Just a traditional assistant,"

"Understood. Then yes… I think you’ll be satisfied with the candidates that I’ve selected for the final round,"

Dave’s gaze lingered on you. "I trust you,"

It was an oddly intimate thing to say. Tingles started to flow through your body, and you fought to ignore them. He looked so good today. Sex on legs.

"I’ll send over the candidate’s profiles shortly for your review."

"Good," he said, with that cocky smirk that owned your fucking soul.

5 more days on the job. It was Monday and Dave would start interviewing the final candidates tomorrow.

You were determined to leave everything in perfect order so you began compiling a comprehensive knowledge transfer document, to ensure that whoever stepped into your shoes would have a smooth transition.

While organizing Dave’s files, you came across a new folder tucked inside the 'Miscellaneous' directory you'd initially set up for Dave. It was labeled 'Travel Plans,' which seemed innocent enough, but something didn't sit right. After all, you already had a travel folder in Dave's main inbox, so why the extra one? Intrigued, you began sifting through the emails. Sorting through the emails, you stumbled upon an exchange that piqued your interest. The sender’s name was redacted.

Email 1: To: [Redacted Client Name] From: David Subject: My Upcoming Trip

I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to share some of the places I’m planning to check out on my upcoming trip, in case you have other suggestions. I’m really looking forward to visiting that charming café near the bookshop. I’ve heard the view from their terrace is breathtaking.

Email 2: To: David From: [Redacted Client Name] Subject: Re: My Upcoming Trip

Sounds like a fantastic plan! I remember you mentioning that café. It’s a lovely spot to start the day. The sunrise view from the rooftop is a must-see.

Make sure to explore the historic library that is around the corner. It’s across from the gallery, you can’t miss it. Ask for Natasha if you go to the gallery, she can give you a private tour. In Vino Veritas, enjoy a glass of wine while you take in the art.

Email 3: To: [Redacted Client Name] From: David Subject: Re: My Upcoming Trip

Thank you so much for your generous offer as I've been looking forward to visiting the gallery.

I’ll make sure to take a leisurely stroll in the park and maybe catch a late-night movie at that theater you mentioned last time as well.

Thank you again for all the suggestions.

Email 4: To: David From: [Redacted Client Name] Subject: Re: My Upcoming Trip

Yes, and if you have time. Let’s make sure to grab dinner or drinks. Feel free to just text me directly when you’re in town.

Otherwise, it’s 3:27, I have to hop on my next call.

Talk soon.

What the fuck was this?

Since when did David do 'small chat' to plan fucking vacations. What city was he trying to get recommendations for?

This email chain took place a few weeks back. David hadn't traveled internationally but had recently made some trips domestically. He had visited Chicago and D.C., and you had handled all his flight and accommodation arrangements.

You spent the next few days re-reading the emails at work. Obsessing over it. Pacing about it in your apartment. It kept you up at night.

It was Thursday. Dave had his last interview today — with Carol. He told you he wanted to discuss who he would pick as your replacement later today.

Then, it hit you—the clues were right there in front of you.

The café with the rooftop view, the bookshop, the gallery, and the library—all these places were near the Langham Hotel.

This was all right here… in Boston.

You told Dave you were going to lunch.

You had this hunch about the emails and decided to do something fucking insane.

15 minutes later, you stepped into the grand lobby of the Langham Hotel, the decor exuded understated elegance, with muted tones and gold accents that whispered of luxury without being in your face. You approached the reception desk.

"I would like to check in to a room," you said, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the intensifying flutter in your stomach.

The receptionist, a polished woman with a sleek bob and impeccably tailored attire, looked up at you with a professional smile. Her eyes were sharp, assessing. "Of course, what is the length of your stay?"

"I’d like to speak to Natasha,"

The receptionist's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly regained her composure. "One moment, please." She picked up the phone and spoke in hushed tones, her gaze flickering back to you. A moment later, she gestured for you to wait.

It was just a few minutes before Natasha arrived. She exuded an air of confidence as she approached, her tailored suit accentuating her graceful figure. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, and her makeup was flawlessly applied.

"Hello, I’m Natasha,"

"I’ve stayed here before," you said, trying to keep your voice calm, "and I would like to stay in the same room I was in before."

Natasha raised an eyebrow slightly. "And which room would that be?"

"Room 327," you replied, your heart pounding as you watched her reaction.

She paused, her gaze flitting to the computer screen before looking back at you. There was a flicker of understanding in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment that passed between you. "May I ask if there’s a reason you would like to stay in that particular room?"

You took a breath, the words forming in your mind. "In Vino Veritas,"

Natasha’s expression shifted slightly, a knowing look crossing her face. "Please follow me this way,”

Holy fucking shit. That worked.

You walked side by side, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. You glanced sideways at Natasha, trying to gauge if she held any insight into the situation, but her expression remained impossible to decipher.

As you reached the door to Room 327, Natasha turned to you. "Here we are." She opened the door with a hotel key and then handed it to you, allowing you to step inside.

You stepped inside, but your mind was racing, the question echoing in your thoughts: Why had Dave been provided coordinates to this hotel and to this specific room?

The room was a blend of modern luxury and classical elegance. Rich, deep blue walls contrasted beautifully with the crisp white linens of the king-sized bed. You set your purse down on a plush armchair, the fabric feeling amazing against your fingertips.

You felt drawn to the bed, and as you approached, you noticed the intricate details—the way the sheets were perfectly ironed, the subtle sheen of high-thread-count cotton that whispered that you didn’t belong here.

You sat on the edge of the bed. It felt like sinking into a dream… the sheets felt so expensive. It was a far cry from the standard hotel fare you were accustomed to.

As you took a moment to absorb your surroundings, your gaze traveled across the room. A stunning piece of abstract art hung above the writing desk. A small vase of fresh flowers perched on the bedside table. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, revealing marble countertops and a deep soaking tub.

You decided to lay back, your head sinking into the cool fabric. As you settled in, you closed your eyes for just a moment. The intricate patterns of the pillows cradled your head perfectly, and you could almost forget the reason you were here, the questions swirling in your mind.

But just as you began to let yourself drift, the tranquility shattered. Your work phone buzzed insistently in your trousers, pulling you back to reality. The sound broke through the haze of relaxation, and you reached down to retrieve it. The device vibrated against your thigh.

You realized it wasn’t your DIA work phone that was buzzing. It was your other 'work phone.' You fished the phone from your pocket, glancing at the screen.

UNKNOWN CALLER

But you knew who it was.

With a deep breath, you swiped to answer the call and brought the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"What the fuck are you doing in that room?" Dave growled on the other end.

As Carol left Dave’s office, he leaned back in his chair. The interview had gone well. Carol was sharp, articulate, and had a quality that he found refreshing. You had told him that you thought she was the strongest candidate out of the three. And as per usual, you were right.

His mind kept drifting back to you—your decision to leave. Just two more days. That was all he had left with you. The thought of walking into the office next week and not seeing you at your desk felt jarring.

His 'other' phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced down at the screen and picked up the call, curious.

"Hello,"

“Dave,” Natasha’s voice was light. "So, you’re sending hot girls to pick up your parcels now?"

What the fuck?

He frowned, confusion washing over him. Dave pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, moving towards his window and his gaze fell to your empty desk. You never really went out for lunch breaks since you usually just ate at the cafeteria with other colleagues.

Without wasting another second, he reached up and closed the blinds. She had to be talking about you.

He turned back to the phone, a thought forming in his mind. He had to pretend he was aware of what was going on.

"No parcel for pickup today, Natasha," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "I had someone come by just to drop something off for me in the room. I thought it might be easier than sending the usual courier."

"Ah, I see. Well, that’s alright. Just give me a heads up next time,"

Dave chuckled, although the humor felt forced. "Will do. Take care."

As he hung up, he immediately called you.

"Hello?" you replied, sounding a little nervous.

"What the fuck are you doing in that room?"

"Well, hello to you too,"

"How did you even find out about this room?" he demanded.

"I found the emails a few days ago, Dave,"

Your intelligence frightened him. Truly frightened him. Maybe five percent of the entire global population could have deciphered those emails — and it probably would have taken them weeks or even months. He was left feeling like his cock was begging to escape from the tight confines of his pants.

"Why are you sending shit on your DIA email, anyways?"

He rolled his eyes. "Remember what I told you a long time ago. I don’t choose who my clients are,"

"Jesus fucking Christ,"

His clients. They weren’t just anyone. They were usually people in very high places, including government officials, people who made decisions that could change the course of history. CIA operatives, lobbyists, you name it. He had dealt with all of them.

One of his current clients had ties with the DIA, therefore they could communicate with their 'day job' emails in code.

"What’s the purpose of this room?" you pressed.

"I can’t tell you, and if you recall… you fucking quit, so you have no right to ask me that question,"

He hated how vulnerable he sounded. How whiney. How fucking exposed. He was supposed to be in control, the one calling the shots, but with you, everything was different. The thought of you leaving felt like a gaping hole opening up in his chest, one he couldn’t quite ignore.

"Dave –"

“Shut up and let me speak,”

God, you loved it when he was mean. It had you throbbing between your legs. What did that say about you?

He took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me with this little stunt? I haven’t slept in almost two weeks." he paused. "I can’t just replace you. It’s not that simple, sweetheart,"

You were his whether you knew it or not. It was a primal urge, one that whispered in his ear, insisting that you were his to protect, to keep safe from the chaos that loomed just beyond the walls of his carefully constructed life.

In his mind, you were intertwined with his very existence, and the thought of losing you—the mere idea of you slipping away from him—was unacceptable.

A humorless laugh escaped your lips. "Whatever. You’re lying."

"I would never lie to you,"

You were lying down, and somehow you were feeling a slight dizziness creeping into your head and a weakness spreading through your knees. So, you decided to change the subject.

"I’ve never been in a room this nice before," you admitted, your voice almost dreamy as you sank deeper into the plush bedding. The luxurious sheets felt like silk against your skin, and you couldn’t help but smile at how comfortable everything was. "This bed is so comfortable. I feel like I could sleep for a year."

On the other end of the line, you could hear Dave’s breath hitch slightly. "You’re laying in the bed?" he repeated. You could picture him pacing his office.

"Mmhm,"

"God, you’re killing me," he said, and you could hear the rough edge in his voice, the barely contained frustration. "You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now."

"Oh, I think I do," you teased back, biting your lip as you looked up at the ceiling.

"Take off your pants,"

You felt a jolt of surprise and excitement at his command.

"Right now?" you asked playfully, your voice dripping with innocence that you didn’t feel at all.

"Yes, right fucking now,"

"Are you going to leave me hanging like last time?"

Last time… when he teased the fuck out of you and wouldn't let you come. Asshole.

He sounded amused. "No, I’ll be nice today, sweetheart. You deserve it,"

Your mind was a jumbled mess. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. This whole situation was so inappropriate. And wrong. However, you were no longer going to be his employee by 5:00 PM — tomorrow. For all you knew somebody could barge into this room and blow your brains out at any moment. Were you even safe in this room? Knowing Dave, he would have told you to leave immediately if you were in actual danger.

"I’m not getting any younger. Don’t make me repeat myself. I said, take off your fucking pants,"

If any other man ever spoke to you like this, you would slap them across the face. But with Dave, you found yourself aching to obey him, to give in to his demands. You loved the way he took control so effortlessly. It was secretly something you craved.

So, your pussy took over your brain in that instant and you thought — fuck it.

With a deep breath, you decided to indulge him. You slowly slid your fingers down to the waistband of your pants, teasingly taking your time. "Alright, David. Just for you."

"Good girl,"

The sound of him saying that traveled straight from your ear to your core.

You could hear him moving on the other end of the line, pacing, his breaths becoming more ragged as you slowly peeled off your pants, revealing your underwear.

"What kind of panties are you wearing?"

"It’s nothing super sexy,"

"You’re super sexy, please know that. Now answer the goddamn question,"

You sighed. "I want to lie and tell you I’m wearing something lacey or a thong, but I’m just wearing some simple black boy shorts,"

Dave let out a dramatic groan, while taking a seat in his chair. "You're something else, aren't you?"

The image of your ass, snugly covered in those boy shorts, consumed his thoughts. He imagined the soft fabric clinging to your skin, accentuating the shape of your hips and the gentle swell of your ass. In his mind, he could almost see the way the material hugged you, how it peeked just above the curve of your thighs. He loved your ass — he secretly stared at it all the time.

You were pleased to know the boy shorts were a hit. "Don't pretend you don't like it,"

"I don't like it, I love it," he admitted. "Touch yourself and tell me how wet you are,"

You immediately reached inside your underwear, and you found yourself to be already soaked. You started to stroke your folds and a lewd moan escaped your lips. "So wet,"

You had been since he had called you.

He breathed heavily. You heard the clink of his belt buckle across the other line and heard him pulling down his zipper with a grunt as he took himself out of his pants.

"W-what are you doing?" you gasped.

"What do you think I’m doing?"

You started sweating. The fact that he was about to touch himself in his fucking office was making your head spin. You wanted to see it. Last time you had seen the outline of his cock, and it had looked so hard and thick. Your mouth was watering just thinking about it.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be swept away by the sensations. You collected your wetness and dragged a finger through your folds before you dipped your middle finger inside of yourself. It didn’t take long for your breathing to pick up.

He let out a low throaty groan. "Louder. Let me hear you."

You were slightly frustrated because you knew if he were here, he could reach up inside of you much further with his own thick fingers.

"Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what -" He grunted. "what you’re doing,"

You cried out because you could hear him as he jerked himself off with his fist on the other line.

"I’m touching myself, but my f-finger doesn’t feel the same as yours," you whined brokenly into the phone.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," his voice sounded wrecked. "Add another finger and play with your pretty clit now,"

Your body answered before your mind could, doing as you were told. You didn’t mind giving more and more of yourself over to him. It felt so good to just surrender.

"You felt so good on my fingers the other day, but fuck, I want to bury my face between those gorgeous thighs," he said, his voice thick with lust.

You pumped your fingers faster as you circled small circles around your clit. You pictured his handsome face. You could imagine the way his brows would furrow slightly, deep in concentration. His lips parting slightly swollen and eager, the corners twitching up in that smirk you loved so much.

"Do you like knowing that you’ve been driving me crazy?" he asked. "That I’ve been imagining fucking your tight little pussy? Wondering what you taste like?" his breathing was heavy as you heard him stroke himself in time with your movements.

"Oh god," you whined, sounding completely pathetic as you kept fucking yourself.

"When I fuck you… you’ll have no doubt about it,"

You knew from experience that Dave wasn’t just talk, he always executed on his promises, and the thought of him fucking you until your mind went blank had your cunt leaking on the sheets.

"Please, I want you so badly," you begged. You were on the verge of tears at the thought of him inside of you. You could almost feel his presence beside you.

"That’s it. Keep going, sweetheart," he cooed sympathetically.

You nodded your head even though you knew he couldn’t see you. As you continued to touch yourself, soft gasps escaped your lips, each one a mix of desperation and pleasure. The sound of your breath quickened, punctuated by occasional whimpers that betrayed just how much you craved him. The slick, wet sounds of your movements filled the phone, echoing your arousal. Your sounds became more urgent.

"Tell me. Let me fucking hear it," he commanded, and you knew exactly what he meant.

"I want you to fuck me, David," you breathed, the words spilling out in a rush of need. "I need it. I need you,"

"Good girl. Say my name again," he panted. "I want to hear what you sound like when you’re coming for me,"

"David," you whimpered, your voice broken and your body arching as you got closer to the edge.

"Can’t wait to fill up your pussy with my cock,"

"D-David," You started shaking, feeling your orgasm getting close. You circled your clit faster with a little more force, chasing that high that you could feel building in your stomach.

"Been fantasizing about it every single day for the last two fucking years. You really think you can just waltz out of my life?"

His guttural sounds were too much for you, and the confirmation of him fantasizing about you made you melt into an incoherent puddle. You let out a long, ridiculously loud moan as you felt an explosion occur behind your closed eyelids, and your orgasm slammed into you with a powerful force.

"Fucking hell," He spit the words out, and then you heard him come, groaning out your name and yelling out a string of obscenities.

You collapsed back against the pillows, your heart racing as you tried to catch your breath. Both of you were quiet for a bit, the sound of heavy breathing on both ends filling the room.

"That was…" you panted, a smile breaking across your face.

"Yeah, it was," he choked out, voice strangled. "Stay there,"

"What?" you questioned, your voice sounding hoarse.

"I think we’re both gonna take a half day,"

"But what about work?"

You felt like there was still so much to do, your mind racing with unfinished work regarding the knowledge transfer document. What about your replacement? Who was he going to pick?

"Need to see it,"

"See what?" you asked confused.

"Need to see your face when I fuck my come deep inside of you,"

You felt the slick between your legs growing insanely quickly again. And, while you knew this probably wasn’t a good idea, you also knew that you would do whatever he asked and whatever he wanted.

“Okay, I’ll stay,”

As someone who despises thongs (they are so uncomfortable), my boy shorts commentary was self-indulgent. Also, boy shorts make dat booty pop. They need more love.

Writing phone sex smut is really stressful. Runs away.

NPT for Dave girlies who interacted with 2 Weeks Notice: @ghotifishreads, @pedroswife69, @auteurdelabre, @almostempty, @bbyanarchist, @pedrito-is-punk7, @lizette50, @dontknow446, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @pedroscurls, @greenwitchfromthewoods, @sunshinehaze1, @cozylittlepigeon, @drugsorgasmsandcheese, @evolnoomym, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @punkseyes, @tuquoquebrute, @punkshort, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @heareball, @lady-artemis27, @aurorawritestoescape, @lotusbxtch, @sawymredfox, @marvlstark, @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting, @persephone-girl, @morallyinept, @indiegirlunited, @mrsmando, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @darkjedipoptarts, @ppascalrain, @guiltyasdave, @sizzlingcloudmentality, @bean-is-reading, @baronessvonglitter

#dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york

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cozylittlepigeon · 8 days ago

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i have so many hobbies and interests but each day the four horsemen (instant gratification, shortened attention span, procrastination, exhaustion) grab me by the throat and shake me until i collapse in my comfy bed

77K notes · View notes

cozylittlepigeon · 10 days ago

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sometimes, it's not so much about the romance as it is about the devotion. the adoration.

#queue

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cozylittlepigeon · 10 days ago

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AGHHH my heart!! 😭 So good!!

BORROWED TIME

Joel Miller x f!reader || 4k

Summary: Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fluff, age is not specified, soft dom vibes, infidelity, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampies, belly bulge, soft!Joel, EMOTIONS, rough-ish sex, consensual somno, heavily inspired by Pedro’s vacay pics and videos. Pics are only for the mood. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a dress, a bikini.

A/n: yay my first fic of 2025! I didn’t expect it to be this one but like all of us I was deeply affected by the recent Pedro content and needed to cope somehow so I wrote this. I really hope y’all will like it! Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋 ILY, baby🫂 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

The first day in heaven. A soft breeze caresses your skin as soon as you step out of the cab, just from the airport, but Joel’s hands always do it better.

You’ve been looking forward to this trip, afraid to even talk about it, scared to jinx it, make it vanish like a mirage. You’ve been dreaming of having Joel all to yourself for too long.

Joel hugs you in the hotel lobby while they’re checking you in, and you tilt your head up to face him. You’ve never smiled so widely before. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, and his scent, your favorite in the whole world, makes you tremble and gush.

You taste sugar on your lips from a welcome Mimosa, and as soon as you two are in your room, he licks it off; the kiss is full of passion, his hands eager, desperate to tear your summer dress off. It’s on the floor in a second, just like your panties. He kneels in front of you and kisses your naked thigh. A growl against your skin makes you shiver before he looks you up and down, taking in the sight of your naked body, and then tuts with overexaggerated disapproval,

”Asked you not to wear anything underneath, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t be butt-naked on the plane, Joel,” you giggle, tracing a line from the crease between his brows, down the slope of his nose, and to his chin. You love his profile so much that seeing it is not enough, so you made a habit of touching it too.

“I promise you’ll never see any underwear on me from now on.”

“Good girl,” he praises you with a wide smile, and then suddenly latches onto your wet pussy. You gasp and grab his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Joel helps you not to fall, his strong hands on your thighs spread your legs apart, and you happily grant him access to the most sacred part of your body.

He pushes his tongue between your folds, traces your soft entrance with its tip, and your legs are already trembling. He starts playing with you, mischief swimming in his dark eyes, slowly laps at your folds, gently sucks on your clit but doesn’t give you enough stimulation to come.

You whine when his mouth parts from your puffy bud, desperate for a release.

“You’ll come, my angel. But only on my cock,” Joel promises, getting up, takes you in his arms, and carries you to the shower.

You're caged between the shower wall and Joel. He's naked and wet, radiating sex and desire. Soapy water is running over the curves of your body while he's washing you, taking his time. His big lathered palms are gliding over your breasts, belly, mound, ass. Your hands are pressed to the expense of his chest as he's slowly edging you, always happy to play with you like a cat with a mouse. He's waiting for you to break under his touch, to beg for more. Yet his heart is beating so fast and hard under your palms that it leaves you no doubt that he's desperate for you just as much as you're for him. He can't get enough of you and your heart sings, seeing every sign of it— his blown out eyes, his heavy breathing, his hard cock.

You're revelling in the caress of Joel's hands but your body takes over soon enough. Your wet palm slithers down his torso and wraps around his stiff length. You pump the shaft a few times and then guide his tip between your folds.

"Fuck me, Joel." Your plea is almost swallowed by the sound of the rainfall shower but he hears you.

"Begging me already? So needy." His eyes are obsidian, he can't fool you.

"Aren't you?" you purr, sliding his fat tip up and down over your hardened clit, massaging it, making yourself moan and tremble. The sensation makes Joel grunt and break. Through his teeth he commands, "Turn around."

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out, smile wide, eyes sparkling, and in a second the cold tile kisses your cheek, then your pebbled nipples, and his fat head slowly slides into your pussy, followed by his girthy shaft.

“Hngggg— oh, baby—been thinking of fucking you since this morning. Your damn dress. Took me a lot not to ruin you right on the plane.”

You whimper at his words and then your eyes roll back when he starts thrusting his thickness in and out of your tight cunt. It takes you a few deep breaths to get used to the stretch but you always take him well and soon wet slapping noises reverberate off the walls, together with your moans and his grunts fusing into a melody of lust and passion. You love when he’s as desperate for you as you’re for him. It gives you hope.

Crispy sheets, so white your eyes hurt, envelop your poorly-dried bodies like a cloud.

“C’mere,” he croaks, pulling you closer, and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you two with a blanket. His warm cum is leaking out of your stretched pussy and you tingle all over again but the flight has drained you both and in a couple of minutes you two fall asleep.

You wake up before Joel and slip out from under his arm to look at the view. You walk out on the balcony and the beauty of the ocean under the bright sun overwhelms you, making you squeal with excitement. Not being able to wait any longer to feel the caress of the waves, you hurry back to the room and wake Joel up with a soft kiss.

“Wake up, sleepy. Let’s go swimming before the sun sets.”

Joel’s golden skin is sparkling with a myriad of water diamonds as he’s standing waist-deep in the bluest ocean in front of you, rendering you completely mesmerized. He chuckles, noticing the way you’re almost drooling, and pulls you closer into his embrace. With his body pressed to yours, your pussy starts aching, and a twitch in his swim trunks tells you that he’s also affected by the sight and the feel of you.

“Damn, baby, driving me crazy…your tiny bikini…”

“Do you like it?” you ask, brushing his neck with your lips, tasting salt on his skin.

“Hate the way they all stare at you. You’re mine. But the way you look. Yeah, I like it,” he growls and bucks his hips against you under the water. You giggle and then sigh into the crease of his neck.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. ‘Are you mine?’ you think. You push the thoughts back into a box in your mind you promised yourself not to open here. ’You’re in heaven. Don’t ruin it,’ you remind yourself.

The next morning you wake up and see Joel right next to you, limbs tangled in the sheets, plush lips asking for a kiss. A rush of happiness makes you tear up and you squirm with impatience to start the day when Joel opens his eyes. He’s gorgeous in the morning — hair disheveled, voice hoarse. He looks a little grumpy but you kiss the crease between his brows away and his face softens.

“Morning, my angel.”

You wish you could hear it till the rest of your life. Or at least next week. He pulls you into his sleepy body, the hug is tight, the kiss is impatient, and soon the murmur of the ocean accompanies your whispers as you’re riding him, your thighs, sticky with sweat cling to his hips, his hand is kneading your breast, the other’s focused on making you come, thick fingers swirling around your clit. He expertly brings you to a hard orgasm and follows quickly after—the back of his head dips into the fluffy pillow as he bursts into you and you milk him to the last drop, happy to walk around with his cum between your legs all day.

Joel’s lying on a lounger now, his expression concentrated, reading a book in the shade, while you’re standing a few steps away, drying yourself with a towel, just out of the ocean. You can’t help but stare at his handsome face, the broadness of his shoulders, his big arms. God, he’s gorgeous. Feeling your heart eyes on him, Joel glances at you from the side and his lips curve into a playful smirk. It sends a bolt of lightning through your body, electrifies every nerve, makes your core burn with desire.

No need for words. His expression tells you everything - ‘C’mere. Now.’

Still dripping water, you walk to him and straddle his muscular thighs, barely covered by his red shorts. His legs are hot against your cold skin but you melt into your bikini bottoms because of his eyes— obsidian, piercing, magnetic, they pull you close and you lie down on his chest. His book, forgotten in a second, falls on the sand with a thud. You kiss his soft lips and whisper against them, “Take me to our room.”

Delicious dinners at sunset, the warm ocean, the white sand, clinging to your heated body, but most importantly him next to you make the time here fly. Blissful minutes turn into hours, hours flow into days. Full of laughter, long conversations, endless kissing and hot sex. But your ideal life, your paradise starts glitching and breaking into pixels when one morning he offers, “Wanna go get some souvenirs?”

Just one question, as trivial as it can be on a holiday, breaks the wall you’ve built in your mind between your perfect existence here and your reality there. Between your present and your future. Near future. You’re going back soon. To that life.

Suffocating panic tightly grabs your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drive away the thoughts, to glue the wall back together but he muses what he should get for Sarah and your wall turns into glass and shatters into a million pieces.

You mumble something incoherent trying to fight the upcoming tears and rush to the bathroom.

By the time you’re standing in front of the mirror tears are flowing down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away, hating to upset him, but your heart and your head, joined in a cruel tandem, remind you that everything is going to go back to normal very soon. Normal for him is a misery for you. Waiting, hoping, asking him to stay longer, wishing that he finally makes a decision, finally chooses you.

The rest of the day you’re quiet, afraid to speak and to let your emotions spoil your precious time together. It gets unbearably hard to ignore the fact that you’re having him all to yourself on borrowed time. You start or rather let yourself notice his calls, his voice quiet, probably lying about his business meetings. He talks to his wife on the balcony or in the bathroom, not to keep you a secret —you know how to be quiet when she calls at this point, but rather not to rub her in your face. You’re thankful, not wanting to reopen the wound that’s been slowly healing up during these days together. Yet you know that soon it’s going to gush blood again when you say goodbye to your paradise and return to your empty bed, fleeting dates with him and soul-crushing loneliness.

You disassociate when he talks about packing and the flight back. You kiss him and want to cry, moan his name under the weight of his body but your heart aches. Every touch is a reminder that soon it’ll be over, soon he’ll be hers again.

It’s the last day of the trip and early in the morning you sneak out while Joel’s still asleep and go to the beach. It’s almost empty, only seagulls are the witnesses of your breakdown. You’re crying, swept by a wave of dreadful thoughts in your mind. Tomorrow you’re leaving and then he’s leaving you. For a day? Two? A week? Who knows.

You can’t blame him. You knew that he was married from the start. At first it felt like a fling but you got attached, you fell in love with the married man and foolishly expected him to divorce his wife, scoop you up in his big arms and carry you into the sunset like in a cheesy rom-com. But he kept telling you that, yes he didn’t love his wife anymore, but his daughter Sarah was too young and she was his world. He’d never hurt her like that, would never break up the family.

They say, you can’t change the ocean, no matter how hard you try, so it’s best to learn how to sail in all conditions. Just like the ocean Joel was unyielding in his devotion to his daughter but you failed to adapt so you were slowly drowning in despair, your love for him dragging you down like an iron ball chained to your foot.

You wipe the tears away and squeeze a handful of sand between your fingers as anger rises in your stomach. You deserve better than being someone’s dirty secret. What if you give him an ultimatum - you or his wife, and if he chooses her, you’ll find someone else. Someone who’ll love you openly, who’ll choose you. Someone better.

A thought makes your stomach sink - it’s not possible. Joel is perfect. He’s fucking perfect except for one huge flaw. He’s married.

You walk with your heart heavy back to your room and find Joel up, nervously pacing the floor. He asks where you’ve been and, not being able to conceal your feelings any longer, you burst into tears. He rushes to hug you but you slap his arms away. You shout, you cry, you beg. All the pain pushed deep down is spilling out of your heart, accompanied by the words you hate saying, insecurities you promised yourself to hide but it’s hard to stop.

It’s not like he hasn’t heard it all before. He has and that’s why now he looks tired. Not angry. Never. Just tired, sad and guilty.

Joel tries to calm you down, comfort you but all in vain. You’re waiting for him to tell you ‘I’ll be with you forever,” but instead he mumbles that he needs to take a walk and leaves you crying, face buried in his pillow. His scent woven into the fabric brings a thought to your mind which makes you cry even harder — soon you’ll go back to your flat where everything smells like him but loses the warmth of his body the second he leaves.

In the evening Joel timidly suggests going to the hotel bar. You feel embarrassed for your earlier outburst, but the fact that he didn’t make the decision you hoped for is twisting your stomach. Thinking that everything is better than staring at the suitcases in the corner of the room, you agree to go.

The bar is almost empty except for the two of you. You sit at the counter and order two shots of tequila. After emptying them fast, you both get two more and soon the hard liquor slightly numbs your emotions.

Joel’s warm hand is resting on your lower back as he’s peppering your shoulder, your neck, your cheek with open mouth kisses, but you’re cold, distant. It’s hard even to look at him.

He sighs but then suddenly exclaims, making you jerk,

“I love this song! Let’s dance!”

You smile a little, amused by the lights in his eyes. He’s cute when he’s tipsy. But you shake your head and mumble that you’re not in the mood.

Joel surprises you when he slides off his stool and starts dancing. Alone. For you. Despite everything you can’t tear your eyes off him. His dark gaze set on yours pierces your soul and makes your heart flutter in your chest. His movements are slow and alluring and the sway of his hips ignites fire in your core. You press your thighs together, quickly affected by his blatant seduction, and when he moves closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body, it gets hard for you to breathe.

Joel’s lustful eyes tell you to submit and when he places his hands on your knees, you obediently open your legs in invitation. He gets between your thighs and gently takes your face in his hands. Joel looks into your eyes and you stop breathing altogether. At this moment you realize that you’ll never leave him willingly, never be able to say goodbye to these kind brown eyes, these soft lips, these gentle hands. He’s the love of your life and you’re his completely and utterly. But he’s not yours.

You rush to your room, both swept by the urge to tear each other apart. Soon your clothes are littering the floor, your cheek pressed to the bed, ass pushed out in the air, as he’s kneeling behind you, snapping his hips against you hard and fast, pushing his throbbing cock deeper into your wet cunt, grunting, making you scream. His fat tip knocks at your cervix and it slightly hurts but you welcome it, wishing to focus on the ache from his length rather than the pain torturing your soul. His hands are leaving marks on your soft hips and you’re looking forward to seeing them on your body later as evidence that this trip was in fact real and not a wishful dream.

“Fuck— gonna come— you first, baby,” Joel growls and rubs your clit with an impatient hand, wet with your juices. You come shaking and crying on his cock and he rewards you with his load, squirting against your pulsating walls, which are squeezing him tightly and desperately. He’s carefully pulling out, and your tight cunt grabs onto him. Just like your heart, your body always craves him.

You wake up when it’s still dark outside. Joel’s chest is pressed to your back, his hand is cupping your wet folds, as he’s taking you from behind, sleepily moving his cock in and out of your sore pussy, drenched with his cum.

“Oh, baby— ahhh—love you—so much—yeahh— so good—,” he’s whispering in your ear, his voice gruff with sleep, his hot breath caressing your cheek. You moan softly before echoing him, “I love you, Joel.”

You beg him not to stop, already feeling yourself on the brink of ecstasy. The nature of your relationship makes it a rarity to be used by him in your sleep and you get turned on instantly. His arm snakes under and wraps around you as he starts pulling and twitching your nipples, while his other hand massages your puffy folds and then moves up.

“Damn—right here,” Joel grows, feeling a lump, moving under your skin. Thrusting his cock in and out with a steady rhythm, he mumbles, “Gimme,” grabs your hand and presses your palm tightly to your own belly, covering it with his hand.

“Feel it?”

“Yes, Joel, fuck,” you whimper and turn your head to catch his lips with yours. Joel keeps fucking you leisurely while you both are feeling the push of his cock under your skin.

Completely drunk on pleasure, swallowing each other's moans, you start coming hard at the same time, and your bodies, wet with sweat, jerk against each other. You feel so full, complete - your core is full of his load, your heart is full of his love. Happy in your oblivion, you fall asleep in the heaven of Joel’s arms.

But the dreaded morning comes fast. You try to concentrate on the tasks at hand, focus on the last preparations and soon Joel and you get into the cab, ready to head to the airport. You throw one last look at the hotel and the ocean, and take a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry. Sensing it, Joel pulls you closer and starts telling you an old childhood story, something about his brother Tommy and them ditching school together. You know what he’s doing but surprisingly it works and soon your giggles and his deep laugh fill the cab, lighting up the air between you two.

When you arrive in Austin, Joel insists on going to your address together. You refuse at first, but spending an extra hour with him sounds amazing. You hold hands on the way and shamelessly make out at the back of the cab.

You arrive at your place and Joel helps you with your suitcases. When you step into your flat, it seems like you’re carrying something heavy on your shoulders. Should you apologize for the last few days? Should you say something about it at all, risking leaving a bad taste in your mouths, ruining the whole trip.

But Joel beats you to it.

He comes up to you and hugs you tight. So tight that it’s hard for you to breathe. You nuzzle his neck, reveling in his scent, and suddenly you feel his whole body shake. You tilt your head up and see tears in his sad eyes. You’ve never seen Joel cry before, and it makes your chest hurt and your eyes well up too.

“Joel?“

“No, baby. Listen to me.” His voice is shaky, and fear grips your heart. Is he going to break up with you? You’d die on the spot.

He sniffs and continues,

“I’m sorry. Sorry for the mess I got you in. Sorry for your tears, but — I can’t, baby. Can’t do what you want from me. Rightfully so, but — not now. I’m sorry.”

You’re shaking your head, your teardrops landing on his tee,

”No, it’s ok. It’s fine.”

“It’s not, sweetheart. I’m an asshole. It’s horrible what I’m doing to them and to you. But I’m fuckin selfish. I can’t — can not be with you. I need you. I love you too much.”

You smile weakly, hearing his confession. Joel takes your hands in his and holds them tightly as he croaks,

“And you decide to stop seeing me, I’ll understand. I won’t bother you. I promise.”

You wipe tears off his scruffy cheeks and reach up to give him a kiss.

When you part from him, your expression is serious and determined.

“There’s nothing to decide, Joel. I love you. And I’ll wait for you. As long as you need me to. I’m yours.”

Joel’s red eyes dart between yours, and you give him a reassuring smile. After taking a deep breath, he whispers ,

“I don’t deserve you.”

He lifts you up, strong arms wrapped around your torso, and crashes his mouth against yours. You kiss him back with passion, putting your love in every stroke of your lips. Joel possessively licks into your mouth, his big hand cups the back of your head, keeping you close - a sign that he’s not letting you go. He needs you too much.

It might be wrong, it might bring you both grave pain, but a glimmer of hope in your heart, given by his confession, puts a smile on your face when you close the door behind him. He loves you, he wants to be with you, you’re his. And for now, it should be enough.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST

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