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Buckle in for this one. It was so beautifully written and heartbreaking ❤️‍🩹😭❤️

Inamorata- Dave York x f!reader

Dave York Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: You've been dating Dave York for about six months when he disappears off the face of the Earth. After some digging you find that you don't really know him at all.

Rating: EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: Major character death, some non explicit sex, light stalking, major grief, healing through the power of friendship, infidelity

Author's Note: thank you so much to @wannab-urs and @dancingtotuyo for beta reading and letting me shout about this fic to you!

Three weeks. That’s how long it's been since you’ve heard from Dave. He said he was going out of town for a work trip. He never told you much about his work. He worked for the government, that you knew. He said most of his work was classified, that he couldn’t tell you. “Then I’d have to kill you.” he’d joked. You weren’t really concerned the first week. Dave went out of town often for work, and he usually wasn’t reachable during that time. He hadn’t given you a specific time frame for this trip, either. The second week, you were concerned. He’d never been gone this long. You didn’t know where he was, if he was okay. Eventually, your concern ebbed and devolved into anger. He was ghosting you. That’s what this was. It’s happened before. Hell, you’ve done it before. Faked a work or family emergency to cancel a date. Then you got “really busy.” Then you just stopped responding. Maybe this was your comeuppance for your past bad dating etiquette. 

You and Dave hadn’t been dating long, only six months. They were short but, man, they had been intense. You had seen him jogging in the park, damn near every day. It was a peaceful place to sit and read. You noticed him running by on more than one occasion. He never really seemed to notice you. You began to look for him when you were there. You weren’t sure why, but you were disappointed on the days you didn’t see him. He was handsome. Sort of average height, and he had kind of a dad bod. But during the warmer months, he only wore a t-shirt and basketball shorts to run in. This allowed you to see the long plane of his body. Shoulders and biceps that stretched the cotton of his shirts. Thick, muscular thighs that flexed with every step. He had short, medium brown hair that looked soft and fluffy. He must not wear any product in it, you thought. His brown eyes shined whenever they caught your own. His sharp, angular nose was the most prominent feature on his face. He was clean shaven and that allowed you to appreciate his beautiful jawline. But the real star of the show came when he smiled. There was a dimple in the corner of his mouth that gave him an almost boyish look. Then one day his gaze caught yours just as you looked up from your book. He gave you a tight, polite smile which you returned. The next day, he smiled at you again. For a while, that was your routine. Reading in the park after work and waiting for him to run by and smile at you. 

One day, he was running by and did his usual smile. Only this time, you held his gaze when you smiled back. When he passed you, instead of continuing on his run, he turned around and began jogging backwards. You chuckled a little and so did he, maintaining eye contact all the while. That is, until he ran off the path and tripped over a tree root. He tumbled into the grass, calling out “Oh, shit!” You jumped up from your bench, abandoning your book and hurried over to his side.

“Are you okay?” you asked, leaning down to check for any visible injuries. 

“I’m fine. Just bruised my ego a bit.” he laughed

He braced his left hand on the trunk of the tree for leverage and pulled himself up. You noticed that he wasn’t wearing a ring. He didn’t have a tan line either, indicating that one might rest there normally. He brushed the dirt from his hands onto his shorts and held one out. “Hi.” he smiled wide. “I'm Dave.” The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled and that damn dimple popped. 

You held your own hand out and offered Dave your name. His warm hand wrapped around yours and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you.” you told him. Your breathlessness matched his but you didn’t have a jog through the park or a fall to blame it on. Your heart was racing and something stirred low in your belly. He asked you to join him for coffee at lunch time the next day, and that was that. You spent time together nearly every day after. You got lunch or met in the park. He didn’t run much anymore, opting instead to join you on a bench and watch you read or people watch. 

Now there’s just…nothing. No calls, no good morning texts, no goodbye kisses. Just radio silence. You’re off work  so you have nothing better to do than sit around and mope. Everything was going well you thought. You hadn’t argued about anything, ever really. Disagreements about where to eat or what movie to watch aside. The sex was great, and plentiful. Dave seemed insatiable for you. A feeling you mirrored. 

In fact, the last time you saw him was in this very bed. He woke you up early with his mouth between your legs. He attached his lips to your clit and didn’t let go until you were screaming his name. His mouth and chin were slick with you when his head popped out of the covers and hovered above yours. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. He slotted his legs between yours and spread them apart with his thighs. Your cunt was already slick with arousal and saliva, so he slid right in. Once he was fully nestled inside you he leaned down so his mouth brushed your ear. “I’m gonna miss you so much, baby.” he whispered as he began to thrust his hips. You joined him in the shower after sex and he let you wash his hair. When he said goodbye to you at the door, he grabbed both of your cheeks in his hands and planted a kiss on your lips and then your forehead. “I’ll see you when I get back. I love you.” 

“I love you too, babe.” 

You ran to the window on the far side of your apartment and watched him load his suitcase and duffel into the trunk of the taxi. He looked up to your window, he knew you’d be watching, and blew you a kiss. You watched the taxi drive away until it was out of sight. Those were the last words he said to you. 

~~~~~

“Fuck this.” you think. You are not letting him do this to you. If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, that’s fine. But you aren’t going to let him just throw you out like yesterday’s garbage. He told you he loved you. He’s gonna have to man up and tell you to your face. You’ve never been to his place. He always came here. You know he works for the government, but not what agency. You wonder if you can figure it out based on the places he’s met you for lunch. That probably won’t lead you anywhere, though. This is D.C. after all. 70% of the buildings are government agencies of some sort. Now that you think of it, you don’t actually know all that much about Dave. you pull your laptop out and open your browser. A quick google search for “Dave Young+DC+government” doesn’t bring up much. A LinkedIn search only brings up an old guy who works for the department of sanitation. Then you remember him telling you one thing about his past. He was a Marine. So you widen the search. “David Young+DC+Marine.” Again, nothing. You tap your fingers lightly across the keyboard, not pushing any keys, just thinking. “Dave Y+DC+Marine.” you hit enter and a news headline comes up. 

“Local School Honors Veterans for Veterans Day.” you almost scroll past until you see the subheadline. “Alice York (left) with her father, Dave (right), a former U.S. Marine. But the last part catches your attention. You click on the headline and it takes you to the article. There he is. He’s crouched down next to a girl, about ten, with brown hair and eyes. They look so much like Dave’s. He has his left arm wrapped around her shoulders and you can see the gold band glinting in the sunlight. Not only did he lie about his last name, he’s married. He neglected to mention the entire child he has as well. 

You slam your laptop shut, not caring if you break it. What a fucking asshole. You press the heels of your hand into your eyes, trying to stop the tears. Now what? You ask yourself. What is there to do? Just forget about him? Pretend the last six months never happened? Let him get away with this? You really believed him when he told you that he loved you. It wasn’t just a mid-sex proclamation either. 

He had just come back from another work trip. You weren't expecting him so when you answered the door you were just wearing one of the gray t-shirts he had left at your place. You were settling onto the sofa with your takeout in hand and Netflix ready to go. The soft knock on the door took you by surprise. You didn’t even think to put on pants before you answered. There he was, standing in your doorway, looking twelve kinds of distraught. He didn’t say anything for a while. He looked you up and down and rushed through the door, wrapping you up in his arms. He kicked the door closed behind him and buried his face in your neck. Your hands went around his neck, one snaking up into the back of his hair. “Hey! Is everything okay?” you asked him. 

He inhaled deeply before answering you. “Everything is fine now. I just missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Dave. You were only gone a few days, though.” 

He pulled back, holding you at arm’s length, with his hands at the small of your back. “It was a stressful trip.” he sighs. 

“Well, you’re home now.”

“Mmm. Home.” he responded quietly. 

“You hungry? I ordered plenty”

He allowed you to lead him to the couch, using his free hand to loosen his tie. He plopped down on the couch and held eye contact when you handed him a takeout box. “I love you, ya know?” he said quietly, reaching up to cup your cheek. He caressed the skin there with his thumb. 

“I love you, too, Dave.” you replied, leaning over to kiss him softly. “Let’s eat.” you shoved a fork into his hand and pressed play on the movie. 

You stand from your desk, clasping your fingers behind your head. You pace the room, trying to decide what to do with this new information. You sit back down and open your laptop back up. You click over to the open LinkedIn tab and decide to try one more search. “David York Washington D.C.” He pops right up. David York-Department of Defense-Defense Intelligence Agency. His stupid handsome face is looking back at you through the screen, dimple and all. You click over to your google tab and look up the address for the building. You recognize the street, it’s only a few blocks over from your apartment. You shut your laptop once more and begin to ready yourself for the day. 

Thirty minutes later you are sitting on a bench across the street from the DIA building. You’re just going to sit there and wait until he comes out. He’ll have to talk to you then. It’s almost lunchtime so he should be showing his face soon. The full lunch hour passes without Dave making an appearance. You are determined, though, to get your answers. You resolve to sit there until he shows his face. You pull the book you brought with you out of your purse and open it up. You can’t concentrate on the contents, reading the same words over and over. Your vision flits back and forth between your book and the main entrance to the building. Finally, the work day has come to an end. People spill out of the building, heading for their cars or the train. None of them are Dave. Once the stream of people has turned into a trickle, you slam the book shut and shove it back into your purse. You are just standing to leave when two men from the building walk past you.

“You wanna grab a beer?” the first man asks. 

“Nah, I'm gonna go by York's. Check on Carol.” the other replies. 

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name. You almost chase the men down before you realize how insane that would look. Besides, it’s embarrassing enough that your boyfriend is cheating on you, without advertising it to the whole world. Though, come to think of it, he isn’t cheating on you, he’s cheating with you. It hits you like a shot, the realization that you are the other woman. You walk back to your apartment, dejected. You drop everything on the table in the entryway and kick your shoes off. You drop your sweater on the floor in the hallway. You shuck your jeans off and leave them at the foot of your bed. You crawl under the covers and try to force every thought out of your head. You can’t get that last day out of your mind. The way he looked up at the window to you. The love that shone through his eyes when he blew you a kiss and waved goodbye. You cry yourself to sleep. 

The next few days go by in a blur. The hours and days melding together. You go through your life in a barely aware trance. You bump into people on the street without even noticing, without even apologizing. Your mind is constantly occupied with thoughts of Dave. Why did he lie? Why did he even ask you out to begin with? What was the end game here? He had to have known that eventually this would all come out. Maybe that’s why he ghosted you. She found out. She found out about you and made him choose. And he didn’t choose you. 

Now you can’t stop thinking about her. Carol, the man had called her. You wonder what she’s like. Is she pretty? Is she nice? Does she rub his shoulders when he’s had a tough day at the office? Suddenly the fog that has been surrounding you begins to clear. You were able to find Dave even after he gave you a fake last name. Finding Carol York should be no problem. She deserves to know what her husband has been up to, if she doesn’t already. You haul your laptop into the bed with you and open up a new search tab. 

Maybe I should work for the DIA, you think as you sit in your car, waiting for Carol York to exit the dry cleaner’s. She was easy enough to find. You just typed her name into the Facebook search bar and she popped right up. You knew it was her because the little circle that housed her profile picture contained a familiar face alongside her own. It was a selfie, taken at the beach. Dave had his arm wrapped around her shoulder and her head rested on his chest. His lips were pressed into her forehead and she beamed a smile at you from your computer screen. She’s gorgeous, you thought. Her eyes seem kind. You want to hate her, because she has him, yet you can’t. She didn’t do anything wrong to you. You slept with her husband, after all. 

You clicked through her photos, finding that there was also another daughter you were unaware of, Molly. You discover that Carol has a standing coffee date with her friend, Cheryl, every Monday. You know the coffee shop, it's in your neighborhood and you pop in there a few times a week. You find yourself wondering if you’d ever been there at the same time. Another realization crosses your mind. There was a reason Dave always wanted to meet at a coffee shop fifteen minutes across town. Not that you know where he works, you also know that he didn’t take you there because he liked the lattes so much. 

She exits the building and passes right by your car. You pretend to be engaged in your phone to avoid her notice. She’s even more beautiful in person.  She looks tired, though. Like she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while. You think back to what you heard the man from Dave’s work say the week before. That he was going to check on her. Maybe Dave wasn’t ghosting you. Maybe he was still gone. You watch as she opens the back door of her SUV. She looks at the plastic wrapped clothes in her hand for longer than you’d think necessary before she hangs them on the hook. She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, but she doesn’t move for a while. 

You don’t really have a plan for any of this. You haven’t given any thought as to what you might say to her. “I’ve been fucking your husband.” isn’t exactly a good way to break the ice. You continue following behind her, signaling when she does to pull into the parking lot of a grocery store. You park at the opposite end of the lot from her, trying to remain unnoticed. You are fully aware of how insane this is. You shouldn’t be doing this, following Carol around. But you can’t help yourself. You grab a shopping cart and wander around the store. You occasionally pick up an item from a shelf, pretend to examine its contents and replace it. You catch a glimpse of Carol turning a corner to the next aisle. You follow behind her, keeping up your prestense by picking up a bottle of wine from the shelf and placing it into the cart. Carol picks up a six pack of Stella Artois from the cooler where the beer is. She is about to place it in her cart when she stops. She shakes her head and places it back on the shelf. She hurries to the checkout with her groceries and gets in line behind someone else. You only have the one item so you head to the express register. You pay and return to your car, settling in and keeping your eyes glued to the doors. You watch Carol walk to her car, looking frazzled. She loads her groceries in and returns her cart. When Carol pulls into the driveway, you slow your car way down. You pass the house and see that she has parked behind Dave’s black, government-issued sedan. The two-story house has an overgrown lawn that’s out of place in this neighborhood, but its big enough for kids to run around and play in. They even have a goddamn white picket fence. You note the street number and exit the neighborhood, driving back into the city center where your apartment is. 

You find yourself in Carol’s coffee shop the next day. You order a drink and sit at a table. You have your laptop with you so you open it up and put your headphones in. You people watch for a little bit, the way you used to do in the park with Dave. you finish your drink and pack up your bag. You use the restroom and contemplate your choices while washing your hands. Why are you doing this? What good can come of it? You resign yourself to giving up this pursuit. Sometimes you just don’t get answers and you’ll have to learn to live with that. You need to go home and wipe any evidence of Dave York from your life. It’s been over a month since you’ve heard a peep from him, almost six weeks. You need to move on with your life. 

All of the good sense you just talked into yourself goes out the window when you exit the bathroom. You spot Carol in line, tapping away on her phone. She doesn’t notice you, of course, as you slip past her and out the door. You spot her SUV on the street just a few cars ahead of your own. She exits the coffee shop and doesn’t look up from her phone as she gets into her car. She only drives a few blocks before turning into a church. You drive around the block and pull in as well. She’s not in her car anymore by the time you park. You hurry up the steps of the church and open the heavy, wooden door. You step into a brightly lit lobby. There’s a community board littered with flyers and business cards and one wall is taken up by brightly drawn pictures, clearly done by children. The pews are empty, as is the pulpit. You look down the hallway, trying to figure out where she could have gone. You hear some chatter coming from an open door at the end of the hallway. Your feet drag across the cheap carpet as you amble down the hall. You have a moment of panic just as you hit the door. What could you possibly be doing here? You don’t have time to come up with an excuse because as soon as you peek your head around the door frame you are greeted with a cheery voice.

“Hi, there! Come on in.” a slight, elderly woman calls out to you. Her hair is a dull copper color, streaked through with white. She wears a white dress with small flowers on it and white sandals. When you don’t immediately move to cross the threshold she waves you over. “Don’t be shy, now.” she says. “We don’t bite.”

You shuffle into the room and notice about 15 chairs positioned in a circle in the center of the room. Each chair has a travel package of tissues on it. A sign on display reads “Coping With Grief.” in gentle cursive on a soft pink background. There is a long table on one end of the room. Several carafes of coffee are surrounded by styrofoam cups, cougar and creamer, and a large plate of cookies. People are crowded around, getting snacks and drinks. Carol’s back is to you and she is speaking with a tall man. Again, she doesn’t notice you.

“I’m Barbara.” the elderly woman offers, holding out her hand. You slide your hand into hers and she covers it with her other one. Her hands are much cooler than yours and her veins are a stark blue underneath her thin skin. “Please, join us.” she says softly. Something about her soft tone and gentle touch immediately quiets the anxiety you have been feeling for weeks. Your decision to stay is only partly due to your curiosity at what Carol York would be doing at a grief support group. The other part is the realization that you have your own grief that you haven't been dealing with. Instead, you’ve been wallowing in it, obsessing over the circumstances. You nod and take a seat in the circle. Carol smiles when she sits down across from you, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

There are only a few open seats when everyone settles in. Barbara stands in the middle of the circle and clasps her hands together. “Welcome to Coping with Grief. I’m Barbara. I see some new faces here, along with some familiar ones. Would anyone like to begin?” she asks.

The tall man that was speaking with Carol before speaks up. “I’ll go first.” he offers. Barbara gives him a smile and a nod and takes an open seat. “I’m Greg. I lost my wife to cancer about nine months ago.” Greg tells the story of how his wife discovered her breast cancer, and after three years of treatments, passed in her sleep. “Every morning, when I wake up, there is a moment where I forget that she’s gone. I turn over to say ‘Good morning’ and am taken aback that she isn’t there. Then, it all comes rushing back to me.” You hear a sniffle from Carol’s direction and when you turn towards the sound, you see tears streaming down her face. 

“I’m sorry.” she croaks, opening the pack of tissues and bringing one to her eyes.

“That’s okay.” Barbara assures her. “Would you like to share?” she asks. 

Carol nods and takes a moment to gather herself. When she begins speaking, your blood runs cold and a wave of nausea crashes through your body. 

“My name is Carol. About a month and a half ago, my husband died.” 

“Was it an illness?” Barbara coaxes gently.

Carol shakes her head and clears her throat. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, collecting her composure. “He was on a business trip near the coast of Massachusetts. He worked for the government and went out of town all the time. He got caught in the hurricane that hit there. His hotel was destroyed and he was found in the rubble. It took them two weeks to even get his body identified.” She’s crying in full force now and it’s taking every ounce of your self control not to join her. 

Dave didn’t ghost you. He didn’t abandon you or choose his family over you. Dave didn’t come home to you because he couldn’t. Sure, he lied to you about his wife and kids, even his name. But now, you are struggling to reconcile that with the fact that you still believe he was being truthful when he told you that he loved you. 

The sound of your blood rushing through veins drowns out the rest of Carol's story. When she's finished speaking, Barbara offers her some words of comfort that you can’t make out. The ever intuitive Barbara announces that this might be a good time for a break. She points you in the direction of the restroom and you excuse yourself. Once you are out of sight of the open door, you make a run for it. You push open the heavy door and suck cold air into your lungs. You take deep breaths, trying to stave off the vomit threatening to spill out. It’s too late. You lean over the handrail and heave into the bushes, emptying the contents of your roiling stomach. 

When your stomach has settled enough you open the pack of tissues you hadn’t realized were still gripped tightly in your hand. You wipe your mouth with one and shove it into the pocket of your jeans. You sit on the steps until you catch your breath. Your chest heaves in and out with each breath. You can’t believe he’s gone. You’ll never see him again, never wake up in his arms, never argue over what to watch and he’ll never snag fries off your plate when you aren’t looking. He’s just…gone. You stand from the stairs and reenter the church, searching for the bathroom. You are rinsing your mouth in the sink when you hear a toilet flush. You splash some water on your face and are drying it with a paper towel when the stall door opens. Carol exits the stall and flashes you a tight smile in the mirror. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you.” she says sadly and your stomach churns again. 

“Oh, no!” you exclaim, perhaps a little too insistently. “Not at all.” you try to assure her with a wave of your hand.

“Was it recent?” she asks.

It takes you a moment to understand her meaning. “Oh, yes. Quite recent.” you offer, unsure of what else to say. How do you tell her that she was the bearer of your bad news? 

She places a hand on your shoulder and you jump slightly. When the warmth of her skin seeps through the cotton of your thin sweater, you lean into her touch. Nobody has touched you in kindness in weeks. Not since Dave. You lived a pretty solitary existence before Dave came into your life. Your family is thousands of miles away, and you’ve always been somewhat of a loner. You go out to drinks with your coworkers every once in a while, but nothing of substance has ever come from those outings. 

She turns to face you and opens her arms to you. Without hesitation you step forward and she wraps her arms around your shoulders. Yours circle the small of her back and you each rest your head on the other’s shoulder. What kind of psycho are you? You ask yourself. Letting her comfort you, when the man you are crying over is her husband? You aren’t sure how long the two of you stand there, crying and grieving for the same man. 

“Oh, shit! Sorry!” you apologize when you finally lift your head and see that you’ve gotten snot on her jacket. Carol laughs while you wipe it away and you join her. “I’m a fucking mess right now.” you admit. You hold out a tissue for her. 

“I am, too. I never thought I would be doing any of this without him.” she wipes some tears from her eyes and blows her nose. “Do you want to go get some lunch?” she asks.

For a moment, you panic. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong. You tell yourself over and over. But you just feel so drawn to her. You have from the moment you laid eyes on that tiny circle of a picture. At first, you just wanted answers. Then, you kept following her because you were curious about her. Now, everything is out on the table and you still just want to be around her. 

“Yeah. I’d really like that, actually.” 

~~~~~

Dave has been gone three months now, and you still miss him every day. You went through a really rough period when he first died. Well, when you first found out that he died. You returned to your apartment from lunch with Carol that day, climbed into your bed, and didn’t leave for two weeks. Your job was understanding at first, but they couldn’t wait forever. They politely took you off the schedule and told you that you could come back when you were ready. You got food delivered and ate in bed. The tv never went off, just played whatever was the first thing you could click on. You weren’t watching it anyways. You ignored every text and call that came through your phone, except Carol’s. She texted you when you missed the next grief group but you didn’t answer. When you missed the one following that she called. 

You told her you were feeling under the weather and she hoped you would feel better soon. The thing that finally got you out of bed was Carol calling for your address, informing you that she was dropping by to bring you some soup and other supplies. You texted her the address and jumped out of bed. You ran into the kitchen and grabbed a trash bag. You started shoving the garbage that covered nearly every service into the bag. It didn’t take long to fill it up, then a second. You rushed down the hall to throw the bags in the trash chute. Then you hurried back into your apartment and hopped in the shower. You gave yourself a quick scrub and rinse and found some jeans and a t-shirt in your laundry basket that didn’t smell too bad. Then you picked up all the clothes from the floor and stuffed them in, and shoved the basket into your closet. You grabbed some air freshener and sprayed every room thoroughly, trying to hide the evidence of the squalor you’d been wallowing in. You had just lit a candle when you heard the knock on the door. 

You looked in the mirror near the door and fussed over your appearance. No amount of rubbing or pinching was going to do anything for the bags under your eyes. Not in the time you needed to answer the door to remain polite. You smoothed some wrinkles out of the gray t-shirt you fished out of the hamper and then you froze. Dave’s shirt. You just had to hope she wouldn’t notice. You plastered a fake smile on your face and swung the door open. 

Ever since that day, when Carol walked into your apartment and immediately took you into her arms, there hasn’t passed a day that you haven’t spoken. You get coffee together in the mornings, and lunch in the afternoon and attend grief group together once a week. When the girls go spend the weekend at her parents house, she comes over to your apartment with a box of wine or a bottle of tequila. You get takeout and drink too much and cry. You cry to this woman about the good times you had with her husband. About how he wooed you and made love to you. How sad you are that you won’t ever see him or hear him or feel him again. And she comforts you. Offers her shoulder for you to cry on and cries with you. You cry with her when she tells you about what a good dad Dave was. Not that she would be able to tell it was anything other than sympathy. She’d never know that you were mourning the family you thought you’d have with him one day. 

Tonight, she’s invited you over for dinner with her and the girls. She’s been asking for weeks and you’d always managed to weasel out of it. You just didn’t think you’d be able to handle it. Being in the house he shared with her, with them. Knowing that you’ll never have that wasn’t even the worst part of it. It was knowing that it had never been on the table for you to begin with. Of course Dave wasn’t going to marry you. He already had a wife. Of course you weren’t going to have the white picket fence and the yard for the kids. He already had that. Dave already had an entire life before you came along. You were just some sort of…accessory for him. 

You’d run out of believable excuses, though. Soon, Carol would start to take it personally. You didn’t want to hurt the feelings of the woman who had become your friend, your only friend. Your lifeline, really.  If it wasn’t for Carol you aren’t sure you would have ever gotten out of that bed. You would have just laid there, rotting, until you joined the man you love in death. But Carol wasn’t about to allow that to happen. She even got you a new job working from home. Besides, she’s all you have left of Dave. As twisted as it is, being around her makes you feel like you did when you were with him, home. 

You smooth your clothes and ring the doorbell. “Don’t answer the door!” you hear muffled through the wood. The door swings open and a little girl is standing there, the one from the newspaper article you had found all those months ago. She smiles up at you with a toothy grin and bright eyes that look so much like his. 

“Hi, I’m Alice!” she chirps. “Are you mommy’s friend?” 

You nod and hold your hand out, offering her your name. Instead, she throws her arms around you, giving you a squeeze. 

“Come on!” she leads you into the house by your hand. You follow her through the entryway, past the stairs and into the kitchen. The other girl, Molly, is sitting at the island coloring. Her feet swing back and forth in the tall chair and she looks up at you. She returns your wave with a shy one of her own, and returns to her gaze to the book. You hear footsteps on the stairs behind you and Carol appears, running a brush through her hair. 

“Hi! I’m so glad you could make it.” she says. Then she turns to her daughter. “Alice York, you know better than to open the door.” she scolds. “You never know who could be on the other side.” Alice nods and her gaze shifts to the floor. Carol plants a kiss on the crown of her head. “Go on now. Take your sister and go wash up for dinner.” she instructs. Alice helps the younger girl down and they scurry up the stairs. “Dinner’s just about done. Do you want some wine?” she offers. 

The girls talk your ears off during dinner. Alice tells you all about her soccer team and Molly tells you about her class hamster. You help Carol wash up after dinner despite her protests. Once the last dish has been rinsed and put into the dishwasher, Carol gives you a tour of the house. It’s excruciating trying to hold back your tears when you look at the pictures that hang on the walls. Family photos, the girls’ school pictures, and hanging above the fireplace is a large framed print showing Dave and Carol’s wedding day. It hurts you to see how happy they looked together. Littered on almost every surface are smaller, candid photos. Dave rolling in the grass with his daughters and Carol holding a newborn baby, Dave standing beside her looking down proudly at them. When the tour takes you to their bedroom, you hesitate to cross the threshold. It feels like you are violating the sanctity of something so private, something your eyes were never meant to see. 

Some bickering filters out of the hall bathroom and Carol excuses herself to go see what the problem is. You take the opportunity to really analyze the contents of their bedroom. On one of the nightstands you see a pair of glasses and a contacts case. Next to it is a watch that you’d seen on your own nightstand more than once. You never knew that he wore glasses. Just another thing showing you that you didn't know him at all. You peek out the door and hear Carol still coaxing her children to brush their teeth without ripping each other’s head off. You cross the room and slide open the mirrored door of the closet. You see Dave’s clothing hanging there, as neat and organized as you expected it to be. You run your hand along the shoulders of his jackets and suit coats and when you get to the t-shirts you pull one out. The well worn gray cotton is so soft. The Marines emblem on the front is cracked and peeling from its many spins in the washing machine. You grab the bottom of the shirt and pull it up to your nose, inhaling deeply. It smells mostly like laundry detergent but there is still a faint whiff of Dave left on it. It was his favorite shirt. Yours, too. It was the shirt he was wearing when you met him that day in the park. There were many a night when you pulled it over your head after a night of love making. You consider stealing it. Plucking it off the hanger and stuffing it into your purse. 

You jump when you hear Carol’s footsteps coming back down the hall, and attempt to slide the closet closed as quietly as possible. You and Carol retire to the living room. She lights the fireplace, laughing because she almost burnt her hair off the first time she had to do it on her own. “Dave used to do it for me.” she explained with just a hint of sadness in her voice. You polish off the rest of the bottle of wine, and a second bottle. Before she opens the third bottle she invites you to spend the night. 

“Oh, no.” you decline, “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” you don’t think that you could stand sleeping in this house knowing the secret you are keeping from her. 

“Come on.” she insists. “I can’t let you drive home like this. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” The words she doesn’t speak come through loud and clear. Carol can’t lose someone else. 

You agree and help her finish off the bottle of wine. You follow her up the stairs and she shows you to the guest room. “I’ll go grab you some clothes to sleep in.” she says and disappears down the hall. When she returns she’s holding a stack of neatly folded clothes. “I hope these are good.” 

“Oh this is fine.” you take the clothes from her hand and the corner of the shirt’s design catches your eye. You set the rest of the clothes on the bed and unfold the shirt. The faded Marines shirt you were looking at in their closet just hours before. “Oh, I don’t think I should-” you begin but Carol cuts you off. 

“It’s fine.” she says with a wave of her hand. “His clothes have just been sitting there, someone should use them. I can’t bring myself to get rid of anything of his.”

Finally, it all becomes too much. The guilt, the lies, it all comes bubbling to the surface and you hear the words leave your mouth before you can even attempt to stop them. “I need to tell you something.” you tell her, still holding the shirt, clutching it tightly to your chest. “I don’t even know how to say this.” you begin. “I knew Dave.” you confess. Carol doesn’t say anything so you continue. “I was seeing him for a little while. Well for about six months. I swear to you, though, I had no idea he was married. I would never have gone out with him if I had known.” you are babbling but you need to get it all out before she throws you out of her house. You need to let her know the truth, even if it means you lose her. 

“I only found out he was married because I hadn't heard from him in weeks and I was mad. I thought he just threw me away and I was gonna find him and give him a piece of my mind.” Carol still hasn’t said a word or moved from where she stands. “He gave me a fake last name so it took some digging to even find out his real name. I swear I didn’t know about you or the girls.” you are crying now, your tears roll down your cheek and drip off your chin to the fabric still clutched in your hands. “I followed you to the church that day. I didn’t even know Dave was dead until you spoke about it in group.”  

Eventually Carol moves, walking towards you. She takes you by surprise when she pulls you into her arms. She rubs her hand across your back and tries to help you calm yourself down. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be alright. I knew. I already knew.” she soothes. 

You flinch away, confused by what she’s just said. “What do you mean you knew?” you ask, suddenly feeling very defensive. Not that you have any right to be. You’ve been lying to this woman for months. “Did you know the whole time? Even before he died.” 

Carol sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space next to her with her hand. “Come sit down.” when you don’t move she repeats the motion. “Please. I’ll explain everything.” You join her on the bed and she reaches out, taking one of your hands into both of her own. “I didn’t know until after we met. Honestly, it never crossed my mind that Dave was being unfaithful to me. He was so secretive about his work and it took him out of town all the time. But the last few months he was being- dodgy, I guess is the best word for it.” Now it’s your turn for silence. 

“He changed the password on his phone and he was out of town more than usual. Then, when he would come home from a weekend away sometimes, he smelled like perfume. I smelled that same perfume on you when we hugged in that church bathroom.” you let out a soft gasp but Carol continues. “Of course, I thought I was crazy at first. Surely, hundreds of women wear the same perfume. But the more I thought about your reaction to my story that first day in group the more I thought it was possible.” 

You shift uncomfortably on the bed. You want to crawl out of your skin and die. She knew. She knew that you were mourning the same man she was. You’ve never felt so shitty in your life. 

“But what really sealed the deal for me was hearing you talk about him. His quirks and the stuff you would argue about. I just knew.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why would you befriend me?” you ask incredulously. 

Carol shrugs her shoulders. “Seemed like you needed a friend, someone who knew what you were going through. God knows I did.”

“You don’t hate me for- for being the other woman or whatever?” you asked. 

Carol huffs out a laugh. “You didn’t exchange vows with me. You didn’t owe me fidelity, he did. I didn’t know if you even knew, but after getting to know you, I just decided that it didn’t matter. I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” 

You raise your hand in defense. “I swear on everything, Carol, I did not know.” she reaches up and grabs your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

“I believe you. I promise.” she assures you. “Can we please just move on from this? I’m glad it’s all out in the open now, but I really don’t want to waste time harping on it. It happened, it’s done. Dave hurt both of us but he’s gone. He isn’t here to answer for the things he did. But we found each other as a result of it. Let’s let sleeping dogs lie, huh?” 

Half an hour later, you are showered and tucked into the guest bed. You feel so much lighter, the weight of the guilt you had been carrying around is gone. You can finally let go of everything, the anger you hold in your heart for Dave, and make space for the love. The love for Dave that you probably won’t ever lose, the love for Carol and her friendship and maybe even some for yourself. That night you sleep better than you have in months. 

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Oh. Oh my! This was delicious!!!

dave york x babysitter!f!reader

summary: the kids you babysit have a hot dad. you want him. but he's married... cws: unfaithfulness (dave is married to carol), power imbalance (employer and employee), fainting, thigh grinding, fingering, reader wears a skirt, dad!dave and his kids, nicknames (baby, honey), reader sits in dave's lap, mention of blood, frottage kinda, one (1) shoulder bite word count: 2.7k divider by @thecutestgrotto thank you and shoutout to my cheerleaders on this, liv @5oh5 and han @swiftispunk <3 and my love @joelsversion for helping with the header <3

"Without touching his skin, How can I be guilty as sin?"

You hate being alone with Dave York.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a perfectly pleasant, well-mannered man. His daughters, Molly and Alice, are angels when you look after them (mostly), and nothing Dave has ever said or done has made you uncomfortable. Your interactions are innocent and professional. And that’s exactly the problem. 

There’s nothing wrong with him.

Because when you’re left alone together, in the evenings when his kids are asleep and he offers to drive you home, or in the mornings on the days he doesn’t work  from home and he pours you a cup of coffee in the kitchen while you make the girls breakfast… you can’t stop your mind from wandering.

You’re not entirely sure what Mr. York does for work, but you know he must look good doing it. Prancing around the house in his fitted dress pants that hug his front and back just right. His loose dress shirt hiding the body you suspect is strong and strapping, based on the sounds coming from the garage when he tells you he’ll be working out. And those are just the parts you don’t get to see.

His hands, however, are always on full display. When they curl around that mug he hands you. His palm brushing the small of your back as he opens the door for you when you leave. Fingers tapping, sometimes only one on the steering wheel, when he drives you home. When he’s typing away at the computer in his home office, or brushing the hair out of his girls’ faces before kissing their heads goodnight on the nights that he makes it home in time. Oh, those fingers… and that ring.

The ring he wears as a promise to Carol, his wife, that he’ll always be faithful to her. You should know how much a promise like that means. Someone once promised you the same. To always be there, to never stray. But stray they did. And the pain of that is something you don’t wish on anyone.

So yes, you hate being alone with Dave York. Because he’s so close. You spend more hours in his house than your own, basically raising his kids. And he’s right there… but he’s not for you.

It has been a very long day, and yet the clock on the kitchen stove shows only 11:27. The girls have run through the garden sprinklers all morning, worn out and down for a nap already, a combination of heat and exhaustion making you wish you could do the same. The heat wave has lasted for days now, only alleviated by a few minutes of clouds during the worst hours. 

Your bare thighs cling to the chair as you get up to clean up your lunch. It’s quick work, so you do the rest of the dishes too, even though it’s not your job. Warm soapy water prunes your fingers quickly, the only parts of your body not already damp with sweat. The house is rarely this quiet during the day, only the distant sounds of traffic from the main road blocks away filling the room, joining the splashing of water and clangs from dishes as you put them back into their cabinets. Some mornings you can hear Dave talking in his office, the sound carrying through the house. You can never make out what it is he’s talking about, only the low rumble of his voice sometimes plaited with other voices through computer speakers. He’s quiet today. 

This heat is unbearable, you think, as you wipe your forehead with wet hands. Leaning on the counter, you take a deep breath. For a second your eyesight falters, and lightheadedness washes over you. Have you even had a glass of water today? You can feel your legs start to wobble, vision turning static, and you’ve just started swaying when–

“Hey, hey!” 

A strong hand grabs your arm as you topple over, and you lean into Dave’s solid chest, letting him support your weight as you focus on your breathing. 

“There you go, honey,” he soothes. “Deep breaths.”

His shirt smells crisp and clean, the scent interrupted by whiffs of soap and cologne from his skin underneath it, as you inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“You okay?” His big hand draws circles on your back, still holding you up with the other.

“Just hot…” you manage, lifting your head up to see a concerned Dave look down at you with furrowed brows. 

“Come lie down in my office for a bit, the AC is better in there.”

He supports you on your unsteady legs with an arm firmly around your waist, guiding you to his work room at the other end of the house. You’ve never really been in there, only stuck your head through the door to let him know you’re leaving at the end of the day.

The room is huge, especially for a home office. Floor to ceiling windows cover the far wall, his desk in the middle of the room, facing the door. Bookcases line the other walls, filled with mostly folders and what looks like heavy encyclopedias. In front of one of them is, of all things, a chaise lounge. What is he, a shrink? You’ve never seen him have anyone else in there, but for all you know he might as well be. He’s got the calm and steady presence you imagine one would need to be any kind of doctor.

“Here,” he says as he guides you over to the chaise, one big hand engulfing yours, the other supporting your neck as you lower yourself down.

“Let me get you some water.” 

As he leaves the office again, you hurriedly smooth your skirt down, suddenly very aware of how much skin you’re showing. If you lift your knees your entire ass would be on display for him when he returns, but you know keeping your feet up will be good for the dizziness. You settle for an in-between, only one leg raised, and the other straight out, just as Dave returns, bottle in hand. He twists the cap open before he hands it to you.

“Thanks,” you breathe as you accept it, gulping down half the contents in one go. You hand the bottle back to him and he chugs the rest. Your eyes are fixed on his plush lips around the bottle opening that was just between your own. You wonder what they would feel like on your warm skin.

As he drinks, a stray droplet escapes from the side of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. It runs down the length of his throat, Adam’s apple bouncing when he swallows, and then the drop disappears underneath his shirt collar. Your mouth waters, yet you feel even thirstier. You’d like to rip his shirt off and lick the droplet off his chest, as if only that could quench your thirst. And you can’t help but feel… No, you can help it. You should. It’s completely inappropriate. He’s your employer, your boss, and he’s… so Goddamn good looking. Shit.

He crumples the empty plastic before throwing it away in the bin next to his desk. Slumping down in his office chair he turns his attention to the computer screen.

Typing away at his keyboard, you watch him. Doctor York? Professor York? You try to imagine him; teaching a class, doing paperwork at an office, running a store, being someone’s strict and authoritarian boss. The latter thought makes your legs clench together involuntarily. 

“What do you do?”

The question escapes you before you can help it, and you cringe slightly at your own sudden bluntness. 

“Sorry?”

“I just realized I don’t know what you do for work.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen when he speaks, but a subtle smile plays on his lips.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” You laugh.

“That would suck. Who would look after your kids?”

“I’d be on the run, so not me.”

“Carol, then. All alone. Poor Carol.”

“Yeah. Poor Carol…” he agrees, voice suddenly grave.

A few minutes pass, comfortable yet somehow charged silence surrounding you. When he speaks again, his tone shifts—still dark, but less grave.

"Ever been to Europe?" he asks, breaking the stillness.

The unexpected question leaves you momentarily flustered.

“Uh, yeah, I, uhm… I went backpacking there a million years ago,” you stutter.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Really?"

“Why is that so hard to believe?" you challenge, squinting back at him.

“Just a little surprising, I suppose.” 

He meets your gaze without flinching, a spark of something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

“I’m actually planning a trip to Belgium. Come have a look at this.”

He beckons you closer with two fingers, the gesture innocent and yet, paired with your clouded judgment and current state of mind, borderline obscene.

Carefully, you put your two feet down on the floor, taking a moment to test your balance. Once confident you won’t topple over again, you step over to his side of the workspace. You lean over his desk, one hand on the table and one on the armrest of the office chair he’s seated in, squinting at the screen. It’s probably very interesting, pictures and lists of things to do and see abroad, but the only thing you can focus on is the sliver of ass you know is revealed when you bend over in this particular skirt. You’d usually wear something more work appropriate, even just a pair of hot pants underneath. But this weather… This heat…

Dave’s gaze is just as scorching as he awaits your reaction, and you can tell he’s working hard not to let his eyes wander. Just like you do, when from the corner of your eye you spot his hand moving absentmindedly up and down his thigh, resting a little too long at the top, thumb grazing his groin.

“Want me to bring you something back?” he asks, voice low, close to a whisper, as if worried someone could hear him. 

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, giving your feet a little more space between them, making room between your thighs. Suddenly, his fingers graze the insides of your thighs and his hand trails upwards, coming to rest over the wet patch of your underwear, damp from your excitement or from the temperature you’re not sure. An audible sigh escapes you at the contact. He responds with a groan of his own as he starts drawing circles over your clothed clit.

“I’ve heard they have great chocolate,” you stutter in response to his question.

“Yeah? You got a sweet tooth?”

You wish desperately he would touch your skin, and try to angle your hips so he can slip a finger under your panties, but he just follows your movements, touching you through the fabric. You only hum in response.

“God, this isn’t right…” you hear him whisper to himself. You don’t disagree, yet neither of you make a move to stop.

His hands move to rest on your hips, and he slowly turns you to face him. Soft fingers grip you tightly. The insides of his legs brush the bare skin of your own, making you shiver despite the heat. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” he says, pleading. So you do. The darkness of his eyes pull you in, and you’re almost taken over by the urge to lean down and kiss him. As you start to bend down, one hand resting on his shoulder, his hands on your hips keep you in place. At a distance.

“Tell me we shouldn’t do this.” His eyes rake over your body, taking you in, short fingernails digging into your skin. “Tell me this is wrong.”

It wouldn’t be a lie. It really is, and you really shouldn’t. So you’re not sure why throw one leg over his and straddle his thigh. A buzz shoots through you as your swollen core meets the tight muscle of his leg. You’re so close to him like this. So close you can feel the warm puffs of his quickened breath fan your skin, with a faint scent of coffee, toothpaste, and something else, indistinct but distinctly Dave.

Details of his complexion you’ve never noticed before become clear. The worry lines between his brows. The sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. The few hairs he’d missed while shaving, probably in a hurry, that morning.

Almost unwillingly your hips start drawing small circles, chasing release. Dave’s hands haven’t moved an inch, still gripping your hips, following your movements. His eyes are fixed at where your legs clasp around his own, soft movements growing erratic as your pleasure pulls you further.

Under his clothes he’s fully hard now, the fabric of his dress pants stretching around his erection. You imagine the weight of him in your hand, how your fingers would barely meet around his shaft when you jerk him off. You shift forward, thrusting, wanting desperately to feel him, but he holds you in place, pulling his own hips away from you.

“Nuh-uh.” One of his hands releases its grip on you and rises to gently cup your face. The tips of his fingers barely brush your skin. “Not like that.”

“What?” you breathe.

“Just…” Dave’s face contorts slightly as he sighs. “Just take what you need. What you want.”

You continue to grind on his thick thigh, drenching his trousers with each movement. Back and forth, clenching around nothing. As your breath quickens, you hunch over more and more, forehead eventually landing on Dave’s shoulder. Your teeth come down on the soft flesh of your cheek, and you chew, molars slicing through the skin until you taste blood. 

“Come on,” he purrs, his voice hoarse and vibrating in your ear. “Come on, baby, give it to me.”

“I’m gonna–

Your mouth falls open in silent moan, and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound, soaking his already damp cotton shirt in saliva and drops of blood from the inside of your mouth. His grip on your hips is relentless, and he groans through his gritted teeth as you fall over the edge.

“Fucking… come… on.”

And you do.

Your thighs clench around Dave’s, and you can feel him tense up as well, sending new waves of pleasure through your core. The buzzing vibration runs from your middle, through your spine, and sets off another spark at the very top of your skull. Your hairs stand up, goosebumps. The blood pumping in your ears deafens you momentarily. 

With your nose buried in his neck, nuzzled behind his ear, you take a few breaths to restrain yourself. His hands are looser on you now, thumbs drawing small circles on your hip bones. His chest rises and falls underneath you, slowing in time with yours.

And just as you’re about to lift your head from his shoulder, not quite ready to face the reality of what has just happened, what you’ve done, someone else breaks the silence.

“Daddy!”

Molly’s sleepy voice is unmistakable from down the hall. Dave’s hands are off you in a second, and you barely have time to react before he’s on his feet.

“Dave, I’ll take her–”

But he’s already out the door.

Once you’ve flattened your skirt and straightened up in the hallway bathroom, you find them in the kitchen. Molly is blabbering, Alice yawning, while Dave is listening and laughing, arranging their lunch in funny shapes on their plates. Cucumbers for eyes, a slice of bell pepper for a pair of red lips, a piece of mushroom becomes the nose. The children giggle at their Dad’s shenanigans. 

You stand in the doorway, observing. Domestic bliss. They’re not your kids and he’s not your husband, and this moment is not for you. As the kids’ laughter and the clang of kitchenware reverberates through the open kitchen, you catch yourself wondering how Dave will explain the stains you made on his clothes to Carol.

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