#Dave McCall

[elmo330]

I never really got the Mark Wahlberg hype until I watched Fear (1996). Literally nobody talks about it and there is somehow only two fanfics.

[jeewrites]

🌈 Sunshine & Rainbows 🌈

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader Equalizer 2 AU: What if Dave survives the fall from the watchtower?

WC: 10.1k (whoopsies) Rated: Explicit, minors do not interact

Content/Warnings: Dave is divorced from Carol (no kids), reference to previous smut, Dave gets a few nicknames, reader is also an assassin but sassy, reader has a nickname and hair that can be pulled, mention of traumatic injuries to Dave, medical jargon, discussion of physical therapy, stalking/murder/torture not described, please remember I had to google “How to preserve an eyeball” for this fic, is murder a love language?, arson, treadmill hate, use of daddy just once, no y/n

A/N: My first Dave fic and my first fic challenge! I got ‘amnesia’ to pair with Dave for @burntheedges's Roll-A-Trope Challenge! I had so much fun trying to wrap my head around Dave as someone who leans towards fluff and feels, so I hope you enjoy my take on our favorite murder daddy. Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta-reader and encouraging me to write fics in the first place. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Roll a Trope Masterlist

It’s the pain that wakes him. Every part of his body screams. The tight stretch of skin, itchy and hot. Bruises to the bone. Bones shattered. The sun shines too bright despite the curtains. The increasing beep of the monitor is too loud. How is it possible to hurt like this?

He hears the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices just above the screaming of his body before a shadowy figure appears. He can sense them to his left, but not see them. Is this how he dies? Drowsiness steamrolls him and he slips back to a blissful drug-induced unconsciousness.

It’s been 48 and a half hours and no check-in from Dave. You stare at the burner phone, willing it to beep or ring. Anything. But there is no text. No call. Just the flick and snap as you flip the phone open and close.

Dave has never, ever missed a check-in. Has he come close to the 48-hour deadline after an op? Sure. But never late. And never this late.

You’re not exactly in panic mode yet because it’s Dave, one of the most ruthless and effective killers you know. But you can’t help the anxiety starting to build in your belly and another feeling you can’t quite pin down. It’s not like you love him. But god isn’t he a good fuck, perfect for blowing off steam between covert ops. 

And he understands what you do. He understands you and you understand him. Plus, he was the only one who ever almost got a jump on you when a client hired both of you without telling one about the other. That was almost a clusterfuck that ended up being the best fuck of your life.

The burner phone stares back at you, silent. Fuck it. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. Find people. Find Dave. 

The doctor keeps calling him John — as in John Doe. While he can’t for the life of him recall his name, he knows definitively, John is not his fucking name. He’s also tired of talking. He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions piling on top of the questions the doc, a psychiatrist, keeps lobbing at him. Everything still hurts, a dull, perpetual throb throughout his brain and body punctuated by acute pain if he happens to breathe wrong.

He’s in a different building since the last time he awoke in crippling pain. This place seems like a public-run long-term health care facility out in the boonies instead of the large hospital downtown he was in before. The doctors and other health care professionals seem harried and perpetually understaffed. While his room is relatively clean, the decor is dated, all the walls a sickly yellow or green. And everything smells strongly of disinfectant. It could be worse, he supposes, at least it’s clean here. 

The psychiatrist leans forward towards him, “Let’s call it a day and let you rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

He grunts in response.

Something in his gut tells him to be wary of this doctor, of sharing too much if he ever remembers a goddamn thing. He knows he can trust his gut when it comes to reading people. Watching a steady flow of doctors, nurses, aides, social workers, and janitorial staff in his room, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows when someone is trustworthy or a threat. He can read body language at the most minute level with startling clarity.

The head nurse Kathleen is no nonsense and won’t tolerate any bullshit. Nurse Sally does the bare minimum and has sticky fingers. Gotta keep an eye on that one. He likes the neurologist who doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s pretty sure his physical therapist, Ryan, is secretly a sadist.

The night nurse, Brian, is a steadying comfort, always checking on him, “Doing all right, boss?” in the quiet loneliness of the evening. Brian alleviates the pressing annoyance of not knowing his own name by constantly switching up nicknames for him. Calling him buddy, champ, or hot stuff much to his amusement. 

He also knows someone tried their damndest to kill him and make it hurt in the process. Gouged out left eye, stabbed between the ribs, sliced tendons, broken bones, internal bleeding, wrapped in a myriad of bruises and tossed from a significant height. He’s been told repeatedly what a miracle it is that he survived at all, washed up on the beach on the brink of death before being found.

For now he bides his time, giving his body the opportunity to heal and recover. He knows he won’t get far in the current condition he’s in after the multiple surgeries and months and months in the ICU. In physical therapy he can barely manage to walk a few steps without assistance, and he’s still adjusting to the eye patch and the use of his remaining eye. He’s relatively safe for now, he thinks, identity a mystery and off the beaten path. Although a small part of him wonders why no one has come to find him. Did he not have family, friends, or anyone who missed him? 

Dave doesn’t make it easy on you to find him. Of course he doesn’t. Before he went private, or over to the dark side he liked to say, he made sure to replace all of his biometrics in various government databases with false ones. You have to go old school and retrace his steps from the sparest details he did share with you. Brant Rock the text message had read.

You find Resnik, Ari, and Kovac in the local morgue shortly after the hurricane blew through. Kovac and Ari are identifiable easily enough, but Resnik takes a moment, having most of his face blown off. It’s a shame about Kovac and Ari, they were good enough guys and you didn’t mind working with them on occasion.

But that bastard Resnik had once joked, thinking you were out of earshot, what a good fuck you’d be and you were so vulnerable with only the four of them around for miles and miles. You had slid the safety off your weapon at the same time you heard Dave threaten to rip his balls off through his throat if Resnick dared to try anything with you. You were planning to do worse, but hey, it was the thought that counts, right? That was when you knew you could really trust Dave. Resnik, not so much. 

As you approach the next cold locker, for a moment you can’t breathe, suffocating in the thought that the next body you pull is going to be Dave. But to your immense relief, it’s not Dave. Dave isn’t in any of them. It’s not until you slip out of the morgue into your car a few blocks away that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You allow yourself to sob, forehead against your steering wheel. Crying, such an unfamiliar sensation. Where was he?

It takes you nearly two weeks to find Dave. Listed as a John Doe at the big trauma center downtown, you disguise yourself as a nurse and sneak into his ICU hospital room late one night. Nothing prepared you for his condition. 

“Did Mac do this to you, Yorkie?” you whisper as you trace your fingertips along the ashen skin of his forearm. It seems like the only part of him that is uninjured. The only sound in the room is the hiss of the ventilator and soft beeping of the heart rate monitor reminding you he’s actually alive. Barely. He’s unnaturally still for a man always on the move. You gasp softly when you take in his face, his beautiful face marred with wounds and a patch covering his left eye. Your chest tightens as you turn away to collect yourself.

Refocusing, you pull up his chart. The more you scroll, the more your rage builds at Mac or whoever did this to Dave. Your Dave. Severed tendons and ligaments, shattered ribs, crushed vertebra, multiple stab wounds, ruptured spleen, so much internal bleeding it’s a miracle he’s even alive. What the fuck happened?

He is in no condition to be moved. No matter, you think. While he heals, you are going to hunt down who did this to him and exact revenge. Excruciating revenge. Before logging out of the system you program it to send you any alerts to changes in his condition or if he’s moved to another facility.

Before you leave, you take one last look at Dave, gently run your fingers through his soft brown hair, marveling at how peaceful he looks despite the myriad of tubes plugged into him. You almost make it out of the room without shedding a tear until you really see his nose. Broken, shattered, scarred. Even if you don’t love Dave, you love his beautiful, strong aquiline nose. The way he’d nuzzle it into your neck in rare, soft moments. Press it against your mound when he pulled pleasure from you over and over. The quiet moments after you were both sated and sleepy, and he’d let you trace his brow, the strong curve of his nose, his plush lips, as he anchored you against him.

You are going to fucking destroy whoever did this to him.

The doorbell footage at Dave’s apartment confirms that Mac is the culprit behind Dave’s injuries. 

The Robert McCall visit. The tense conversation outside with Dave and his guys and Robert. The false cheerfulness, the underlying tension bubbling underneath in the clench of Dave’s jaw, the threat from McCall to Dave and the guys, “The only disappointment in it for me is that I only get to kill you each once.” You bristle with barely contained rage at his words.

Good thing you know enough about the human body to resuscitate it. Looks like you’ll just have to give Mac a lesson on how to kill someone over and over. How unfortunate for him.

The most popular bets to his previous profession are linguistics professor or foreign service.

He discovered his fluency in Farsi when he overheard family members of another patient speaking it in the hallway outside of his room. It took him a moment to realize he understood what they were saying. Shortly after, he overheard several nurses conversing in Spanish and realized to his amazement he understood them too.

“Wonder what else you can speak, professor,” Brian the night nurse muses as he pulls out an assortment of chocolates in a gift tin. That’s a new nickname. “Here, have some French chocolate. Someone gifted them to me when they were discharged.”

He reaches for one gingerly, focusing on the pincer grip to pick a chocolate up. It has been a struggle learn how to use his entire body again once it healed enough to be subjected to OT, PT, talk therapy, and other forms of torture.

He frowns at the sweetness of the truffle as he takes a bite. 

“No good?” Bri asks.

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. “But thanks.”

Belgian is better, he thinks to himself before pausing. How does he know that?

Brian grins at him before setting down the tin and checking his chart, “That just means more for me, champ.”

Glancing at the tin, Dave stifles a sharp inhale when he realizes he can read the French printed across the lid.

Discovering or rediscovering who he is has been… interesting. Some of the discoveries raised his spirits, like discovering his impressive ability to guess who was walking into his room based on the sound of their gait or how much a person weighed within a few pounds. Some discoveries though left him questioning what kind of person he really was. An emotional rollercoaster he’s ready to get off of immediately. If only he could just fucking remember!

Aside from being able to read people insanely well, he’s put together that he’s a bit of a control freak and likes things neat and orderly. The bullseye tattoo on his left hand had one nurse guessing that he was an olympic sharpshooter, but no olympian in recent memory remotely looked like him. He knew he had been found in a camo pullover and cargo pants, or what remained of it. Another nurse guessed that perhaps he liked hunting for sport. After all the speculation around the bullseye tattoo, Brian started only referring to him as killer. Curiously, he didn’t seem to mind that nickname. The wedding band tanline made him wonder if he is recently divorced or actually married, but took his ring off for more nefarious reasons. Was he a cheater? Did he have kids? What kind of man was he? 

The strangest discovery came the first time orange slices appeared on his lunch tray. He found himself comforted by the smell of citrus as he ate them. Relaxed even, for the first time since he woke up. And also inexplicably aroused. His body had been so broken it had been months since he felt any tingle or whisp of desire, the feeling so unfamiliar it shocks him. What kind of kinky shit was he into?

That night he dreams of rain forests and citrus, relaxing in a familiar embrace he can not name. He wakes up the most refreshed he’s felt since he woke up in the ICU, body screaming in pain. And yet still he can’t explain why.

Sweat pours off of him as he grips the side rails of the treadmill. The PT room is absurdly bright and cheerful for the types of torture it routinely sees.

“You did great, man,” Ryan, his favorite physical therapist, praises. “Going to be running marathons in no time.”

He just grunts in response. He hates running. This he knows in his bones. Hates it. But he has come a long way from barely managing a step with assistance to walking on the treadmill for the first time. A stupid long painful way.

A sudden frustrated yell across the room jerks his attention to one of the newer patients across the room just as an exercise ball is flung in his direction. He reacts before can think, ducking and moving, assessing in a split second the source of the danger and prioritizing three different options in subduing the threat. He misjudges the distance of a table corner, bruising his hip as he dashes by. Damn his depth perception issues, he thinks. Just another thing to work on.

He surprises himself when he finds himself expertly pulling the patient off balance into a chokehold until security arrives. His body knows exactly how much pressure to put to neutralize the threat without killing him. Why does his body know this? Christ.

“Holy shit, man!” Ryan exclaims, helping to pull him up from the ground. “Where’d you learn to do that!”

“Can’t remember,” he groans as he feels his body protest the sudden intense movement. “Think I set myself back with that stunt.” He slumps over in a chair as sharp pain shoots up both his arms. He allows Ryan to fuss over him before one of the aides brings him back up to his room in a wheelchair. One step forward, three steps back it feels like.

It’s not until he’s settled into the privacy of his own room with a healthy dose of painkillers does he start to tally all of his mysterious abilities. He rubs the itchy scruff growing on his face with irritation. He hasn’t had a proper shave since he got here. And he probably won’t, at least not until his fine motor skills get better to do it himself. The staff are just too overworked here. He huffs to himself. He’s probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else right now. 

With all his language skills, keen sense of observation, and now apparently mad jiu jitsu skills, what did it add up to? Who the fuck was he?

In the weeks following your visit to see your Dave in the ICU, knowing he has a long road to recovery gives you the time and space to track and hunt Mac. In true Dave fashion, he didn’t give you much to work with, just one single conversation about Robert McCall, but that is all you need.

Shortly before Dave missed his check in, he let you wrap yourself around him as the big spoon after having his way with you. He was uncharacteristically spooked, he told you, after running into his former team leader while out on a run. Robert McCall, Mac, was presumed dead. Dave swore he saw him die that day over seven years ago, setting off a chain of events leading to Dave going private with his guys. The impact of Mac’s death, the grief and the disillusionment that followed after leaving the service. 

You knew about the job in Brussels—Susan—and the difficulty Dave was having tying up loose ends. Especially now with Mac resurrected from the dead and digging into Susan’s murder. He briefly mentioned Mac showing up at his apartment and confronting him and the guys a few days after the unexpected reunion. The doorbell footage you found confirmed this conversation.

You asked him if Mac was now a loose end.

Turning to face you, his eyes darkened with affirmation, “But I have a bad feeling about it, Sunshine.” 

Mentally you beat yourself up for not pressing Dave more about this bad feeling at the time because you were too busy preening at the pet name. It marked the first time Dave ever met you at your place, raising an eyebrow at your maximalist design choices. It’s like a rainbow and unicorn threw up in here, he had grumbled. Too bright, so sunshine-y. You’re just jealous your place looks like it was decorated by someone allergic to color, you had quipped before he hauled you over his shoulders into the bedroom with a growled I’ll show you jealous, Sunshine.

You tried to smooth the furrows between his eyes. “Can I help?” you whispered before pressing a kiss to the curve of his nose.

He tensed before pulling back to look at you, “No. Don’t want you anywhere near him, baby. Mac’s a killer. He — he taught me everything I know.”

You protested but the look he leveled you with ended the discussion even if you wanted to push back and insist. 

“You’re helping right now,” Dave consoled you, laying you back and slotting himself between your legs. “Reminding me I have this to come home to.”

The brief realization he had referred to you as home, quickly disintegrated at the pace he set, burying himself in you, sliding deep into the place only he could reach— the place you think of as his. He left early the next morning, pulling a black beanie over his head before kissing you goodbye. “See you in 48, Sunshine.” 

You believe Dave when he said Mac was a killer, the best he knew. So you are meticulous in your tracking. In rare form, you make sure your contingency plans have contingency plans, even if you prefer flying by the seat of your pants. You only allow yourself to feel the quiet thrill of the hunt in order to keep the raging fury that threatens to make you slip up at bay. You summon patience you didn’t know you possessed as you slowly lay your trap and draw Mac in. 

Robert McCall has a weakness for damsels in distress. And for extracting his own sense of justice in situations he came across, serving as sole judge, jury, and executioner. It rankles you to see him decide the fate of others, to right a wrong according to him and him alone. 

But who are you to judge him when you decided to be his judge, jury, and executioner? So you lure him in and give him exactly what he always looked for. In the end, he is just like any other man really. A talented man, a ruthless killer sure, but he could never match your cunning combined with your wrath, your fury at what he did to Dave. 

You keep the feelings at bay as you set the trap in motion until he is soundly in your snare. And even then, you don’t let the rage get out of control because you know your weakness in close combat. You won’t give him an opening to escape or kill you because you can’t stay cool and collected.

By the time you’d laid your trap for Mac, you got a ping from the hospital notifying you of Dave’s transfer to a long-term rehab facility. You pat yourself on the back for the perfect timing. Execute the target and then go check on Dave.

In the end, Mac isn’t that much different from any other kill you executed on the job. Just more satisfying in the end. You did it for Dave, afterall. Your Dave.

He decides that even if he doesn’t like the colorful scrubs the new nurse aide wears, she seems trustworthy enough, even if he struggles to get a more accurate read on her. It’s the first time he’s had trouble reading anyone since he woke up. So he sets aside the puzzlement as Brian introduces him to her. Maybe it’s because of how pretty she is, beautiful really, and how attracted he is to her, a pull that takes him off guard.

“Hey Killer, want to introduce you to our new nurse aide,” Brian says, gesturing to her as she stands a bit shyly next to him. “She’s gonna be helping me out so I don’t feel like a vampire all the time with these night shifts.”

“Killer?” she blurts out making an incomprehensible face before hiding behind a small smile.

“Gives me a reputation. I don’t mind.” He shrugs, smirking at the nickname. “At least until I figure out my real name, no one’s going mess with me. Nice to meet you…?”

The aide makes a funny noise in her throat as he extends his hand to shake hers. She recovers quickly as she takes his hand in hers. Something flickers behind her eyes, something warm, familiar before it fades away as she murmurs her name, Sunny, and tells him to let her know if he needs anything. The pull towards her strengthens as soon as his hands envelope hers, so soft and warm, that he doesn’t want to let go. Something feels so right at her touch. He murmurs her name before she pulls away to make the rounds with Brian.

You aren’t prepared to see Dave. You thought you were. You mentally talked yourself through it before you made your way up to his room with your new supervisor, Nurse Brian. You memorized everything from his chart, and know that he still has severe amnesia, still struggling with remembering anything at all, but nothing prepares you to be in the same room as him and not have a flicker of recognition across his face. His remaining deep brown eye levels a coolness at you that you haven’t seen since the first time you met and tried to kill each other. 

This is bad. After everything, the missed check-in, the frantic searching, the revenge-ing to avenge him, the utter lack of recognition across his beautiful face cracks something in you. You barely recover enough to shake his hand and leave his room upright, telling Brian you have to go to the restroom before meeting any other patients.

Tears prick your eyes and you try to calm your breathing, not wanting to face the tsunami of feelings crashing down on you. When did these feelings for Dave get so out of hand? 

You haven’t needed anyone since you cut off your abusive family and left home to find your way in the world. You learned to be alone, thrived at working alone in a corner you carved out for yourself. You filled your home with art and color and brightness after you realized you had the power to make your own sunshine. Who else would? Definitely not your shitty family. 

And plants. So many plants, your bedroom painted a shade of deep, lush green. Filled with plants. It was like your own personal rainforest. So what if you worked in the dark, creeping in the shadows, a killer for hire? It didn’t mean you had to make it your whole damn personality.

Oh, but Dave. He was the unexpected cherry on top, a force of nature who brought more exciting ops to your life, along with mind-numbing pleasure. Intermittently at first, then regularly. You liked the control you’d cede to him after months of dancing around each other, building trust, moving from fucking in seedy motels after ops to his place or yours. The way he could fuck your worries and stress straight out of your pretty head. Apparently something had shifted without you realizing. Pesky feelings.

Fuck. You care. More than you were willing to admit before Dave almost died. You were too full of rage to feel anything else. You convinced yourself that the revenge you sought when you hunted down Mac was exactly that. Revenge. But now that the rage and fury had ebbed, you face down the why behind your need for revenge, realizing you did what you did because you cared. About Dave. Maybe you lo — lov — Fuck. What if he never remembers what you had together? What exactly did you have with him before, anyway?

He looks good though, even with the patchy scruff and fading scars across his face. The slightly lost expression on his face. Even if you can sense his discomfort in his body, in the way he sits by the window pretending to read a book. He looks so different, skin warm and golden, so alive, from the last time you saw him in the ICU. And his nose, the nose you love healed after all, healing back into its original strong curve.

As much as you want to run back into his room, yelling his name and shaking him until he recognizes you, telling him everything, you know you have to steel yourself for this next part, to allow him to heal and remember at his own pace. Wasn’t that what the doctor had written in his chart? Pushing him too hard will have less-than-ideal outcomes. 

You sigh as you wash your face and take a deep breath. This part of the journey is going to be infinitely harder than finding Dave and killing Mac. But at least now he has you to help him jog his memory and watch his back. You lift your head up to walk out of the restroom, refusing to acknowledge the question prickling down your spine. What if he never remembers you’re his Sunshine?

It storms the first night of your shift, winds howling as you make your rounds and tend to the patients assigned to you. You do most of your menial work with one eye watching Dave, learning his routine and keeping tabs on him. It comforts you to know that he has a genuine rapport with nurse Brian, and has been making significant progress in his physical therapy. You get a sense he doesn’t trust the psych doc very much and has been frustrated at recovering his fine motor skills from the nerve damage in his arms. Must be why he doesn’t shave much, you think to yourself. The facility he’s in is fine for a publicly funded place, but you can tell the staff is overworked and underpaid. Your hourly wage is laughable. And everything is painted in this drab yellow that is an insult to the color. You’d read in his chart that the local precinct had put out feelers trying to identify the resident John Doe without much luck. You hope the luck holds out long enough for Dave to heal sufficiently so you can break him out of here before someone who shouldn’t find him does.

The bright flashes of lightning and roaring thunder keep you awake in the wee hours of your shift, strong winds whipping tree branches against the building, even as the patter of rain threatens to lull you to sleep. As you walk the sterile corridors, passing by Dave’s room you hear him yell out in panic, in fear.

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from sprinting into his room, ready to take out whoever is attacking him. You realize in the darkness of his room, illuminated only by a small night light, Dave is alone in his room, still asleep.

You realize he’s having a nightmare as you watch his eye work beneath his eyelid as he mutters, “Show yourself. Show — Show yourself Mac…” before trailing off. His face winces in pain as he jerks under the covers, panting to catch his breath before flinging his arms around like he’s trying to throw a punch.

For a moment you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you realize he’s likely reliving his last encounter with Mac in real time. Careful not to use his real name, you put a firm hand on his arm to calm him, hey hey hey, to wake him up before he strangles himself in his sheets. As you make shushing noises he jerks the arm out from your grip, grabbing a hold of your throat before gasping awake, right eye wide in terror.

He apologizes profusely once he really wakes up and gets his bearings. It’s the same dream that haunts him every time it storms outside. Bubbling up from his subconscious every time it storms. He’s up high on a tower or lighthouse by some body of water. Rain whips across his face as the waves crash against the shore. He’s impatient, livid, but also… scared? Somehow he knows the before version of him would never admit the last thing.

He’s waiting for someone who is a danger, a threat. What’s taking so long? He remembers yelling, calling a name, Mac, — who is Mac?— before the dream shifts and he’s in indescribable pain. The most pain his body has ever felt slashes through him, punches into his ribs before he’s falling, falling, falling. It’s the icy cold that wakes him every time, shocking him back to consciousness. But this time he wakes up looking into the eyes of the pretty new aide with one of his hands clutched around her throat.

Well, this isn't the first time he’s had his hands around your throat. The dirty thought skitters across your mind, although that situation is preferable to this one. The thought amuses you, even as you start to feel the oxygen deprivation. It is a nice memory though, you think, being bent over your sink while Dave took you from behind. Arching you up with the tug of your hair to watch him in the mirror. It was after the one time you were almost late for a check-in and he was punishing you for it. For making him worry. If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late, Sunshine. Simpler times, you think. 

You inwardly sigh and try to figure out how to get out of his chokehold without hurting either one of you. You settle for anchoring one hand to the one on your throat and twisting out of his grip while leveraging his elbow as gently as you can manage to avoid setting him back in his recovery. 

He’s still gasping for breath as you try to soothe him with your voice, now scratchy from his grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” you comfort as you pat his back.

He starts apologizing immediately, a litany of shit, I’m so sorrys, until you level him with your best stare and quip, “I see where you get your nickname from, Killer.”

He stops long enough to bark out a laugh, before asking again if you really are okay. 

“I should be asking you that,” you respond. “Seems like a hell of a dream.” You see him retreat back into himself, at whatever horrors had surfaced in his mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you venture, sliding a hand over his. It’s clammy and cold. You feel him start to pull away before stopping.

“I think it’s what happened… before,” he finally answers with a thick swallow, looking away. “No one needs to hear that shit.”

You squeeze his hand for encouragement. “Try me.”

To your surprise he does. After Dave recaps his nightmare as best he can, his hand still in yours, you begin to think that you let Mac off way too easily. Shoulda tortured him more before pulling the plug, you frown internally. Because holy shit, that man really put Dave through the ringer. 

“Thanks for — for listening, I think it helped,” Dave squeezes your hand and looks at you with a surprisingly soft expression. Soft Dave, you never thought you’d see the day.

“Of course, Killer,” you squeeze his hand back before offering to get him some water. He accepts and hesitates as if he wanted to ask you something else. You stand but linger by his bedside giving him a moment.

“Will you — will you stay? Just for a bit, until I fall asleep?” 

After you get him some water, you stay — your hand in his — until he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

He decides he likes Sunny, not just because she’s pretty, but because she keeps him on his toes with her quick wit and dark sense of humor — to match his own he learns — that makes the days go by faster. Just another thing he learns about himself that just brings more questions than answers.

He can’t help smiling as she checks in with him for the day, wanting to know if he needs anything. “Brought you a present,” she smiles at him so brightly it leaves his brain stuttering to respond. “Your room is so boring, figured you could use a plant.”

She places it by the window before turning with a look to see if he approves. He does. He doesn’t know why but the little green thing feels familiar, a comfort like home. He scratches at the irritating scruff on his cheek before finding his words to thank her. 

“I have some extra time today, do you need a shave?” she asks, like she can read his mind. “Looks itchy.”

“Yes. Please.” The look of relief on his face must be palpable because she immediately leaves to grab a razor and shaving cream. 

The thought that she could read him so well, as if his mind is an open book screams to the front of his mind. His stomach twists at the thought. A creeping suspicion fills him as she approaches with the razor. What if she actually knows who he is, but he just doesn’t remember her? It would explain the inexplicable familiarity that came whenever she visited his room. What if the sunny personality is all an act and she’s actually a cold blooded killer sent to finish him off? Perhaps he should be more suspicious of her. He’d only known her for a week and she is the only person he couldn’t get an accurate read on. 

His chest constricts at the recurring fear that someone had wanted him to hurt badly before trying to kill him. It really was only a miracle he survived. And now he was willingly allowing this stranger into his personal space with a sharp object. Could you kill someone with a disposable razor? Not ideal, he thinks, but possible.

“Everything okay?” she asks him as she sets up the side table with shaving accessories. 

He hesitates, conflicted with his most recent revelations as she moves closer to him.

“Look, if I was going to sever your jugular a disposable razor wouldn’t be my first choice,” she dramatically rolls her eyes at him before looking at him for consent to start.

He lets out a nervous giggle, a sound he’s pretty sure he’s never made in his entire life.

“Not my second, third, or fourth choice either, okay?” she continues. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not the one with the nickname ‘Killer.’” 

She has a point. And she did just bring him a plant. And comfort him after one of his ridiculous nightmares the very first night she was here. If there was a moment when he was most vulnerable, that was her chance. He pushes away the feelings of suspicion and nods, allowing her to get started.

He couldn’t help leaning into her touch as she gently washes his face and smoothes on the shaving cream. The way the fading light from the window caught the flecks of colors in her eyes as she focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t help but think how cute she looks with her furrowed brows, all her attention on him. He decides the odds are low she was there to kill him considering how careful and gentle she is. He closes his good eye and allows himself to enjoy himself. Who knew getting a shave was such an intimate experience? He could feel himself relaxing under the warmth of her touch and the delicate scent of her citrus-y shampoo wafting across his nose at this close proximity. Something tugs on his mind at the scent, but she interrupts the thought.

“So what do you think, Killer?” she asks.

As he cracks open his eye, he realizes she’s holding up a small mirror. Time slows down at the same time his heart rate speeds up as he takes in his clean-shaven reflection. It’s like he suddenly remembered why he walked into a room after forgetting all this time.

His name is Dave. Dave motherfucking York.

When he says his name out loud, you let out an audible gasp you tried to cover as true surprise.

“This is huge! Dave, do you — do you remember anything else? Last Name?” You blurt out. 

His lips briefly purse before his face flickers just for a moment, his tell, before he shakes his head no. 

Liar. You immediately know he’s lying to you. He fucking remembers. You can see the cogs whirring in his brain, assembling all of the new information he unlocked when he looked at his reflection.You busy yourself tidying up the shaving accessories, watching him from the corner of your eye, hoping that he recognizes you.

It’s coming back to him, you can just tell from the way he’s holding himself up now, even just sitting in the chair, his posture is different. The lost expression is gone. The calculated, commanding presence of the Dave York you know is emerging right before your eyes. 

Dave York is remembering.

He startles you when he speaks to you again, low and almost menacing, “Don’t tell anyone else. I’m not… ready to share yet.” His expression flashes dark at you.

Ah yes, the patented Dave I’m-telling-you-not-asking-you York.

“Of— of course. Take all the time you need,” you respond.

The next time you glance at him, he has that expression on his face where he’s assessing someone, assessing you, deciding if they are a threat or not. Great, the last thing you need is Dave trying to off you before he remembers who the fuck you are. 

“I promise. I’m not going to say a word,” you try and reassure him. 

He offers a nod, a dismissal really, before turning to look out the window, back to whatever memories may be emerging from the abyss of his mind.

You’d think that Dave remembering would be a good thing, but unfortunately the feds figure out who he is at the same time. You’re on shift, loitering by the nurses’ station when you see two nearly identical government looking guys turn the corner into the wing of the facility just after dinner. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you think. And they reek of federal agents. FBI, specifically. Shit.

Dave has been more withdrawn since remembering his name. Brooding by the window. Typical Dave. You keep up your act, checking on him and chatting with him, hoping really for any glimpse of recognition, but still none so far. You can tell he’s still assessing you, trying to decide if you really are just a peppy aide or dangerous foe waiting to strike.

You busy yourself nearby as the feds chat with Brian, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Wait, that guy’s wanted for murder AND treason??” Brian exclaims. “But he’s so… docile.” You quietly snort to yourself at that word being used to describe Dave York.

“And a whole list of other things, but those are the big ‘uns,” one of the feds responds.

They continue to chat with Brian, trying to determine how much Dave remembers and what condition he’s in in order to transport him.

“Psych notes still say he doesn’t remember very much. But physically he’s actually almost ready for out-patient rehab,” Brian scans the electronic chart.

“Gotta put in the transfer ’n get him to our medical facility,” Tweedle Dee nods to Tweedle Dum. “We’re going to post someone on the floor to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Well, as long as they’re discreet,” Brian warns. “Don’t want to disturb the other patients on the floor.”

“Roger that,” Tweedle Dum responds before pulling out his phone to make a call.

The agents nod at Brian before walking back down the hallway. You see them briefly stop outside of Dave’s room before continuing on their way. 

Well, it looks like you’re breaking Dave out of here whether he remembers you or not. This should be fun. Hopefully he doesn’t try to kill you in the process.

Dave senses something is off before he even sees the two feds walk by his room on the way to the nurses station. He knows they’re there for him. By their gait and posture, they don’t seem like they’re in a particular rush to storm his room, so he bides his time, even as he slips a scalpel up his sleeve. He can’t run. All he can manage is a quick walk with a limp. There’s no way he can run fast enough or long enough to evade two federal agents, even if they look like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Fuck, he thinks. He should have pushed harder in PT. 

He resumes sitting by the window, angling himself into a better position to attack if they decide to take him in today and waits. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. 

He holds his breath when the agents walk by his door again, pausing for just a moment. He makes sure to observe them so he’ll be able to identify them again if, when, they return. Fuck, he needs to come up with an escape plan. 

He lets out a sigh of relief as they walk away. What the fuck is he going to do? Where is he even going to go? He’s sure he doesn’t have much time, a day at most. Of everything that has returned to him, he still cannot remember any of the safe houses or stashes of money/fake IDs he’s sure he has… somewhere. 

Remembering has been… more bitter than sweet. His rough childhood and divorced parents both deceased, his own divorce from Carol, the stint in the military, black ops, the DIA, before going private. Then it all gets hazy. Were the dreams about Mac real? But how could they be if Mac was dead? Was Mac actually still alive? Remembering all of the heavy stuff was like grieving it all over again, all at once. It was fucking depressing.

As he shuffles to the bathroom to splash water on his face to help him think more clearly, he hears someone walk into his room. By the sound of the light stride, it’s the pretty aide that still talks to him even if he almost strangled her in his sleep. What if she’s making the move to kill him now, after all this time, because she saw the feds coming to take him away? As she rounds the corner, he moves out of instinct, pinning her against the wall with a forearm to her neck, scalpel out and ready. 

She lets out a squeak as he expects, before he cuts off her airway. What he doesn’t expect is her to roll her eyes at him as he presses a scalpel to her jugular.

You aren’t sure when Dave got a hold of a freaking scalpel, but it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Of course he found something sharp to play with.

“Why the fuck aren’t you scared?” he demands. “You got a death wish or something??” 

He eases his forearm off of your throat, but still holds you pinned against the wall. You inwardly sigh. In another time and place, this would just be foreplay, but right now the scalpel is still just a little too close to comfort. Probably shouldn’t push it with him, not too much anyway.

“That’s what you want to ask me, Yorkie?” you croak. You decide on no sudden movements though, in case it spooks his hand to twitch in the wrong direction.

He frowns at the pet name. Right, he never told you he remembered his last name. Oopsies. 

“You’d never hurt me,” you whisper. “At least, the Dave I remember wouldn’t. Not — not unless I liked it.”

Your eyes search his brown one, for anything, any recognition, but still none comes. Why are you tearing up? It’s not like he’s crushing your windpipe anymore. 

“How do I know you’re not the one trying to kill me?” he growls. Well, at least he sounds like the Dave you love. Love? Wait, what??

“Don’t you think if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it the first night?” You roll your eyes again. You’re getting impatient now, if anything just to have the pointy blade removed from the vicinity of your neck. Maybe you could have done without the eye roll though.

His brows are still furrowed and you are so tempted to raise your hand and smooth the double crease away with your thumbs. You miss the way he’d melt under your touch, even if he’d never admit to liking it. He stares you down for a handful of breaths before you see the moment he makes a decision that reflects across his face. 

The moment he shifts the blade an inch away, you pounce, leveraging the blade away from him and reversing your positions. Shoving him up against the wall, you flinch when you hear his head smack the wall a little harder than you prefer, even if you know you’re not strong enough to hold him there very long. You press the dull side of the blade against his inner thigh, right at his femoral artery.

“This bring back any memories, Yorkie?”

He blinks hard a few times, as if he is surprised to find himself pinned against the wall by you. He glances down at where you have the scalpel pressed against his inner thigh before looking back up again and you brace yourself because you think he’s about to fight you off. Then you realize he’s looking at the plant you left on his window sill and then back at you, really looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

His eye widens as he softly inhaless, “Sunshine?”

The citrus bodywash, the plants, all the fucking plants, the too colorful scrubs. His Sunshine. Unlike all his other memories that came back gradually in waves, with you it was like a switch was flipped and he went from not knowing you to now remembering everything. He feels a surge of emotion — relief, excitement, desire — but the most prominent is trust. He has someone he can truly trust, who knows him, again. 

All it took was a scalpel to his femoral artery. Figures. How he met you is a core memory after all. 

He feels you lessen your hold on him, tucking the scalpel away, eyes wide as you pull away from him in disbelief. But he doesn’t want you to be further away from him, he wants to keep you close. And so he tugs you flush against him.

“Say my name again,” you ask, eyes still wide.

He brushes a thumb across your soft cheek and takes in your bright, discerning eyes. “My Sunshine.”

“You really remember,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest for a deep inhale, before looking back up at him. “I missed you so much, Yorkie.”

He just looks at you, takes you in, tracing the outline of your lips before pressing his mouth to yours.

You and Dave don’t get much of a reunion, a single kiss, before you hear footsteps approaching. By the sound of the gait heavily favoring the right side, it’s your supervisor Nurse Brian. You immediately move, pretending to prop Dave up over one of your shoulders like you’re helping him to walk before Brian turns the corner.

“Everything okay here, Sunny?” Brian calls out as he approaches.

“Yep, all good. Just helping Killer here back from the bathroom. Looks like he… tweaked his knee pretty bad in PT,” you respond, trying to hide how breathless you are from one kiss. Dave gives you the most dubious expression before you elbow him in the side and give him a look that says just go with it okay?

Dave has never been a fan of improvisation like you, preferring his contingency plans having contingency plans, all neatly laid out in his cute little spreadsheets. Which… you can appreciate. You love a good spreadsheet, but sometimes flying by the seat of your pants is just so much more… fun and exciting. Maybe this is why the two of you make such a good team, a bit of intense control and structure and, well, a lot of whatever it is you feel like doing in the moment.

You can tell the moment Dave decides to play along when he drops a chunk of his weight on you and you nearly stumble trying to keep the both of you upright. You keep up a rambling monologue at Brian as you settle Dave back into his bed while Brian shuffles awkwardly around the room, obviously trying to herd you out of the room. Your spidey senses tingle — something is about to happen. Before you leave the room, you surreptitiously slip the scalpel back to Dave and give him the most reassuring look you can manage. 

Just outside Dave’s room Brian finally spills the news that the feds got approval to transfer him later tonight. Perfect, you think. Just enough time for a bit more improvisation to break Dave out of this place. And get you out of here too. If you have to give another sponge bath or assist with another bowel evacuation you might start killing people.

“Turns out Killer is actually a killer,” Brian whispers, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned. Just make sure you don’t go into his room by yourself anymore.”

Boy, do you have news for your supervisor. 

During your next break, you comb the facility looking for something to create a distraction. A big one. As you pass by the PT room, the small row of treadmills call to you and a burst of inspiration hits you. Yorkie will be so pleased. He hates running.

The fire is a lot bigger than you expected. Apparently all the foam roller things in the PT room are also highly, highly flammable. Piled together by the treadmills you rigged to spark, you didn’t expect it to make quite the towering inferno it did. But you know what? Mission accomplished. 

In the chaos of the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation, you sneak Dave off in a wheelchair (and the plant you brought him, gotta save the little guy too!) and into a car you had borrowed before you started your very brief career in healthcare. Parked in an alleyway cleared of cameras, you almost giggle at the getaway going so well. The only person you had to kill was the fed left to watch Dave’s floor. Yorkie, on the other hand, is still tense with apprehension apparently.

“We’re not clear yet,” he growls as you flip on the radio and peel out of the alleyway.  

“Don’t make me tranq you,” you threaten with a smile. “Raining on my brilliant plan.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pinching the bridge of his nose, but keeps quiet as he looks out the window as Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car comes on over the radio. As the miles roll by, it occurs to you that it’s the first time he’s been outside of a hospital or facility in almost a year and the uncertainty of the future, now on the run, sobers you up a bit for the rest of the drive. 

It takes a subway, a bus, and a boat, and another borrowed car, before you make it back to your place. You didn’t want to give the feds a chance at tracking either of you, so you took the extra long, long way home. You’re both quiet most of the journey, only communicating when necessary when switching modes of transportation. 

The only time he asks you anything is when it starts to rain, water streaming along the wide windows of the bus. He whole body jerks when he remembers something he wanted to ask you, “Mac. Was he the one who… Is he — is he alive? Or dead?” You can hear the absolute terror in his whispered confusion.

You slide a hand over his to calm him, “He was alive. He didn’t die all those years ago.” You can feel his entire body tense even more. “He’s gone now though, Yorkie. Can’t come after you anymore.”

He stares at you, stiff as a corpse.

“I took care of him for you, baby.” You pat his hand, willing him to take a breath and relax. 

He continues to look at you, wanting an explanation, but you’re not about to confess to murder and torture on a bus, even if it is mostly empty. 

“Later, Yorkie,” you murmur as you snuggle up next to him, hoping he will finally relax. There’s still a way to go before you both get home.

He crashes immediately after getting to your place. You can tell he’s overexerted himself and is likely in more pain than he’s letting on. Still too wired from being on high alert and making sure Dave was okay on the long trek home, you curl up in an armchair by the bed and just watch him sleep. Perhaps you’re afraid if you take your eyes off of him for a moment, he’ll vanish again. 

There’s a warm shaft of light emanating from the bathroom, casting soft shadows around the room, highlighting the outline of his form, those broad fucking shoulders and soft brown hair. He’s so still you’d rush to check for a pulse save for the slow steady rise and fall of his chest.  

Even with all the progress he’d made in physical therapy, he still has a ways to go. You push aside the concern and anxieties of tomorrow to appreciate that he’s warm and safe in your bed right now. Your eyes trace his face, those plush lips you’ve only gotten to kiss once since he remembered you. Following the arch of that nose you love to the two deep furrows between his brows. How does someone look so grumpy even in their sleep? It delights you.

When you can’t take the distance, however short, from Dave, you slide into bed as slowly as you can. He’s usually such a light sleeper, but he doesn’t move an inch. You gently smooth a thumb between his brows until you feel him melt. You close your eyes and allow his steady breathing to lull you to sleep.

“You’re going to cook? Breakfast?” you almost fall out of bed as you try and untangle yourself from the sheets, still half asleep. Who is this man and what has he done with Dave York?

He grumbles something before raising his voice, “I miss real eggs. That place only ever made the powdered shit.”

You shrug and gesture at him to knock himself out, while you busy yourself with making coffee. Coffee always first. Then food. This is the correct order of things. As you hear the fridge door swing open, you feel Dave freeze, standing stock still while letting all the cold air out. Ugh, Dave.

“Sunshine…” he seems to be at a loss for words. “Why the fuck do you have an eyeball in your fridge?”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim. “It’s your welcome home present, Yorkie.” 

His head pokes out from behind the door and he frowns, “You know it can’t replace the eye I lost right?” 

“Oh, I know. It’s what’s left of Mac,” you explain as you slide by him to grab the oatmilk for your coffee. The eyeball stares down at you, suspended in formalin, from its clear jar on the top fridge shelf. ���Eye for an eye right?” 

He just looks at you and then at the jarred eyeball in the fridge, and then back at you, speechless.

“Well, except he’s dead and you’re not.” You smile and shrug as you finish stirring the milk into your coffee and take the first blessed sip, extra pleased with yourself. “You’re welcome, Yorkie.”

“Fuck baby, sometimes you scare me you know that?” 

You just smile at him, looking so at home in your colorful kitchen with his tousled hair and grumpy expression before you go to sit on one of the kitchen island stools. “I think that’s exactly why you love me.”

He rounds the island counter and cages you in with his arms. You take in his handsome face, so handsome it’s sometimes hard to breathe, as he just takes you in. He finally rumbles, “Yeah, I guess that’s why I do.” 

“Yeah?” you look at the floor at the admission, swiveling back and forth on the stool, not quite ready to look at him again.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, “You really take care of Mac for me? All by yourself?”

You consider reminding him that you offered to help in the first place, but somehow an I told you so felt like it would ruin the moment. You just bite your lower lip instead.

“Mmh hmm.”

“Why, baby? I — I almost died,” he presses. “He coulda killed you! You didn’t know then if I was even going to make it or not.”

You frown at this. Did he not understand?

“And I’m still so — so broken. Never going to fully recover and be who I was. Not worth anything to anyone anymore.”

He definitely does not understand. And you haven’t had enough coffee for this conversation. You quell the urge to roll your eyes as you grasp the front of his shirt and pull his face down level with yours.

“Yorkie, that’s exactly why I killed him.” Your words are firm even if you feel yourself shaking at what you’re about to admit. “He doesn’t get to try to kill the person I love and get away with it.”

His eyebrows shoot up at your disclosure, that pesky L-word. Should it really be a surprise at this point though? After everything? Even if it terrifies you to admit out loud. You did all of this because you love him. Your Dave.

“After I — I saw you in the hospital, everything Mac did, there wasn’t another option,” you murmur. “You mean everything to me, Yorkie.”

Dave forgets about the stupid eggs as he drags you back to bed and reminds you exactly why you love his nose so much. Fuck, you missed this. 

You suppose from one assassin to another, there’s no declaration of love like getting all murder-y and revenge-y for them. It might as well have been a proposal of marriage. Even with so much uncertainty about your futures and how much rehab Dave still has to go, you figure as long as he doesn’t start trying to back seat assassinate, you’ll both be fine. You’ll take care of your Yorkie until he can be Murdah Daddy again.

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

2018/2024

[firsttarotreader]

Dave York - The Moon

The seventh character of our series “Pedro’s Characters as Tarot Cards” is Dave York. Dave’s card is “The Moon”.

The Moon is about uncertainty, confusion, deceit, hidden truths and things not being what they look like. It represents illusions and secrets. You know when Alice from Alice in Wonderland sees “the moon” and she thinks that is really the moon, but in reality it’s the Cheshire Cat’s smile? She is fooled by the illusion he created for her. This card’s energy is of mystery, misunderstandings and clouded judgement. It’s important to listen to your intuition to find the truth, to understand what is truly going on, to go beyond the surface.

Dave York is our Moon character because he is the Cheshire Cat’s smile fooling McCall. He poses as the former friend and work partner, the family man, the noble man of the law. He pretends to be investigating the murder he committed himself, when he had already fooled Susan and hidden his real intentions from her until the very last second. Under the surface, he was a ruthless murderer, who had a group of friends working with him as hitmen for hire. In front of McCall and his own family, he worked for the government, he was a good father, husband and friend, charming and loyal. His motivations, his true feelings and thoughts were hidden, he kept them as secrets, and McCall had to figure it all out during the movie, using his own investigation methods and, of course, his intuition that something wasn’t right. Dave was not what he looked like at first sight.

Next up, Javi Gutierrez!

[laurfilijames]

"I'm getting too old for this shit. Seriously, I could use a beer and a lie-down."

[sdpubliclibrary]

Home Alone

[nerdieforpedro]

There ain’t no getting off this train we’re on @daddy-dins-girl 🖤🖤🖤 Murder Daddy buddies for life. A hill we die on 😤 @iamasaddie You with us?

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Twelve

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 3784 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. Secret spy shit is not so secret anymore - another surprise is revealed. Angst. Being held captive. References to injury. Murder. Vengeful Dave.

Series Masterlist

The room was dusty and frigid. Pinpricks of light filtered through cracks in the roof and walls, dimming the atmosphere so that your eyes struggled to adjust as they blinked open. A single hanging bulb cast a sickly yellow glow as it hung from the ceiling, swaying with the draft blowing through the decrepit building.

You felt sick and disoriented.

You didn’t know how long you’d been here. Time felt slippery, distorted by the throbbing in your head and the slow, methodical pacing of the man before you.

Robert McCall.

The man Dave told you about.

The man who’d been following you.

He was terrifying, yet he hadn’t hurt you. Hadn’t threatened you. He hadn’t touched you aside from slipping restraints over your wrists and a dark cloth bag over your head.

But he stabbed your dog, which was way worse. And he hurt the man Dave left behind to keep you safe. Neither of them deserved it, having only tried to protect you from being abducted. You were so shocked at the time, you couldn’t even fight. You didn’t even struggle as he restrained you. No, instead, you froze.

Now, the way he watched you, the way he let silence stretch unbearably between his words – it was almost worse than any physical harm he could have inflicted. You were at his mercy. You had no idea what he planned to do with you, and that filled you with horror.

“You know,” he said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence, his voice smooth, almost casual. “I don’t usually get involved in affairs like these.” He stepped closer, just enough that you could see the faint amusement in his dark eyes. “But Dave… he’s an interesting case.”

Your stomach clenched at how he said Dave’s name – so familiar and knowing.

McCall smirked, reading your reaction with ease. “He’s been lying to you.”

You swallowed hard. You needed to channel your strength. This man would try to break you and make you question Dave and everything you knew about him. You couldn’t let him do that. Shoving the fear down, you channeled all the strength you wished you had back at the cabin. “You’re full of shit.”

His smile widened, his bright white teeth stark against his smooth, dark skin. “Am I?” He tsked, shaking his head. “I would have thought you were smarter than that.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay silent. You could hear Dave’s voice in your head, telling you not to take the bait.

McCall folded himself into a crouch at your feet, leveling his dark gaze with yours. “He lied to your mother. He lied to you. And still, you think you mean something to him?”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t know that you knew everything now.

McCall tilted his head. “I wonder… if he had to choose between you and the mission, which do you think he’d pick?”

He looked at you like the words would sink like a dagger into your chest, but you knew better. After yesterday, you knew the lengths Dave would go to keep you and his daughters safe. You knew he’d choose to finish the mission and end the threat to ensure that safety.

The room felt colder than before. The way McCall carried himself – measured, composed, like a man who had already won – made your blood freeze in your veins.

You hated it.

Hated him.

But most of all, you hated that you were tied to a chair, unable to fight your way out of this. Well, not physically.

You let him think he had said just enough to make you question things. Not enough to fully convince you, but just enough to make your mind wander to the small cracks in the story Dave had told you, the moments that didn’t quite add up. You let it all play out on your face.

McCall leaned back against the table across from you, watching you closely, gauging every breath, every twitch of your fingers. “See,” he drawled, “if you really mattered to him… If he really cared about you, don’t you think you’d know the truth by now?”

You pretended to force yourself to keep your expression neutral, to show nothing. Made it seem like you failed. Perhaps you should look into an acting job after this.

McCall chuckled. “Ah, there it is. That little hesitation.” He tapped a finger against the table. “You don’t trust me. Smart girl. But deep down, a part of you wonders if I’m right. If you peel back the layers, what do you really know about Dave York?”

You clenched your jaw. “I know he’s coming for me.”

He smirked. “I don’t doubt it. But let me ask you this – why? Why is he coming for you?”

Your stomach twisted. You weren’t used to situations like this, resisting the mind games and pretending to be something you’re not. Chinks in the armor started to show. The words left your mouth before you could stop them. “Because he loves me.”

Humming in amusement, as if the very idea of David York being capable of love was laughable, McCall slapped the table. “Loves you?” He shook his head, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, honey. He lied to your mother. Lied to you. Lied to everyone in his life. And you still think you’re the exception?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“Ah,” McCall whispered, his snide grin widening. “There it is.”

That grin sickened you and you had enough of the mind game bullshit.

“What is it that he lied to me about?” Your voice carried more bravery than you had moments ago. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, the more you questioned this man, the braver you felt. Or maybe it was all false bravado. What did you know? “Well? You keep insisting he lied to me, so tell me!”

The look he flashed you was pitying. “His marriage to your mother.”

“What about it?” you asked, luring him to think you didn’t already know.

“It was fake. All for show, for the mission.”

“How do you—"

A knock at the door startled you, cutting off the rest of your question.

McCall didn’t even flinch. He casually glanced toward the entrance to the dark room and called out, “Come in.”

Expecting it to be a nameless, faceless goon, your pulse spiked when what walked through the door was far more disturbing. Your breath caught in your throat as they stepped into the room, sharp heels clicking against the concrete floor like a funeral march.

Your mother.

What the actual fuck?

She sauntered into the room and stopped next to McCall. Calm. Unapologetic. One hand skimmed up his arm in the fashion of someone very familiar with him.

No. No, this wasn’t… this couldn’t—

You felt your heartbeat in your throat. “M-mom?”

Her lips pressed into a cold, tight smile. “Oh, sweetheart.” She sighed, shaking her head as if you were some poor, naïve child. “You dumb little bitch. I told you not to get attached.”

Your mind was reeling, the synapses fighting to make it all make sense. Images flashed behind your eyes, little moments captured in your early observations of your mom and Dave – her disappearing for periods, observing more than participating in the little family act. Fuck, how were you so blind to your mom’s true nature?

“What… what the hell is this?” You stared at her, the woman who gave birth to you yet harbored clear hatred for her own flesh and blood. The feeling was entirely mutual at this point, now that you were starting to see how fucking awful a person she was.

Lisa tilted her head, staring at you with something that almost looked like pity in her eyes. “This?” She gestured around the room, then at McCall. “This is reality. This is the price you pay for getting in my way.”

Even though you sensed it coming, your stomach still dropped.

McCall watched you closely, his gaze flicking between you and your mother with satisfaction. “She’s been with me from the beginning,” he said smoothly. “Every step of the way. She helped me orchestrate this entire thing.”

No.

No, no, no.

Your breath came too fast, your chest tightening as realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Your mom wasn’t just involved. She had been working with McCall the whole time.

And suddenly, every moment, every sideways look, every dismissive comment made sense. The way she pushed you aside. The way she tried so hard with Dave when you were in the room. That little speech the night before Dave whisked the girls away to their grandparents to keep them safe.

She had known.

She had known about you and Dave the entire time.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “You sold us out.”

“Sweetheart, please,” she sighed dramatically. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Your hands curled into fists of their own accord. “Dramatic?” Your voice cracked, shaking with something between rage and devastation. “You – you’ve been working with him this whole time?”

Lisa arched a brow. “So?”

“So?” Your voice went up three octaves with incredulity. “Mom, he abducted me! He hurt Ranger!”

Her lips twitched, almost as if she wanted to laugh. “Oh, please. As if Dave wouldn’t have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

How the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What were you hoping to accomplish with all this, Mom?”

She shrugged in response. “I was bored and looking for a way to get back at Dave for turning me down. Did he tell you I asked him out before this whole case came together?”

Too stunned to do more, you just shook your head. You were too busy trying to come to terms with the fact that your mom was not just a bitch, but psychotic and vindictive as well.

“You see?” McCall said, stepping closer. “You’re finally starting to get it. The world isn’t black and white. There is no ‘good’ side. Just people willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. What the fuck was he talking about?

 “Dave is nothing like you.”

McCall’s smirk widened. “Isn’t he?”

You had no answer.

Because despite every fiber of your being screaming to deny it, that sliver of doubt remained.

And isn’t that part of what drew you to him to begin with? That element of danger hiding beneath the façade of the hard-working, well put-together father?

Dave was unraveling.

Resnik sat in the passenger seat, barking into a burner phone while Kovac ran surveillance from the backseat of the SUV. They had called in every contact, every favor, every back-channel asset working to track you down.

And so far?

Nothing.

Dave’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, almost strong enough to crack it, his knuckles white from the strain.

“Come on,” he muttered frustratedly, his pulse pounding as he took a hard turn onto the highway.

“They switched vehicles,” Kovac announced from the back. “The black SUV was dumped two miles from the city limits.”

Gritting his teeth, Dave snapped. “Then find the replacement. NOW.”

Resnik shot him a concerned glance. “York, you need to breathe. You’re no good to her if you lose your head.”

“I don’t need to fucking breathe,” Dave spat, his voice sharper than the knife strapped to his ankle. “I just need to find her.”

The other man didn’t argue. The desperation was thick in the air, clinging to Dave like a second skin. Every second that passed was another second you were in McCall’s hands. Another second closer to Dave losing you forever.

And that was unacceptable.

Dave’s phone buzzed. He snatched it up immediately, his heart hammering.

Unknown Number: You’re running out of time

Dave’s jaw locked.

Mac was taunting him. And that meant one thing.

Mac wanted him angry. Wanted him unhinged.

Which meant McCall knew exactly what he was doing right now.

Dave’s vision darkened with rage.

“Find her,” he growled, his voice quiet but lethal as he pulled the vehicle to a stop in front of his house. With you in McCall’s possession, there was no need for the safe house anymore. “Before I start burning this entire fucking city to the ground.”

Emptiness blanketed the house like a plague without you, the girls, or Ranger there to greet him. The living room barely held together under the weight of tension. Resnik paced, Kovac worked at a laptop, and Dave stood apart from them, staring at the phone still clutched in his hand.

You’re running out of time.

Every second wasted felt like another nail in his coffin. Or your coffin. Or someone’s coffin.

“Got something,” Kovac muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. Dave was at his side in a flash. “Talk.”

“The SUV was dumped near a gas station. Standard wipe job – nothing useful inside, according to my contact. But…” Kovac clicked a key, pulling up surveillance footage. “The station’s cameras caught something.”

He hit play.

The black-and-white footage was grainy yet clear enough to make out some details. The SUV pulled into the lot and sat idle for several minutes before a second vehicle—a dark blue sedan—pulled up alongside it. The driver’s side door of the SUV opened, and a man got out.

McCall.

Dave’s breath locked in his throat as he watched the rest of the footage play out.

McCall moved with ease, unbothered, like a man without a care in the world. But he wasn’t alone. Another figure stepped out of the sedan, and Dave’s heart slammed against his ribs, sending a visceral shock of pain through his body.

Lisa.

For a second, the entire room went still, silent except for the low hum of the laptop as the video continued to play.

Resnik cursed under his breath.

Lisa.

Your mom.

Dave’s pretend wife.

Working with McCall.

Dave stared at the screen, his entire body locked up with fury as Lisa spoke to McCall, her expression calm. Familiar. Friendly.

Not coerced. Not forced.

She had chosen this.

Fuck.

Dave’s heart skittered into his throat, carrying with it a wave of nausea. She knew everything from the very beginning.

Rage boiled inside him as he watched the video. Lisa reached into the sedan, grabbing something from the back seat. A flash of movement, and her arm extended, handing McCall a phone. Kovac hit pause. The frame froze on Lisa, mid-motion, exchanging what appeared to be a burner phone.

“You don’t think…” Kovac started, but Dave cut him off.

“She’s the one behind the texts? Doesn’t matter. We know now she’s been feeding him intel from the get. She put her daughter – my daughters – in danger, and for what?” Dave’s body was tense with a fury like he’d never felt before. “That fucking bitch is going to pay. They are both going to pay.”

“They will, boss,” Resnik promised. “But first, we need to find where he’s taken your girl. Once she’s safe, we can take them out.”

Dave exhaled, forcing his mind back to what mattered. You.

“Check this out,” Kovac said, switching the video feed and zooming in. “They moved her to the trunk of the sedan and headed west, toward the old dockyards.”

That triggered something in Dave, and he pulled his phone from his pocket, hitting the call button on the third contact. His and McCall’s mutual friend, fellow DIA agent Susan Plummer. “Susan, it’s Dave. He’s taken her.”

The conversation was rushed, but he got the information he needed. Mac owned a beat-up sailboat, which Susan said he kept at the old dockyards.

“Be careful, Dave. I’ll send a team for backup,” Susan said before ending the call.

They moved fast, grabbing their gear. Within minutes, the three men were in the SUV, speeding toward the docks. Dave’s mind was a storm, thoughts and worries swirling like a hurricane.

The betrayal, the lies, the fact that Lisa had sold you out to Mac. All for what? Was she that desperate to keep Dave to herself?

Beneath the fury and bone-deep need to put a bullet between McCall’s eyes, something sharper burned in his chest.

He promised he would come back for you. And Dave York did not break his promises.

The air in the dimly lit room was thick with more than tension. Hatred wafted off you in waves, the emotion distracting you from the bitter cold biting at your flesh. You sat stiffly in the chair, shaking from the bitterly cold wind whipping through the dilapidated building. Your mind still reeled from the revelation that Lisa – your fucking mother – had been working with McCall and against her fake husband.

And now she stood before you, her arms crossed tightly, her jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, like her teeth might crack from the sheer pressure.

McCall had been the picture of calm control until now, but your mother’s energy permeated the room, pushing even McCall close to the edge. She appeared frantic, unhinged even, as she paced the small space.

“You did this,” Lisa spat suddenly, her eyes locking onto you with a sharpness that made your stomach churn.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What the hell did I do?”

She stepped forward then, her body trembling with pent-up rage. “You ruined everything. You and your little act – playing innocent, making Dave look at you the way he was supposed to look at me.”

Your mouth went dry. “Mom—”

McCall sighed at the same time, rubbing his temples. “Lisa—”

But she wasn’t listening.

Lisa’s hands balled into fists, and she let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, you’ve been doing this your whole life. Taking everything from me.” Her pacing picked up, her voice rising with every accusation slung at you.

“You stole my freedom from the moment you were born. Do you know what I gave up for you? The life I could’ve had?”

You shook your head, trying to process the venom spewing from her lips. “I didn’t ask to be born, Mom!”

The words were wasted. There was no talking sense into the woman now that she was on a roll, unleashing a lifetime of resentment over something you had zero control or choice over.

“You took my youth. My body. My chances at a career. And now… now, you think you can take Dave from me?” Lisa let out a sharp, broken laugh as she descended further into the deranged behavior. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to get him… to keep him?”

You didn’t even know this woman anymore. You began to wonder if you ever really did. “Keep him?” you squeaked, stomach twisting at the sheer craziness of this conversation – if you could even call it that.

Your mom’s eyes turned wild, her movements erratic. “I bade my time, waiting for the right moment to make him mine. I made this marriage work! I played the perfect wife.” She jabbed a shaking finger at you, her lips curled in disgust. “Then you showed up, slinking around and looking at him with those eyes, acting so sweet, so helpless, making him—” Lisa’s voice cracked.

You stared at your mother in horror. Where did all this anger, all this hatred come from? Was this really all about Dave? You’d never seen your mom lose it like this over a man before.

Lisa’s breath turned ragged, her trembles morphing into violent shaking. “You think he wants you?” she spat. “You’re nothing to him. You’re just a piece of ass to lure him into our trap. You’re noth—”

McCall moved so fast you barely saw it. One second, Lisa was ranting, spiraling further into a pit of insanity. The next, there was a sharp, sickening crack.

Lisa let out a strangled gasp, eyes widening in shock as they remained locked on yours. McCall withdrew his hand from where he snapped her neck with a single, calculated motion. You watched, terrified, as your mother’s body crumpled to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You don’t think your heart even dared to beat.

There was just silence.

“That,” McCall muttered, adjusting his cuffs with a slow exhale like he didn’t just end someone’s life, “was getting annoying.”

You stared at the motionless body lying in a heap on the floor, your entire world tilting on end.

Your mother was dead.

This… fucking madman killed her like she was nothing more than a loose end.

And now…

Now you were alone with him, held captive in this dingy, unknown location with your mother’s body at your feet.

McCall crouched beside Lisa’s lifeless form, checking his watch. “Well, that’s one problem solved.” He looked up at you, his dark eyes sharp and calculating. “Shame she couldn’t keep it together. What is it about York that drives you women to irrationality?”

You didn’t answer. Frozen in shock, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

McCall stood, brushing nonexistent dust from his slacks. “Now, where were we?”

The blood drained from your face now that his undivided attention was back on you.

Your mother had been a pawn, a disposable piece in McCall’s living chess game.

And you had a terrible, gut-wrenching feeling… that you were next.

“The trap has been set – you do make for such enticing bait,” McCall said as he moved closer, brandishing a knife in his right hand. “But I can’t make it too easy for him. Time to find a cozier place for you to hide.”

A whimper escaped your lips when McCall moved the knife toward you, but he merely reached behind you and cut the ropes that bound you to the chair. Before you could even think to move, to fight, he slapped a pair of zip tie cuffs on your aching wrists. Rope burns had already set in, and the hard plastic dug into the tender skin with a sharp bite. At least your hands were in front of you now instead of being stretched behind your back.

Any hope for a quick rescue vanished when he led you outside, back to the sedan your mother had driven. You looked at the sky, terrified it was the last time you’d ever see it, and noted a storm blowing in off the shore. A Nor’easter, you thought.

You laughed bitterly as McCall forced you into the trunk of the car. If he didn’t kill you, the storm probably would. At least there was a blanket in the trunk with you. Would it be enough to keep you from hypothermia with the plummeting temperature?

tbc

Chapter Thirteen

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk @lovely-vamp-princess

[jeewrites]

It’s a trap! Don’t do it Dave! 😆

[kauuni]

NAVIGATE MY WORK WITH TAGS, 𐒘𐭅. — sorry to disappoint! my masterlist is no longer what it use to be w all its pretty formats and links. this blog is filled with over 20 fandoms and that’s a lot to put on a masterlist soooo tags are much easier for you n me!

this is how every tag looks: . ( *character name inserted* ) i do character tags, not fandom.

i will only be linking popular content in the magnifying glass tab on the top right of my profile so if you see any fandoms below you want to read, type the tag in the search bar and it should look like this: . ( kevin thatchadourian ).

p.s: you can copy n paste the listed names with the parentheses and just add a period instead of typing. 

ᨳᥩ◞ ◟)𑁬 list of fandoms in their own little categories of relevancy

still daydreaming about : diary of a wimpy kid ( rodrick heffley/loser! rodrick ), dexter ( dexter morgan ) + ( brian moser ), rick n morty ( rick sanchez ), outer banks ( rafe cameron )

i still adore these but aren’t thinkin’ about them as much : fight club ( tyler burden ), euphoria ( nate jacobs ) + ( elliot ), alice in borderland ( chishiya ) + ( niragi ), american psycho ( patrick bateman ), we need to talk bout kevin ( kevin khatchadourian ), the bear ( carmen berzatto ), scream franchise ( ethan landry ) + ( charlie walker ), the last of us ( joel miller ), house of wax ( bo sinclair ), bloodhounds ( kim geon-woo ) + ( hong woo-jin ), snowfall ( franklin saint ), the punisher ( frank castle ), fear ( david mccall ), gran turismo ( jann! archie ), kick-ass ( dave lizewski ), spidey verse ( miguel ), saltburn ( farleigh start ), lords of chaos ( rory! euronymous ), monkey man ( kid ), trap ( cooper adams ), you ( joe goldberg ), stranger things ( steve harrington ), the night agent ( peter sutherland )

— XO FAVORITES !

[drewharrisonwriter]

One Day at a Time - Ch. 12: One Day at a Time

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room cast a cold, unforgiving glow over the sterile white walls. Dave sat hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging low as he stared blankly at the floor. His hands were balled into tight fists, his knuckles white with tension. The storm outside continued to rage, the sound of rain hammering against the windows echoing through the nearly empty corridor.

Resnik sat beside him, his eyes quietly observing the storm brewing within Dave. He could see the turmoil written all over his friend's face—the guilt, the fear, the uncertainty. After a long silence, Resnik finally spoke.

“You’re thinking of leaving,” Resnik said, his voice calm but firm.

Dave didn’t respond at first. He just kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his thoughts spinning in a thousand different directions. After a moment, he swallowed hard and whispered, “Maybe it would be better if I did… if I just left and never looked back.”

Resnik’s brow furrowed, and he turned slightly in his chair to face Dave. “You can’t be serious.”

Dave let out a bitter laugh, his voice thick with self-reproach. “Why not? Look at what happened. I dragged her into my mess, and now she’s lying in there fighting for her life—and our daughter’s life—because of me. Because of my past… because of who I am.”

Resnik’s eyes softened, but his tone remained steady. “Dave, you didn’t do this. McCall did. And yeah, maybe you made some mistakes in your other life, left some things unresolved, but you had no memory of it all… And if you did, you know you can’t just walk away now. That’s not who you are.”

Dave shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I should have known… When I got my memory back, I should have known. Should have anticipated this might happen… And now, I think maybe they’d be better off if I wasn’t in the picture.”

Resnik leaned forward, his voice firm but not unkind. “You know that’s not true. You technically were not in it when this happened.” He reminded him.”You can’t walk away from this, Dave. Not when she chose you when you were no one—when you had no name, no past, nothing. She saw something in you that was worth staying for. And you’re just going to walk away from her when she needs you the most?”

Dave’s jaw clenched, the weight of Resnik’s words pressing down on him. “I don’t know if I can do this… I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay, to face what I’ve done. To see the look on her face once she finds out what we truly are…”

Resnik placed a hand on Dave’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Give her some credit, Dave. Don’t let fear of something you don’t know make this decision for you. You��ve faced worse odds than this and come out the other side. This is your new family. Your new start… You don’t just walk away from that.”

Dave closed his eyes, his chest heaving with the weight of everything he was feeling. Resnik was right—he knew that. But the thought of facing you, of seeing the pain he’d caused, was almost too much to bear. “I don’t know if she can forgive me,” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” Resnik replied softly. “But that’s not your call to make. You owe her the chance to decide for herself. You owe it to her, and to your daughter, to stay and fight. Don’t make the mistake of running again.”

Before Dave could respond, the door to the waiting room opened, and a doctor stepped out, her expression serious but calm. She approached them, and Dave stood up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Mr. York?" she asked, and Dave nodded.

Dave nodded, his voice caught in his throat. “How is she? How’s the baby?”

The doctor offered a small, reassuring smile. “They’re both stable for now. Your partner is 3 centimeters dilated, and she’s only 36 weeks along. We were able to stop the contractions and control the bleeding, but we’ll need to keep her in the hospital for a few more days to monitor her and the baby closely.”

Dave exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a wave of relief washing over him, but it was tempered by the doctor’s next words.

“We’re keeping a close eye on her,” the doctor continued. “We want to avoid her water breaking suddenly. If that happens, it could lead to complications, especially given how early it would be for her to give birth. Our goal is to keep the baby in as long as possible, ideally until she reaches at least 38 weeks. At that point, we can consider inducing a natural delivery.”

Dave swallowed hard, his mind racing. “And if… if her water breaks before that?”

The doctor’s expression was grave. “If that happens, we’ll need to act quickly. The priority will be to deliver the baby safely, but it will mean a premature birth, and there could be risks involved for both her and especially the baby even with only a few weeks to go before it reaches full term.”

Dave nodded, trying to process the information. “Can I see her?”

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “She’s resting now, but she’s been asking for you.”

Dave took a deep breath, his resolve strengthening. He looked back at Resnik and nodded his thanks before making his way down the corridor toward your room.

He hesitated at the door for a moment, his hand resting on the handle as he steeled himself. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

You lay there, your face pale, but your eyes opened when you heard his footsteps. You managed a small smile, and he felt a wave of emotion crash over him, seeing you safe, but still so vulnerable.

“Hey,” he whispered, moving closer to your bedside.

“Hey, stranger,” you replied softly with a weak smile, your voice just as weak but steady.

Dave reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Are you… are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern and fear.

You shook your head slowly. “Not… not physically,” you replied, your gaze meeting his. “He wanted to end you… said he’d do it if I didn’t get in the well.”

Dave’s face hardened, a mix of anger and guilt flooding him. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his grip tightening around your hand. “I should have been there… I should have known he’d come for you.”

Your eyes softened, your thumb brushing lightly against his hand. “Dave, you couldn’t have known. He was… deceiving… He was my friend.” You choked a sob. “I thought he was, but he was ruthless, and he knew exactly how to hurt us both, but he didn’t win. We’re here. We’re still here.”

Dave’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I came back because I wanted to be with you… and you weren’t home…” Dave was sobbing now, too, “I’ve never been so scared in my life.” he whispered. 

You squeezed his hand, your expression filled with understanding. “You didn’t lose me,” you whispered back. “And you won’t. But you have to promise me… you have to promise you won’t leave.”

Dave’s eyes searched yours, his guilt still gnawing at him, but he nodded. “I promise,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

You closed your eyes, relief washing over you. “Good,” you murmured, your grip on his hand tightening. “Because we still have a lot to figure out… about us, about this… about our family.”

Dave leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “One day at a time,” he whispered, his voice filled with a new determination.

“One day at a time,” you echoed, your voice soft but sure.

Dave stayed by your side, holding your hand, his heart filled with a mixture of hope and fear. But as he looked at you, at the strength in your eyes, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

–

It had been nearly a week since the night you were brought into the hospital, and the air in the room felt lighter today. You were sitting up in bed, a soft, warm light filtering through the window as you and Dave spoke. The tension from that night had eased, and the conversation flowed more easily now.

Dave sat beside you, a smile playing on his lips as you talked about his older daughters, Molly and Alice. “Molly was so excited when I told her about the farm,” he said, chuckling. “She asked if she could ride a horse every day. I think she pictures herself as some kind of cowgirl.”

You laughed softly, the sound bringing a smile to his face. “I’d love to see that. I bet she’d look adorable in a little hat and boots.”

“She would,” Dave agreed, his expression softening. “And Alice… she’s curious. She’s got a lot of questions, you know? About you, about us.”

You nodded, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I’m glad they’re open to visiting,” you said honestly. “But… I don’t want them to think I’m trying to replace their mom. I’m not… I’m just—”

“Hey,” Dave interrupted gently, his hand finding yours. “You’re not replacing anyone. They know that. You’re adding to their lives, not taking anything away. And they’re smart kids—they’ll understand.”

You smiled, though a twinge of pain in your belly made you wince. You tried to hide it, but Dave noticed, his brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just… a bit of pressure,” you admitted, trying to shrug it off. “I think I’ve been sitting too long.”

Dave watched you carefully, still worried, but he nodded. “We can walk around a bit, if you want. It might help.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He helped you off the bed, his hands steady on your arms as you found your footing. As you began to walk, he kept a slow pace beside you, his gaze never leaving your face.

“So,” he started, trying to keep things light. “What about us? I mean, after all this… I know I want to be with you, but… how do you feel?”

You chuckled softly, though the pain seemed to intensify with each step. “Well, I wouldn’t have stuck around through all of this if I didn’t want to be with you,” you replied, half-teasing, half-serious.

Dave smiled, but then his expression turned more earnest. “I mean it,” he said softly. “I want to live with you, build a life together… as your husband, if you’ll have me.”

You laughed, a little breathless. “Husband, huh? You’re still married, remember?”

Dave grinned. “Technically, I’m dead. And Carol is a widow. But we’ll figure it out.”

You shook your head, amused despite the pressure building in your lower belly. “Always so straightforward.”

“Why waste time?” he said, then his face grew more serious. “I need to ask you something… does everything McCall told you about me and Resnik still bother you?”

You hesitated, considering your words carefully. “At first, it did,” you admitted. “But I understand now—it was a job, something you had to do. It’s all in the past.”

Dave nodded, relieved but still tense. “And… do you think you can move past it?”

You paused, taking a deep breath, and then asked, “Are you leaving that job in the past, Dave? Is it really over?”

He nodded firmly. “I don’t want that life anymore. I don’t intend to go back to it. I want a quiet life with you and our children.”

You smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Good… that’s what I want too.”

The conversation shifted back to Molly and Alice. Dave told you more about his conversations with them, how he’d described the farm and the life he hoped they could all build together. You listened intently, finding comfort in his words, but as he spoke, you felt a sharp, sudden pressure below your belly. You winced, trying to hide it, but a small gasp escaped your lips.

Dave’s eyes flickered with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, moving a bit closer.

“I think I just need to walk it off,” you replied, but your voice trembled slightly.

He helped you steady yourself, and you continued walking, though each step felt heavier, the pressure intensifying. Suddenly, a wave of pain washed over you, and you nearly cried out, gripping Dave’s arm.

“Dave…” you gasped, your voice strained. “Something… something doesn’t feel right.”

Dave’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on your arm. “We need to get you back to the bed,” he said urgently, but you shook your head.

“No… I need to… I need to walk,” you insisted, though your legs felt like they were shaking beneath you.

The pressure below grew unbearable, and you felt a sudden gush of warmth between your legs. Your eyes widened in shock. “Oh… oh God, Dave, my water just broke,” you breathed, panic creeping into your voice.

Dave’s face went pale, but he quickly composed himself. “We need help,” he said, pressing the call button repeatedly. “Stay with me, just breathe.”

The nurse rushed in, quickly assessing the situation. “Her water’s broken,” Dave explained, his voice tight with worry. “What do we do?”

“I’m paging her doctor now,” She tells them. “We need to get her back in bed and wait for your doctor’s orders, but chances are, you’ll be induced.”

They carefully helped you back onto the bed, adjusting the monitors as you struggled to breathe through the pain. The doctor arrived a moment later, quickly assessing your dilation and was surprised to see that you’re almost fully dilated.

“We have an eager baby right here,” The doctor joked, telling the nurse there’s no need for Pitocin. 

“Dave…” You whimpered. 

Dave squeezed your hand, his face filled with concern. “I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice steady. “Just keep breathing, okay?”

The contractions came hard and fast. You felt a wave of pain wash over you, and you gripped Dave’s hand tightly, your knuckles turning white. “It’s okay, just keep breathing,” he murmured, his voice a constant source of comfort.

You focused on your breathing, taking shallow, panting breaths as you felt the pressure building, the pain intensifying.

The doctor checked you once again a little while later and announced that you’re about read to push and guided you, their voice calm but firm. “Take a deep breath, and when you feel the next contraction, push.”

You nodded, bracing yourself as another contraction hit. You bore down, your body trembling with the effort, your legs shaking from the strain. You could feel the baby’s head pressing downward, the intense pressure almost too much to bear.

“Oh fuck!” you exclaimed and panted, your breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts. The sensation was overwhelming—your body straining, your muscles burning with the effort.

“You’re doing great,” Dave whispered, his hand still holding yours tightly. 

“Your kid’s head is too big!”

Dave chuckled and kissed your temple. 

The pain was relentless, and you could feel yourself growing tired, your muscles screaming in protest. “I can’t…” you gasped, tears streaming down your face. “It’s too much… it’s too big…”

“Yes, you can,” Dave insisted, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “She’s almost here, darling. We’ll meet her soon….”

The doctor nodded in agreement. “You’re so close. Just one more big push.”

You took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength left in your body. You pushed with everything you had when the next contraction came, feeling the baby’s head finally begin to crown. The pain was blinding, your body shaking with the effort, but you kept going.

“Daaaavveee!” you wailed and panted, your voice trembling, your legs quivering with the strain.

The doctor’s voice was steady, encouraging. “That’s it… you’re doing it… keep going, keep pushing.”

You bore down again, gritting your teeth against the pain, feeling the intense pressure as the baby’s head began to emerge. “Oh God… oh God…It burns!” you whimpered, your body trembling, your muscles taut.

“Just a little more,” Dave urged, his hand firm around yours. “You’ve got this… just a little more.”

With a final, desperate push, you felt the baby’s head finally slip free. A wave of relief washed over you, but the work wasn’t done yet.

“One more big push for the shoulders,” the doctor instructed. “Almost there.”

You took a deep breath, your body shaking with exhaustion, and bore down one last time. The baby’s shoulders slid out, and with a rush of fluid, the rest of the body followed. You gasped, your body collapsing back against the bed as the cries of your newborn filled the room.

Dave’s face broke into a wide, tearful smile. “She’s here!” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You did it…”

The doctor quickly wrapped the baby in a blanket, holding her up so you could see. “It’s a girl,” they announced with a smile. “A beautiful, healthy baby girl.”

Tears streamed down your face as you reached out, your heart overflowing with love and relief as Dave helped you lay the baby on your chest. Dave leaned in, his arms wrapping around both you and the baby, his tears mingling with yours.

“Hi there,” you whispered softly, your voice trembling with joy.

Dave’s hand brushed against her tiny head, his eyes filled with awe. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Absolutely perfect.”

–

A few weeks had passed since you gave birth, and the farmhouse was filled with a new kind of energy—a blend of exhaustion, love, and the sounds of a newborn finding her place in the world. The transition had not been easy, but the small moments of peace and contentment made it all worthwhile. The baby’s cries, coos, and little sighs seemed to echo through every room, and somehow, the house felt more alive than it ever had.

Dave had taken to fatherhood with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. Almost forgetting that he’s done this twice before. You’d find him awake in the middle of the night, cradling the baby in his arms, murmuring soft words of comfort as he paced the room. He had this way of making her smile even when she was fussing, and the sight of them together made your heart swell with a quiet joy.

Today, as you sat together on the porch, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the fields, you found yourselves in a rare moment of calm. The baby slept peacefully in her bassinet beside you, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees.

Dave turned to you, his expression contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about what you said… about how we move forward from here.”

You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “And what have you decided, Mr. Technically-Dead?”

He chuckled at the nickname, but his face soon grew serious. “I want us to be together… properly. I know I told you this before but I don’t want you to worry about me disappearing again, or wondering if my past is going to catch up with us. I want to build a real life with you, but we’ll need to figure out how to deal with… all the legal stuff.”

You sighed, considering. “It’s complicated, Dave. You’re still legally dead, and Carol is technically a widow. I’m not even sure where we’d start with that.”

Dave nodded. “I’ve thought about it. There might be a way… we’d have to involve a lawyer who’s good with… creative solutions. I’d have to come back from the dead, legally speaking, which won’t be easy, but I think we can make it work.”

You bit your lip, thinking it over. “But what about your daughters? Molly and Alice?”

Dave’s expression softened. “They know I’m alive now, and they’re excited about meeting their new sister. I don’t want to be a ghost in their lives. I’ll always be their father, no matter what. And I think they’ll understand that I’m trying to be the best father I can be… for all of my children.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief at his words 

He reached over, taking your hand in his. “I want to marry you,” he said plainly, his gaze steady. “I know it’s complicated right now, but I don’t want to spend another day without you knowing how serious I am about this… about us.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “We’ll figure it out, Dave. One step at a time. For now, let’s just focus on the life we’re building here, together.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And this life… it feels right, doesn’t it?”

You leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “It does. I never thought I’d find this… but here we are.”

He kissed the top of your head, a small smile on his lips. “Here we are,” he echoed softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

–

Over the next few months, the farm slowly evolved into a new routine. You adjusted to life with a newborn, and Dave took on more responsibilities, managing the day-to-day work with a steady hand. Resnik stuck around, lending a hand wherever he could, and you began to feel a sense of community growing between you all.

Molly and Alice visited the farm for the first time a few weeks later. You were nervous at first, but the girls quickly warmed up to you and the baby. Molly immediately fell in love with the horses, while Alice asked a thousand questions about the farm and how everything worked.

Dave watched with a mixture of pride and relief, clearly grateful to see his daughters bonding with their new family. “They seem to like it here…” he said, his voice filled with affection.

You nodded, smiling. 

He looked at you, his expression softening. “That’s because they’re with us. This is where they belong.”

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Molly and Alice grew stronger. They are at the farm every weekend and you and Dave found ways to include them in the farm’s daily activities, teaching them how to care for the animals, and letting them help with the gardening, and the baby. The girls thrived in the open air, and soon enough, the weekends were filled with laughter, chatter, and the smell of fresh-baked bread.

Dave continued to be a constant source of support, always finding ways to make you feel loved and secure. He would wake up early to tend to the farm, then help you with the baby throughout the day, always making sure you had time to rest. At night, you’d often find him sitting by the fireplace, holding the baby in his arms, whispering stories you couldn’t quite hear.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the fields, Dave took your hand, pulling you gently toward the porch swing. “Let’s sit for a bit,” he suggested.

You settled beside him, the baby nestled against your chest. “What’s on your mind?”

Dave took a deep breath, glancing out over the fields. “Nothing much… just want to sit with you… and tell you just how grateful I am that you took me in when you know nothing about me…” 

You leaned into him, chuckling, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Kinda hard not to… Loss was a constant theme in my life… and seeing you fight for yours despite what you went through, it gave me hope. Hope that I can help you have a fresh start… have a new life.” 

“And you did,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You gave me a fresh start and more....”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of contentment you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I love you, Dave,” you murmured. Dave nodded, his gaze unwavering. “And I love you.” 

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I never thought I’d find peace.”

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “I never thought I’d find it either,” you replied. “But we did. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

He smiled, pulling you closer. “Neither would I. One day at a time… and look where it’s brought us.”

Fin.

[letsgobarbs]

Hi! Welcome to my masterlist :D

If there is anything you like in my work please comment or reblog! I started writing a few months ago and the best part is someone enjoying what you made and then fangirling over it together. It also helps make new friends <3

The header and divider are from @saradika-graphics page.

Love, Marriage & Affairs

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Summary: Convinced your husband doesn’t want you, you turned to Jack for some help. The situation unravels and all secrets come to light.

Length: 3 Chapters (Complete)

His Priestess

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Summary: Marcus Acacius finds his life spared at the behest of a Vestal Virgin who faces unimaginable consequences for challenging the Emperors. Accused of unchastity and sentenced to a live burial, Acacius follows his saviour through her last night in this world. He knew the Gods could be merciless, but to tempt him with love before ripping her away from him was an act of cruelty he had not imagined. 

Length: 4 Chapters (Completed)

His Young Wife

Summary: A spin-off series of His Priestess. An alternate life of Acacius and his anaticula, where she never became a Vestal and they married young.

Length: 7 Chapters (WIP)

Christmas With Jack And Marley

Pairing: Jack Daniels x F!OC

Summary: Agent Whiskey invites himself to Agent Gin’s family Christmas celebration as a cover for a very important mission. He only has a day, just until the Christmas Gala Dinner, to complete his mission. But will he be able to complete his mission? And evade discovery? Especially with Gin’s niece watching him too closely over Christmas Eve.

Length: 6 Chapters (Completed)

Homecoming

Pairing: Dave York x Queer Muslim!OC

Summary: Just like any other war, coming home was no easy feat. He had returned from his fight with McCall more broken, lost and alone than ever before. He'd lost his friends, his brothers. His family had moved on with their lives. With both his legal and not-so-legal jobs on hold, he finds purpose, direction and an anchor in Maryam. She is the bright spot in a world he has stopped caring about, and far too sweet and innocent for the likes of him. Dave is nothing if not a selfish man and he will find a way to bottle his personal ray of sunshine— if only he can convince her to take a chance on her friend’s ex-husband.

Length: 3 Chapters (Ongoing)

Note: This story is only available on my ao3 for now, I will move it to Tumblr once I have written more. The progress is a bit on the slow side but I will not be abandoning this work because it is something personal and brings me joy.

One-Shots:

Carpenter!Joel Miller x Reader x Lumberjack!Logan Howlett: Just smut. You forgot to place an order with the local lumberjack that your boss Joel has asked you to. Logan takes a little fee to expedite your order; Joel doesn't like that Logan got to you first.

The Plant Nanny: Fluffy and sweet. Javier Peña fails to keep up with his New Year’s Resolution and reminisces about life with his sweetheart after quitting the DEA. Javi P x GN!Reader.

Crying Cryptids and Canoodling Cupids: Javi G has a very bad day and accidentally makes his soulmate cry. Meet ugly. Javi Gutiérrez x Plus Size F!Reader.

Kermit (Pedro Pascal Close Encounter 50th) x AFAB!Reader: PWP, stinky kermit and pegging.

Reed Richards Series Of Smutty Ideas

Moodboards:

Javier Peña x South Asian Reader

Joel Miller x Black, Muslim Reader

Retired!Javier Peña x Muslim Reader

Dieter Bravo x Muslim Reader

Marcus Pike x wheelchair user Reader

[pedropascalsx]

Gif by me.

Kinktober: Day Eight: Sex Pollen/Fuck or Die.

Dave York x F! Reader.

Warnings: Dub-con due to sex pollen.

Summary: You inhale a mystery powder on a job.

Word count: 1489

Thanks again to @absurdthirst for her incredible prompt list 🩵

The building is eerily quiet, the supposed party that’s happening on the second floor is either a blow out or you’ve been given the wrong day. Still your feet climb the stairs and you make your way towards the banquet hall with your boss on your heels.

He says nothing and it makes you feel more uneasy, and the expression etched on his face doesn’t help. He’s pissed. This is clearly a setup or a waste of time, but neither of you can leave until you check to see if your target is on site.

As you approach the door, Dave steps in front of you, signalling for you to unstrap the pistol attached to your upper thigh. His fingers fan out around the doorknob and he twists it open revealing an empty room and you both sigh.

He slams the door behind you both as you step into the room and you notice the envelope with his name taped to the wall. “Dave,” you call out, before signalling to the envelope.

“Open it,” he snarls, “It’ll be McCall. Taunting me. Letting me know he’s always one step ahead.”

You nod before taking a few steps towards the wall and pull it off, opening it immediately and falling into a fit of coughs as a plume of powder breaks free from the envelope hitting you in the face.

“Fuck,” you splutter, before throwing down the envelope and attempting to cough up the powder you’ve already inhaled, not noticing him run up behind you, and pick up the envelope himself.

“At least one of us had the sense to put on gloves,” you say, as you notice him examining the white powder and trying to ignore the fire starting to burn in your veins.

“It’s potent,” you murmur, as it starts to intensify, “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“No, it’s not,” Dave says matter of factly, with a snarl and a flash of his teeth. “We need to get back and find out whatever the fuck this is.” He reaches out and grabs your arm, leading you back towards the door and hurrying you downstairs and out the building.

By the time you reach his car, your whole body is burning, your limbs are tingly and you’re soaked in between your legs. “Fuck, Dave,” you murmur, as an uncomfortable need starts to rip through you, an arousal so strong that it’s painful.

“This wasn’t McCall,” he growls, “This isn’t his style.” The engine roars to life and Dave seems unaware of your predicament, “Whatever you’ve inhaled Ari will be able to identify it and we can reverse it or sit with you as you ride it out.”

You writhe uncomfortably in your seat, squeezing your thighs together desperately to get a little bit of friction and some relief from the fire that’s burning there. “Dave,” you whimper, as he speeds towards the safe house, “It fucking hurts.”

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, still focusing on the road.

“Ev-everywhere, but uh, fuck,” you moan, cutting yourself off with a cry as he rounds the street corner and pulls up to the safe house.

“Come on,” he orders, as he swings open his car door and starts running up the stairs towards the house. You groan loudly before stepping out and following him, almost keeling over as you reach the front door and the burning in your stomach becomes too much to bear.

“How much did she inhale?” Ari asks, as you finally step into the house, arms clutching your stomach.

“Not much,” you answer for Dave, “But it was like a cloud of smoke, I moved away before I could take a big inhale.

“Go to your room,” Dave orders, as you become more and more unsteady. “We will let you know what it is.”

**

Peeling off your dress you cringe at the amount of slick that has dripped down your legs, your panties soaked with your arousal as it continues to burn in your veins. “What was that shit?” You murmur to yourself, before throwing yourself on the bed and slipping your fingers between your legs to start to work away some of your need.

The relief is almost immediate, your bundle of nerves crying out with pleasure the second you press your fingers to it. You close your eyes and let yourself fantasize about Dave, as you find yourself doing most nights, and in no time you’re biting your lip to stop yourself crying out loudly in pleasure.

For a few moments you relish in your orgasm, letting yourself come down and exhaling as the burning seemingly dies out. But after just a few seconds the fire is back, and more intense than before, ripping through you like wildfire and sending your pleasure receptors into overdrive. You slip your fingers back between your legs and rub your clit as fast as you can, desperately working your bud to quench the thirst you feel like you’re dying of.

**

“It’s a type of pollen,” Ari tells Dave, “It’s used primarily in sex clubs where they have people to monitor its users, because it can kill you. The trick is to not engage with it,” he says with a shrug, “It wears off pretty quickly as long as you don’t get your heart rate pumping, but if you do, it can last for hours.”

“Shit,” Dave cusses, “It makes people… aroused?” He asks, with a rise of his brows. “I guess I'll let her know.”

“Yeah,” Ari murmurs, “Whoever left that for you to find, figured you’d be alone and wouldn’t be able to fight off the effects by yourself.”

Dave nods, and makes his way to the door, hurrying out and towards your bedroom and pushing open the door without knocking.

**

“Fuck.” He grunts, as he catches you rocking against your hand, tears dripping down your face as you try to work yourself through it.

“It won’t stop,” you cry to your boss, “Whatever it is, it won’t stop.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, surprisingly softer than you’re expecting, before walking towards you. Your fingers are still working their magic as he does, “You’re going to rub yourself raw.” He tuts, “It’s sex pollen. I’ll explain later, but you’re not going to be able to fight in by yourself.”

You whimper as he gently touches your legs and asks, “Can I help?”

Silently you nod your head ferociously as he drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around the backs of your legs and pulling you closer to him.

The first swipe of his tongue feels like heaven, he’s meticulous with every motion he makes as he focuses on your clit. After a few dozen flicks of his tongue, he pushes his fingers inside your dripping hole, fitting two with ease and curling them up against the spongy spot.

It doesn’t take long until you’re cumming on his face, rocking your hips up and tangling your fingers in his slightly overgrown hair before your thighs squeeze around his head.

He pulls his head away, as he studies your face for more pain, and it doesn’t take long before it’s flashing up again. “Need you.” You murmur, “Please, Dave.”

“My fingers or my tongue?” He asks, as he dips his head back down, licking a wide stripe from your clit and all the way down.

“Your cock,” you whine desperately, and he chuckles from between your legs.

“You sure?” He asks, before pushing himself back up.

“Yes,” you almost scream, watching as he works his belt and pulls down his pants and underwear in one clear sweep. “Please.”

“Whatever you need, baby girl,” he smirks, before pushing himself into you with a sharp snap of his hips.

He’s thick enough that it hurts, it’s overwhelming and exactly what you’re needing, and he fucks exactly how you imagined. Hard and fast. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he pounds into you, fucking you into the mattress and drowning out the pain coursing through you and replacing it with pleasure. He wets his tongue and presses down on your clit, rubbing the softest circles as his hips continue their deliciously harsh treatment on your cunt.

With a scream of his name, you clamp down on him so tightly that his hips stutter and a cry of your name slips out of his mouth. Your cum drenching his cock as he works you through your high and with a dozen more thrusts he’s painting your walls and extinguishing a little more of the fire inside of you.

He grunts as he pulls out of you, dropping back down to his knees to see his cum dripping from you, before pushing it back in. “I’ll give you my tongue and my fingers again, and then I'll be ready to go again, baby,” he soothes as he can tell it’s starting to flare up again. “As many times as you need.”

[creedslove]

Proving Dave York's marriage wasn't going that great - Equalizer 2

First of all, I'd like to remind you all besties that I'm a Dave York apologist and I will forever defend this man no matter how many atrocities he's done (and were those really atrocities? Debatable) and I have also villainized Carol and I have zero regrets about it, so let's go:

• Exhibit A: The trip to Belgium

Susan and Dave are in a virtual meeting talking about the recent case, she knows shes gonna have to travel all the way to Belgium to investigate and invites Dave, who immediately goes like "and leaving this shitty office?"

But, what if the office isn't really his main problem? What if Dave was also looking forward to leaving the house for a little while? A trip to another country seems refreshing and also the belgium chocolate? Dave's excited... And as a husband and a father of two not once he thinks of bringing his family some chocolate? It's a sign of a stressed man who needs some time on his own

• Exhibit B: the hotel hall

Dave and Susan are going over the evidence they found in the crime scene, gathering hypothesis on what could've happened and Dave says there's no records of the victim cheating on his wife with anyone, not even flirty texts and Susan is like "come on, Dave women fuck around too"

And that's Dave's reaction:

He's like: well....

(also, sorry for the horrible quality of the pic but you besties get the point and also his tummy 🤤)

And then Susan asks him when was the last time Dave sent his wife flowers and all Dave says is: "noted, noted"

So that indicates it has been a long time since Dave has sent her flowers... So the romance is dead, and if the romance is dead so is their sexual life. Was Dave thinking about the possibility of Carol herself fucking around? And let's face it, she probably is

• Exhibit C: the kitchen scene

Commonly used to prove the point that no matter if Dave's an assassin, he's also a good father, the kitchen scene reveals more about his marriage than anything else; we see Dave's got a huge, beautiful house, and then we go to the kitchen. It's spacious, nice, and modern... And messy. One of the kids is whining about grapes and going to the dentist and the other one is doing the homework and Dave and Carol? Absolutely no sign of a loving couple, no pecking on the lips, exchanging glances, a little flirting... Nothing. They are just ignoring each other, Dave's got his cup of coffee and hand and checking his phone as if he's alone.

Then when Carol goes to answer the door, he's giving his youngest daughter attention, he is a good dad, but it isn't a heartwarming interaction between them, and above all, he seems bored, like yeah the kids are cute but he's got more important things to do

And then, when Carol takes a while to come back with McCall, Dave calls her by her name twice, of course he raised his voice because she was in another room and he wanted her to hear him, but it always seemed just so dry and harsh to me and I couldn't exactly figure why it was like that, until I finally got it:

no pet names at all

Seriously?! No darling, honey, baby, sweetheart?! Just a simple dry "CAROL" a couple of times and that's it? It smells like a marriage crisis to me...

• Exhibit D: the driveway scene

The scene where McCall runs into his old team and promises to kill them all; there's enough tension as it is, they all know McCall means business and he is low-key threatening Dave's family by pretending he's so nice and friendly and wanting to get a ride

(I just need to address how dumb and careless is to allow McCall, a man she's never seen in her life get a ride with her and get so cozy around her kids, I mean yeah, he's her husband's army buddy but he's also an old man who also happens to be a complete stranger and he suddenly wants to be around her and her kids, I mean, fuck off)

And Dave knows it's likely one of the last times he's gonna see his family... And what does he do? Does he hug them? Give Carol a peck on the lips? He does NOTHING!!!

So you know what it means? Carol wasn't worthy of her husband, they didn't love each other anymore and Dave would be way better off with me instead 😉🤪

[bonezone44]

The Hollow, prologue (18+)

Dave York x afab!Reader

tags for the upcoming story: stalking, manipulation, panic attacks, anti-american military sentiments, pacifism vs. violence debates, the "assassin life", control issues, smut.

Reader Immersivity: No skin tone or hair is mentioned. Reader is able-bodied, can sit in Dave's lap, and has a big butt. Reader is recovering from narcissistic abuse.

A/N: Due to the current political climate, I thought 'why the hell not?' and decided to get this first little bit published.

-masterlist- -story masterlist-

+++++

“One day, you’re an asset. The next, you’re a fucking afterthought.”

Dave used to love his time in the Marines. It was birthed from naivety and camaraderie. Driven by hormones and hopeful ideals about what the troops were doing to rescue the world from self-annihilation. As if the United States was the father of the globe and all the other countries were his children. And the American armed forces were his right hand–beating the ungrateful ignorants into reverent compliance.

Dave had been honored to follow in the footsteps of the star-spangled patriarchy. He had been taught that war and discipline were his duties as an American and as a man. That all those who could, absolutely should. And the country’s naysayers and protestors were a nagging thorn in his side. ‘How can they be so ungrateful?’ He had wondered. ‘How can they spit in our faces when we’re out there sacrificing our lives so that they can live in peace?’

Even then, Dave knew his years in the Marines were temporary–he knew it was only a stepping stone towards something greater for himself. He climbed the ranks quickly and it wasn’t long before he was recruited for more specialized operations. 

Dave had eventually found a home in the Defense Clandestine Service. He had found purpose. He had found a family alongside his partner, Robert, and his teammates, Kovak, Ari, and Resnik. Their missions were dauntless and dangerous–and just as crucial to achieve. Every success gave Dave an invincible, god-like high and every failure, though rare, had his mind and body plummeting into anguish and disrepair. (High risk, high results and all that.) McCall had been there for all the good days and all the bad weeks and months. He had been a guiding hand for Dave. A trusted companion. A friend.

McCall's death had cleaved a cavern inside of Dave’s chest–something hollow, tender, and exposed. And three months later, when his team was disbanded, he blamed himself and split in two. A schism dividing him into what he was before and what he would become. 

He wanted to start from scratch. He wanted to reset his existence back to day one and leave his mother’s birth canal with wiser, shrewder eyes.  But there was no ‘scratch’. There was no way to blank his slate. He had spent too much of his childhood idolizing soldiers. He had had too many experiences in the military to completely rewrite his path. And once he was able to find perspective on his choices, he realized that some of those naysayers and protestors had been right all along. The thorn in his side had been a seed and instead of plucking it out, he watered it and let it grow.

For better or worse, Dave had acquired a particular set of skills. And without nationalistic ideology coloring his point-of-view, he created a personal philosophy to ease the ambivalence he suffered. 

‘There is no sin. There is no virtue. There are only actions and consequences.’

Dave left the world of government and went private. He earned his license and began working as an investigator at a prominent law firm in New York City. His life had lost much of its intensity, but he was determined to adapt to a softer existence. He was determined to experience this so-called ‘peace’ he had spent the first third of his life fighting to preserve. And he was finding it, in bits and pieces over time. And the taste was euphoric enough to keep him wanting more. He was no longer working towards some hypothetical greater good. He was simply out for himself and whatever satisfaction he could find.

Then you decided to show up.

----

[exquisiteserotonin]

Honestly, my favorite Pedro character to write.

Our Misunderstood Murder Daddy, Dave York

He is my favorite to portrait. Dave just wants to be loved. #JusticeForDaveYork