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theywhowriteandknowthings · 8 months

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The Princess and The Duke Chapter 2 More than meets the Eye Stepdad!Dave York x Cam Worker!Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: None, still pretty tame, some sexual tension, Dave getting angry, angst from both, mutual pining, reader is such a brat.

Graphics made by me - Images used for effect, they are not intended to race-code or gender-code reader. Thank you again to @patti7dc and @lucyeyelesbarrow for beta-ing! Read on AO3

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Your mom arrived home at the same time as you, her makeup a mess and her clothes dishevelled. Panic rose in your throat as you hurried over to her cherry-red Escalade. You had called out to Dave for help, only for his terrified look to drop into something you could only call an acceptance of inevitability.

He helped you get your mom into bed with minimal effort and now you’re sat, fingers drumming angrily on the breakfast island as you chew through your cold burger and fries. You can hear your mom and Dave bickering upstairs as Dave’s double cheeseburger with extra bacon sits in its foil across from you.

You can’t explain it, the heat rising in your chest as you listen to your mom scold Dave like he was the one to traipse back into the house looking like he’d fucked half the neighbourhood. For sure, good on your mom for having a great time, but not at the expense of someone so fucking undeserving as Dave.

I’ve known this man less than forty-eight hours and already I want to protect him like a kicked puppy.

You scold yourself internally as you put Dave’s untouched burger and fries in the fridge, if he doesn’t eat it, you will devour it later. You dump your wrappers in the trash and head up to your new room. Your head is spinning, the fucked-up scenes of your mom coming home smelling of cheap cologne and another man’s sweat and Dave just accepting it playing over and over. It makes you angry in a way you can’t place.

You’re pacing as you draw a bath, your angst playlist raging through your Bluetooth speaker as you try to sift through the jet lag, anger, and for some reason, shame. You’re not even sure why you’re so angry. Is it because your mom didn’t text you? Even after you texted her? Or is it because she’s clearly cheating on Dave and that he knows.

You pull up local events on your phone, looking for something, anything going on tonight so you could make an excuse to be out of the house. You’re angry at them both. Your mom for cheating on what you could only ever describe as a fine ass man.

And then there’s Dave.

You’re furious at him for being so self-assured and interesting around you, only to roll over and let your mom verbally abuse him the moment she graced his home – their home – with her disgraceful state. You’re too angry to rationalise or even justify the feelings coiling and writhing in your chest. You’ve known Dave properly for less than two days, but fuck, you’re livid.

You’ve often hated ex-boyfriends and flings of your mom’s and for good reason. Darren was an alcoholic, even rivalling your mom’s drinking. Jason was a bland man with no discernible positive qualities, but from the noises that came from your mom and his bedroom at that one lake-house vacation, you could tell he could fuck. And then there’s Dave.

Handsome, funny, smart, capable. And this is how she treats him?

You feel like you’re losing it, you’re twisting yourself into knots over a marriage that has existed for just over a year. Over a man you barely know, and a mother you know all too well to be surprised at. You hear the gurgle of the bath’s overflow and catch it just before it spills over.

You turn off the faucet just in time and sigh as you slump down onto your knees. You rest your head against the tub as you mash out an angry text to your dad.

You: wtf is wrong with mom?

Your message is seen almost immediately before three dots appear in a ripple as he texts back.

Dad: Warum? Was ist los?

You: Vater, Englisch.

You type back, already smiling through your foul mood as your dad messes with you. You’re more or less fluent verbally but you always struggle to read and write it, and he knows it.

Dad: Ok, what’s going on?

You: She’s cheating on her new husband already, what the fuck?!

The dance of three dots plays out for some time, then disappear and leave you hanging. You press the heel of your palms into your eyes before you pull them away to up the volume on your speaker through your phone.

You hear your mom shouting at you from outside the door to turn the music down and suddenly you’re fifteen again, you feel small and pathetic as you turn the volume down a little and slide into the bath with a sigh. You flick through local events and see there’s a blues night at a local club and make a note of it before a message from an unknown number pops up in your notifications.

Unknown: Hey, can we talk? It’s Dave.

You consider telling him to go fuck himself, or simply responding with a curt no. But you refrain from answering, dropping your phone onto the bathmat before submerging yourself under the hot, lavender-scented bath water. Your fingers slide over your skin as you decide an orgasm would make you feel better. It does, but morbidly, only because your mind is still full of thoughts of Dave.

~*~

The jazz club is packed as you try and find somewhere to sit, your overpriced beer in one hand, your phone in the other. You navigate groups of people of all ages as you appreciate the exposed brickwork and hardwood flooring of the establishment. You adjust your tight black leather trousers as you sit down, your crimson, strapless bustier a little slutty for the occasion but you don’t care. With any luck you’re going to get laid tonight.

Anything beats going home.

You’re off towards the side of the stage, the view less than optimal but that doesn’t really matter as you’re not really here for the show. You just needed to get out of that fucking house. You’d taken a painfully expensive Uber to get here, and you were going to make the most of it.

You scroll through your phone as you hear the musicians tuning up back-stage. Your father still hasn’t texted you back, and Dave has left a string of messages but you’re leaving him on read. You’d snuck out of the house earlier without either of them seeing.

Dave: Please, your mother is worried about you, she’s sorry she forgot your flight was yesterday.

Dave: Can you at least text her to let her know where you are?

Dave: Get home safe.

The last message pulls at your chest as you re-read the messages. You sigh and wiggle your thumbs over the keyboard, trying to decide if you want to answer him or not, but before you can make that decision the band comes on stage.

“Thank you all for coming out here tonight, we’re the Bluez Brotherz and we’ve got some killer tunes for you tonight. Enjoy!”

You look up from your phone and your mouth drops open in bemusement. True to their name, all four men are wearing dark suits, black ties, sunglasses and black fedoras. Just like in the film. But that’s not what shocks you, you’d seen their band name on the event page.

No, what has you reeling is the saxophone player. It’s Dave.

You pull up your camera and take photos, you need evidence of this to lord over Dave at a later date, when you hope you can stop being angry at him. The band starts with a cover of Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones, and you can’t help but like them already.

You sip on your beer as you occasionally take some more photos of Dave on the sly. But for the most part, you just listen to the music, and study Dave from your seat. They reach the middle of their set and take a break for refreshments. Dave sets down his silver saxophone on a stand and hops off the stage. You watch as women fawn over him as he makes his way to the bar, you can hardly blame them, you were only touching yourself in the bath to thoughts of him this morning.

You decide to make your move as he reaches the bar, you need another drink anyway. You saunter up to him, low heels clicking on the hardwood floors, a plan formulating already as you practice a few voice training exercises to get your throat warmed up.

~*~

Dave orders for the whole band as they schmooze with some of the event attendees. He isn’t built for small talk and fending off women. So, as always, he volunteered to get the intermission drinks.

“Hey there handsome, you look good with a saxophone between your lips, seems like you’re pretty good with your mouth huh?”

The all too familiar voice makes Dave flinch visibly as he recognises Princess Luna’s voice. He turns slowly, and his stomach drops as he sees who’s voice it actually is. You.

“Chill the fuck out Dave, I’m just messing with you.”

Your affected voice is gone and Dave freezes for a moment, unsure if he was imagining Princess Luna’s voice when he heard you speak, or if you really did affect your voice to disguise it. He’s not sure which thought is more troubling.

But one thing is for certain, he is glad to see you. Your mother hadn’t so much as talked about you all day, his texts were a lie. It was him who was worried about you, she seemingly couldn’t care less. That troubled Dave, and he wondered if his daughters would be so estranged from him some day if he didn’t make amends with them.

~*~

“Dave?”

Your voice snaps him out of his spiral and he gives you a stern look. It makes you thrum with arousal, the way his brow creases, his jaw set in a hard line as he purses his lips. His hand flexes into a fist on the bar as his nostrils flare.

“Sorry I just didn’t expect you to be here.” He mutters as his drinks are placed on the bar.

“Right back at you,” You grumble, annoyed you didn’t get the response you were hoping for, even a hint of a laugh would have been enough, but clearly, you’ve hit a nerve, “I can leave if this makes you uncomfortable?”

Daves eyes go wide as he wraps his fingers around the bottle necks, condensation beading over his skin and you try not to stare. His face softens and he lets out a deep, emotive sigh as he turns to face you fully.

“Fuck, no. Sorry it’s just been a long day, could we sit down and talk after this? Get something to eat?”

His flustered response has your heart beating hard in your chest and you try not to whine at the smell of his cologne and the way sweat beads on his temple from the exertion of playing with such passion you can barely believe it’s him up there playing the sax.

“Sounds good, I was just going to eat your left-over burger and fries when I got home, so this is a step up.”

Dave’s lips curl up into an incredulous smile as he looks you up and down with a quick flick of his dark eyes. You’re glad you’d dressed up a little, instead of turning up in an old boyfriend’s hoodie and jeans like you’d initially planned.

“Alright, meet me backstage after the show.”

“Yes, sir!” You give him a mock salute and you clock the way Dave’s pupils dilate at the word sir. Yet another piece of information to file away in your mental David York Dossier. You swear he grumbles something under his breath as you turn back to order a drink.

“Hey Francis, this one’s on my tab.” He points at you with his thumb as the bartender reaches you.

“You got it Dave, what can I get for you?”

The man behind the bar is slight, a cropped beard accenting his strong jaw as his ice blue eyes are somehow penetrating yet warm at the same time.

“Just a beer, not about to take advantage of my-,” You pause, almost calling him your stepdad but you stop yourself, it still feels wrong to think about him that way, “My mom’s husband.”

“Uh-huh, good on you, one beer coming up.”

~*~

You watch the rest of the show from the bar, perched on a stool in full view of the stage. Dave plays like his life depends on it, revealing to you a side of him you never could have expected. He’s passionate and full of vigour and it does nothing but stoke the fire in your belly as you watch him lose himself to the music.

As their final set finishes, you’re clapping along like a seal on Adderall. The music was beautiful but the soul and passion the whole band had for it all made your heart swell with happiness. You almost forget you’re mad at Dave.

“So, what did you think?” Dave asks as you hover around the stage as the band packs up. You offered to help but it became painfully obvious that they were a well-oiled machine, you’d probably only interfere.

“It was great, I’ve always loved rhythm and blues, and your Stones covers were magnificent.” You gush, genuinely in awe at it all.

“Yeah? Your mom hates the stuff, so I wouldn’t have expected it to be your thing.”

“One thing you’re going to come to realise Dave, is that my mom and I are very different people.”

“Yeah, seems that way.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, tension rolling off him as he takes a deep breath. The anger from before bubbles up again and you shake your head in disbelief. This ridiculous submission to your mother’s behaviour sours the idea of spending any more time with Dave.

“Actually David, do you know what? I’m going to head home, I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now.”

Dave’s eyes snap open and there’s a darkness there, it’s cold and menacing as you take an instinctive step back. Your skin pebbles with goosebumps as you take another step. Dave moves as if to touch your arm as his face softens instantly, but you’re not having it.

“I’m getting an Uber home, don’t fucking follow me.”

Dave calls your name as you storm out, you catch Francis out of the corner of your eye, standing at the bar, looking at you with a bemused grin. You flip him off without looking in his direction. Dave calls your name again, louder this time. But you lose him in the throng of people outside. You duck down an alley and hide behind a dumpster.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you scold yourself for acting like a fucking child.

“You’re turning thirty fucking years old next month, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

~*~

Dave is livid, scanning the sea of people outside the club, desperately tyring to pick you out. You have no right to speak to him like that. No-one speaks to him like that.

“Fucking brat.”

He hisses under his breath as he pulls out his phone to call you, it’s late, you’ve had a few beers, and despite being mad at you, he’s worried. Ever since he picked you up there’s been a burning desire to protect you seated deep in his chest. And he’s blown it already.

“She’s not going to go home with you man,” Francis’s voice makes Dave jump, and immediately he reaches for his gun. Or rather, where his gun would be if he was carrying, “Let her go.”

“Francis, if I wanted you advice I’d fucking ask for it.” Dave snarls as he tries to play off his panicked grab for the phantom chest holster as adjusting his suit jacket. Francis just leans against the brick wall of the club, taking a long, pointed draw on his vape pen. A cloud of strawberry flavoured vapour billowing over Dave as he wrinkles his nose up at the stench.

“How long has she been staying with you?”

“What?” Dave asks, blinking a few times in shock at the question.

“Simple question man, how long?”

“Since yesterday.”

Francis’s eyebrows raise at that and a smirk twitches across his lips.

“Uh-huh, and you and her mom,” Francis says with venom lacing his tone as he mentions her, “Been together what? A year?”

“Get to the fucking point Francis.” Dave snaps as he resumes his search for you in the thinning crowd but with no luck. He’s furious at himself, this is literally his job, finding people, and yet you’re eluding him like it’s nothing.

“How is it that I’ve never met her mom, and on the first damned night your stepdaughter is in town, she just waltzes in and can’t take her eyes off you?”

“Fucking hell Francis, she didn’t even know I played until she saw me on stage.” Dave’s the one getting angry now, he and Francis have been friends for a very long time, but he doesn’t appreciate the insinuation. He also doesn’t appreciate how his chest constricts at the thought of you unable to take your eyes off him.

“Sure, but the universe works in mysterious ways Dave, watch yourself around her.”

“Francis, if you don’t shut the-!”

“There she is, getting into that Uber.” Francis points with his vape pen towards you scrambling out of an alley and into your cab. Dave glares at you, then at Francis before storming off wordlessly, saxophone case gripped tightly in his hand.

As he gets to his car he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He opens the message without hesitation, but it only makes his blood boil.

You: Don’t even bother trying to talk to me when you get home.

It takes every last shred of self-control for Dave not to throw his saxophone case against the floor in frustration. He takes a steadying breath before loading up his car and driving home.

~*~

You arrive home much later than Dave, your Uber driver definitely fucking you over to make a better rate but you’re too tired and frustrated to care. You barge through the front door, not caring who sees you. Then you hear it, your mom’s voice calling your name from the kitchen and you sigh.

“Hey mom, what’s up?”

“Come in here, have a drink with me.” She’s slurring and you roll your eyes as you do as you’re told, kicking off your shoes before heading into the sad beige kitchen.

“What’re you drinking?”

You ask as you take in your mother, perched in the same stool as Dave was this morning. Her wine glass full with some kind of rosé and you gag internally.

“Wine, you want some?” She waves the almost empty bottle enthusiastically and you roll your eyes, heading to the fridge.

“Nah I’ll get a beer or something.” You call over your shoulder as you immediately look for the burger and fries you stashed away earlier, ready to dump it all into the air fryer to freshen it up. But it’s gone, you grumble to yourself as you grab some European import lager and shut the fridge.

You sit in the same seat as this morning and watch as your mom scrolls through Instagram with one hand as she slurps on her wine with the other. You tap out a rhythm on the counter with your fingertips.

“So, did you want to chat or?”

“Hmmm?” Your mom asks without even looking up. You roll your eyes and decide to change tactics.

“Dave home yet?”

“Grumpy bastard’s sulking in his man cave, seems like his evening was a bummer.” She actually fucking laughs. Your blood boils as you shake your head, you feel like you should apologise, especially now. You were taking your frustrations out on the wrong person, even if you are still mad at Dave, he clearly was having the worst night of you all.

“At least he’s got a burger to cheer him up.” You grumble to yourself as you look down the hall, you can see the basement door is open. You wonder if you should go down there to say you’re sorry.

“Oh that crap? I threw it out, you know I don’t like that garbage in the house.”

“Alright, well, this was nice.” You sigh as you head back to the fridge, downing your beer before getting two fresh ones.

“Night hon.” You mom calls after you absently as you hear the glug of wine as she refills her glass.

“Night mom.”

You could almost laugh at the ridiculous nature of the evening if you weren’t feeling so damned furious at the whole fucked up situation.

“Hey, Dave, you down there?”

You call down the stairwell, not wanting to disturb him if he was busy, or wanted to be left alone. You hear your name called from within and the way Dave says it with such hope has you biting your lip.

“Come on down, if you want?”

You don’t answer, instead just heading down without a word, beer bottles in hand as you peer into the so-called “man cave”. In reality it’s a pretty modest space, dark red carpet, mahogany panelled walls.

Dave is sprawled out on an L-shaped sofa in the middle of the room, his suit and fedora replaced by a tired looking green USMC t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His feet are bare, propped up on a glass coffee table as some sci-fi show plays on the tv. The domesticity of the scene makes you smile.

“I come baring a peace offering.” You say as you hold up the beers in your hand, hovering near the end of the sofa as Dave pauses the show.

“With my own beer?” He teases as you sit down next to him, his face set in a teasing smirk as you hand him one of the bottles.

“I’ve lived here less than two days Dave, I’ve not had a chance to do groceries, so take what you’re given.”

“You’re something else.” Dave huffs before you clink bottles in a casual toast.

“Yeah, you’re not the first man to tell me that.” You say with a soft, humourless chuckle. Dave doesn’t press, but you notice the furrow in his brow as he registers your tone.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know this can’t be easy, with me and your mom, and our,” He pauses, waving his free hand in the air as he tries to find the right words, “Situation.”

“Nah, I’ve been a moody bitch since I landed, I over-reacted, and I don’t have any right to be mad, or pass judgement here.”

“You’re not a bitch, but I appreciate it, thanks.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as you both sip pensively on your drinks. It’s not uncomfortable or weird, just a natural lapse in the conversation.

“So, the blues band?” You say with a raised eyebrow, your lips set in a mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” Dave rolls his eyes before taking a long swig of his drink, you have to stop yourself watching the way his neck muscles ripple as he swallows, “What’d you think? Honestly?”

“Honestly?” You waggle your eyebrows at him, “It was very Duke Silver of you, very cool.”

Dave frowns, confusion apparent on his face as you realise he has no clue who that is.

“Oh shit, you’ve never watched Parks and Rec?” You exclaim as you reach for the remote on the coffee table.

“Afraid not.” Dave smiles at your enthusiasm, letting you flick onto YouTube on his smart TV without protest.

“Ok so, don’t bother with the first season, unless you’re some kind of completionist,” You ramble on as you bring up a clip of Nick Offerman playing the sax as Duke Silver, “But it’s great, really witty and fun, and a great way to pass the time, could probably use it to stave off the boredom on your business trips.”

You don’t notice it, but Dave flinches at the mention of his job. He wipes away the grimace before you’re done speaking, plastering a fake smile on his lips as he looks to the screen. His eyes light up as the clip starts. You scoot a little closer to him, eager to see his reaction.

“Hey, that’s Nick Offerman, from The Last of Us!” He points excitedly at the screen as you sit back, watching his reaction to the clip.

“That’s based on a game right?”

“You’ve not seen it? Damn, it’s good!” Dave responds with a shake of his head as he watches the performance.

“I’ll watch it if you promise to watch Parks and Rec?”

“Deal.”

“Oh and I’m ordering pizza, seeing as mom threw out a perfectly good midnight snack, you want anything?”

“If you’re buying?” Dave grins at you before looking back to the Duke Silver compilation, “Damn, that man can actually play the sax!”

“Oh you’re going to love his character in this, I just know it.”

You spend the rest of the night watching the first few episodes of the second season of Parks and Rec, drinking beer, and eating pizza. You catch Dave up on the plot of the first season and he seems to be content with that, already hooked from the first episode.

Dave’s laugh is infectious, and you can’t help but lean in a little as the night goes on.

~*~

Eventually you fall asleep, and Dave keeps watching, turning the volume down as to not disturb you. By the time he’s ready to go to bed it’s gone three in the morning. He covers you with a throw blanket and clears up the beer bottles and pizza boxes before hauling your passed-out mother, still hunched over the breakfast island, to bed.

He descends the stairs to the basement and as expected, you’re still out like a light, snoring gently on the sofa. He pauses for a brief moment, watching your sleeping form for too long to be considered appropriate, but he doesn’t care, not tonight. He flicks the light off and pads into his office, leaving the door ajar just enough so that if you need him, he would hear you.

Dave climbs into bed and smiles to himself. He can’t remember the last time he felt so at peace, nor had such a good night in. He drifts off to the memory of your laughter and the way you fell asleep against him.

He definitely didn’t wrap his arm around you over the back of the sofa at some point during the night, and he certainly did not let you fall asleep against his chest. No, that would have been wrong. So very wrong.

Even if it did feel so right.

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