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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

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The Princess and the Duke: Chapter 3 Eye of The Storm

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: SA mention/implied, Dave gets violent with the SA'er, alcohol, past SA, trauma, women having to take precautions because of men's shitty behaviour, drinking, male masturbation, sex work, cam work, let me know if I missed anything.

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Word count: 4.2k~

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The next few weeks pass without incident, your mom seems to take a break from her current fling. That, or she’s getting better at hiding it.

But you’ve decided it’s none of your business anyway. You’ve set up your room to block the light better, re-arranged a few bits of furniture, and ditched the sad beige sheets for black and purple satin ones.

You’re almost certain Dave caught you looking at him the other day when he was swimming. Fucking yourself to the thought of him in the shower became a regular occurrence after that. You hated yourself a little for it, but at the end of the day, light masturbation over a fantasy couldn’t hurt anyone, right?

You shake it off as you prep for your stream, your new cream and gold masquerade mask in position as you sit in a gold silk robe and black lace panties. You log in to your Cam Dolls account and start up the test footage lobby.

You nod to yourself as you flop down onto the bed, testing out the angles as you lay on the bed with a sweet smile on your face. You practice a few poses, making sure your face is nice and concealed with the new mask before resettling into your office chair.

You check your inbox, grateful for the automatic filtering of images the site provides. You have the option to click through to view any image that comes in, but the default blur protects you from what you can only estimate have been thousands of dick pics men have sent over the years.

DukeSilver09 sent you a photo.

The notification shows up mere seconds before you’re due to start streaming, but on some strange whim you open it, almost hoping to see what your most generous patron is packing. He’d recently removed the anonymous flag from his username and when you had looked back through the transaction logs, you’d almost fallen off your chair at the lifetime tip total.

You click the image and there’s a strange warmth in your chest as you see the beautifully captured photograph of a single flower in a vase. A lily. Pink hues bleeding through the centre of the white petals, orange anthers almost luminous in the evening light.

You look up to see you’re already overdue to start. You yelp softly to yourself as you hit the space bar, starting the stream.

~*~

Dave hopes Luna likes lilies, he’d seen the bouquet at a local florist, purchasing it on a whim as he thought about how much your mom might like it. He was really trying, especially since she’d clearly taken a break from Bryce.

But your mom was in one of her usual moods, punishing Dave for her mistakes, for the fact she wouldn’t be able to see Bryce for some time. So, the flowers had gone unnoticed, or actively ignored, so naturally, his thoughts drifted back to Luna.

Because if they didn’t drift to her, it would be you he’d be thinking of, and he can’t let those thoughts take root. He had taken a photo of the single stem, choosing the prettiest of them all, and snapped away for over an hour until he got the perfect shot.

As long as the job goes well tomorrow, he’ll be home by dinnertime. He wonders absently if you’ll be home, you’d been texting frequently throughout the business trip, and he justifies it by telling himself he’s just trying to be a good stepdad.

“Hey there Daddy, you miss me?”

Dave’s mind goes blank as he discards all thoughts about his life at home as he reclines on his bed in his hotel room in Tbilisi. Luna has recently started calling her viewers Daddy and it nearly gave Dave an aneurism the first time he heard it. She’s dressed in Dave’s favourite set, the black lacey thong and matching bra with peekaboo slits. Her nipples are already stiff and inviting.

“You bet I did baby.”

Dave hums under his breath as he pulls his dick out of his sweatpants, it’s too hot and he wishes he were nude, but after the incident in Borneo he vowed to never sleep commando on a mission again.

“I’m missing you so much,” She says with a soft coo as she pouts at the camera, “Haven’t gotten laid in weeks, and these toys just don’t cut it. Might put on a slutty red dress and try my luck this weekend.”

Dave watches in reverence as Luna goes through her new routine, with a generous sprinkling of Daddy added in for effect. He comes hard over his fingers and abs, breathing heavily as he hears Princess Luna come undone as well. A name falls from his lips without thinking, your name, but it’s not until he’s coming down from his high the realisation hits him.

He’s thinking less and less about Princess Luna when he watches her, and more and more about you.

~*~

It’s been a week since Dave got home, and he’s been giving you the cold shoulder. Your mother keeps nagging you about getting a job, or maybe even re-applying for the bar. She assures you lawyers get better pay in Texas due to the cost of living being so much lower than somewhere like New York.

But you’re just not interested.

A notification comes up on your phone as you’re sprawled out on your bed, covered in just a hoodie and yoga pants.

Dave: Have you seen my USMC hoodie?

You look down at the olive-green article of clothing swamping your upper half as you smile. The USMC logo faded and worn, but still very visible as it stretches across your breasts, and you chuckle to yourself. It still smells like him, even though you stole it weeks ago, before his business trip to the Middle East. You should feel guilty, you should wash it and put it back where you found it, but you don’t want to.

You: Not seen it, sorry old man.

Dave: Dammit woman, relent with the “Old Man” shit.

You smile to yourself as you know he’s been watching Parks and Rec, the tongue-in-cheek use of “Dammit woman” something he’s picked up from Ron Swanson.

You: Never, also, I have a bone to pick with you.

Dave: Oh?

You: The Last of Us is fucking sad, I gave you a light-hearted, whimsical series about friendship and joy. I just cried my fucking heart out over Bill and Frank.

Dave: You started watching it without me?

You scoff, as if he has any right to be annoyed at you after the cold shoulder, he’s been giving you.

You: Not my fault you’ve been avoiding me.

You hit send and instantly regret it. Fear pools in your stomach as you consider un-sending it before he can read it. But you’re out of luck, the double blue tick under the message tells you there’s no going back. He types for a few seconds, the ripple of three dots flashing once, then stopping, then flashing again until he stops typing completely.

“Shit.”

You grumble to yourself before throwing your phone to the foot of the bed. You lie back, exhaling through your nose as you try to devise the best way to walk this back. Your text tone pings, and you scramble to the edge of the bed to read it.

Ashleigh: You still on for tonight babe?

You groan at the prospect of going out, but maybe it’s what you need, to get away from Dave. To clear your head. Maybe you’ll even bring someone home.

~*~

Dave doesn’t see you, nor hear from you for the rest of the day. He checks his emails, watches some more of Parks and Rec, then works out. He pushes himself to overexertion, trying to burn the feelings away through sore muscles and the inevitable endorphin rush.

He heads up the stairs, fresh out of the shower, in just a pair of grey sweatpants and a white short-sleeve Henley. Water droplets bead in his hair as he lets it air dry. He grabs a beer from the fridge and sits at the breakfast island to scroll through the news on his phone. International news was surprisingly quiet on his recent job, which both relieved him and made him a little bitter at the lack of infamous, anonymous, acclaim he so often basked in after a job.

“Hey mom, I’m heading out, Ashleigh’s here!”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice and he curses the way his body reacts to it. Dave takes a steadying breath as he hears you coming down the stairs, your steps are slower, more purposeful than your normal hurried stomping. Dave hates that he can tell something is up just from hearing your footsteps. He convinces himself it’s because of his line of work, but he knows it’s not that.

“Oh, hey Dave, found your hoodie.”

Your voice sends shivers down his spine as he looks up from his phone. His nostrils flare and his mouth is suddenly drier than the Sahara. The red dress is impossibly tight, showing off every dip, curve, and swell of your body. A small silver clutch in one hand and a very familiar looking green hoodie in the other. Your heels are so tall he can barely understand how you are able walk in them, which explains the change in your gait.

“Hey, thanks.”

He nods curtly before taking a swig of his beer, his eyes flicking straight back to the news on his phone. He has to look away, he’s already at half-mast and the guilt that gnaws at his stomach is already too much to bear.

“Jesus Dave, lighten up, it’s Friday night.”

You sigh before throwing the hoodie over the stool opposite him. You both turn to look towards the front door as Ashleigh blares her horn.

“Have a good night,” Dave murmurs your name as he rakes his eyes over you once more, he sees the way you look at him, devouring his domesticity as he consumes your purposeful display of raw sexuality in turn. He doesn’t understand you and that pisses him off. It’s his job to read people, to know them, and yet here you are, making him feel more nervous than he has done in decades.

“Sure, you too, Duke.”

Dave’s blood runs cold as he chokes on his beer. You give him a confused look as Ashleigh blares her horn again.

“Duke, like Duke Silver from Parks and Rec? Fuck, I’ll remember not to crack wise at you again.”

Before Dave can answer you’re gone, slamming the front door, which in turn makes your mother yell after you. He groans as he drops his head into his hands. His dick aches as he adjusts himself in his sweats before finishing his beer. He heads to the fridge, grabs the rest of the six pack before scooping up his hoodie.

He almost comes in his pants as he pulls it over his head. All he can smell is you. That coconut body wash you get imported from the UK, your caffeine shampoo that smells like black pepper and pine, and something he’s never had the pleasure of experiencing before. Your natural scent, like nothing he has ever known. Sweet, but musky. Soft, but tinged with perspiration. It’s intoxicating and cloying, he feels like he’s being smothered to death but making no attempt to stop it.

“I’m going to hell for this.”

~*~

You don’t know where it all went wrong.

You’re sat on the wet, filthy tiles of Tristan – the guy you went home with because you thought might have been a good lay – and his housemates’ bathroom. Mascara tracks down your cheeks and you think your nose is broken, blood drips onto the floor between your legs as you sob into the palm clamped over your mouth.

“Open the fucking door.”

Tristan’s nasally voice barks as he slams his body against the flimsy barrier between you. Your dress is torn, you don’t know where one of your shoes is, and you’re fumbling with your phone to try and get hold of Ashleigh. But every time it goes to voicemail. You grind your teeth together in frustration as you swallow your pride and call Dave.

It rings twice before he declines the call. Your heart clenches tightly in your chest as more tears spring forth. You try again, and again, and on the fourth attempt he finally picks up.

“What?”

He barks down the phone, and you let out another hiccupping sob at his tone. You pull your phone away from your face ready to hang up but as your finger trembles over the red “End Call” button you hear his voice again.

“Hey? Hey, what’s going on?”

His voice immediately softening as he hears your distress.

“Dave I-,” You sob again, “I need you to come get me.”

��Where are you?”

You reel off the address, inwardly praising yourself for making sure to jot it down on your notes app when you decided to go home with this asshole. Unfortunately, it isn’t the first time you’ve had to get someone to help after a one-night stand has gone wrong. You thought you’d learned from your mistakes, but if that were the case you wouldn’t be here right now.

“Maps says it’ll take me fifteen minutes, think you can hold on for that long sweetheart?”

“I think so.”

“Want me to stay on the line?”

“I don’t have much battery left, but yes, please.”

“So, want to talk about what happened?”

“Sure,” You take a steadying breath, grateful for the distraction, “Was having a great night, Ashleigh found someone to go home with, nice looking girl too.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you?” You hear the Mustang roar to life in the background as a car door slams.

“My guy was nice looking, not so nice when it came to fully informed, enthusiastic consent.” You laugh bitterly as your toes curl in discomfort. There’s silence on the other end for a few seconds and you have to check your phone hadn’t died.

“This fucker hurt you?”

Dave’s tone is impossibly dark, menacing even as you try not to think about how much that turns you on.

“No, but I think I broke my nose when I headbutted him.”

Dave laughs at that; a soft exhale and you feel like he approves of your ill-gotten injury.

“You make the fucker squeal?”

“Something like that,” You laugh, finding Dave’s voice soothing as you hear the engine snarling in the background as Dave races through the streets of Austin, “I’m sorry Dave, sorry about being such an ass.”

“Enough of that, I’m not far now, hang on baby, I’ve got you.”

Baby.

The pet name shouldn’t get you so hot and bothered, but it does, despite sitting in some shit-head’s bathroom, his blood and your own smeared on your lips and your eyes raw from crying. Despite everything, you’d give anything to hear him call you that again.

“Dave it’s been like ten minutes at most, how?”

“Ran a few red lights, might be speeding a little, doesn’t matter.”

“Dave, don’t do anything stupid for me.”

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Your name spills from his lips and you finally let go. Tears stream down your cheeks as you finally admit to yourself that you like Dave way more than you should. All you want is to be wrapped up in his arms as he just holds you.

“Ok I’m out-.” The line goes dead, and you look down to see a blank screen.

~*~

Dave sprints up the stairs, pistol tucked into the back of his sweatpants as his breath comes in short, aggressive bursts. Logically he knows it’s just that your phone died, but the moment the line went dead something inside him snapped.

He composes himself as he reaches the apartment door. He can hear multiple male voices on the other side and his jaw ticks to the side as he tries to control his rage. He knocks gently and waits for the door to swing open. A broad, blonde-haired, blue-eyed asshole appears as the smell of cheap cigarettes and booze rolls over the threshold. Dave smirks at the state of the larger man’s face, his right eye is swollen, and his nose plugged with tissue.

“Hey there, which one of you fine gentlemen is Tristan?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“That doesn’t matter, all that matters is you’re going to let me in, show me where your bathroom is, and I’m going to take the woman hiding in there home, understood?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, get lost.”

Tristan tries to slam the door in Dave’s face, but he anticipated this. He slams his palm against the flimsy door before shoving with all his might. Tristan is caught off guard and stumbles back into the apartment.

“I’m so glad you decided to be a prick.”

Dave’s smile doesn’t leave his face as Tristan comes at him swinging but unlike Tristan, Dave is sober. He ducks under the blow with ease, he jabs Tristan twice in the side, precise strikes to the kidney and liver. Tristan makes a sound like a wounded animal as he thrashes around.

Dave dances around the lumbering oaf – toying with his prey – loving the thrill of dominating such a bigger man with just good footwork and keen reflexes. It makes his blood sing in his veins; his smile is so wide it burns his cheeks with exertion. He could do this for hours.

He lets Tristan flail for a bit longer, but the joy quickly fades as Dave remembers why he’s here. He cracks a swift uppercut to the asshole’s jaw to finish him off. Tristan crumples like a sack of shit and Dave flexes his hand, working out the pain from the impact.

The other two spring up off the couch and before they can cross the distance Dave has his gun pointed at Tristan’s head.

“Either of you touch the girl?”

Dave barks as he cocks the hammer back in a warning. Both men shake their heads, holding their palms up in surrender as Dave nods slowly.

“Good, now I’m going to get the girl and take her home. I’m a federal agent, so if you two shit heads or this one,” Dave gestures with his gun at the unconscious lump on the floor, “Come after her, or try and report this to law enforcement, I will come back, and I won’t be as merciful.”

Dave stalks through the apartment, calling out your name and the moment he hears your voice it’s as if nothing else matters. He makes a beeline for the only closed door in the apartment and knocks gently. The door opens and his heart seems like it stops as he takes you in.

Your dress is ripped, there’s so much blood on your bare skin, your eyes are puffy, and your make-up is smeared all over your face.

“Let’s get you home.”

Dave scoops you up into his arms and he carries you out of the shitty apartment, you don’t miss the way his lips brush against the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest.

~*~

Your mom is asleep – or more accurately, passed out – by the time you and Dave return home. Dave tries to take you upstairs, to your room, but you protest meekly.

“No,” You breathe as you fist your hands in Dave’s blood-stained hoodie, “Don’t want to be alone, can we go downstairs?”

“Whatever you need.” Dave responds, his voice barely more than a whisper as he lowers you down. You test your balance and the moment you can stand you pull away from Dave. You’re embarrassed, you’re almost thirty years old and you’ve just relived one of many horrific moments in your life that you swore you would never let happen again.

Worst of all, you got Dave mixed up in it.

“I’m just going to lock up, head on down, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

There’s a brief pause where your eyes meet, and you know he didn’t mean it that way but the look on his face tells you he realises how it sounded. He coughs awkwardly and turns towards the kitchen. Your eyes widen as you see the gun tucked into his sweatpants, the hem of his hoodie caught up around the handle, exposing the piece to you with mother of pearl grips glinting as he walks.

You stumble downstairs into the basement and make your way into Dave’s room. His PC is on, but you don’t notice the Cam Dolls website open as you stumble into the ensuite, if you were in any other state of mind, you probably would have.

You strip off, your damaged dress practically coming undone at the seams. You spend what feels like hours under the hot water, lathering Dave’s shower gel over your body. You wrap yourself in his scent and wash it off. Only to repeat the process again and again as you try and wash the touch of your assailant from your skin. Eventually you give up, the intrusive thoughts muted as much as you can hope for as you wrap yourself up in one of the fluffy grey towels on the shelf.

You step out into his bedroom to see a grey US Navy t-shirt, a pair of black sweatpants and your baby blue moccasin-style slippers in a neat pile on the end of Dave’s bed. The bedroom door is closed, and you quickly slip into the clothes left for you. The PC monitor is now off, but you’re not paying much attention to your surroundings anyway.

You head into the basement to see Dave sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together as his strong chin rests atop them. He’s lost deep in thought as you approach. You seem to startle him as you sit down next to him. He turns to look at you with a vacant stare.

You can’t help but drink him in, his plush lips part softly, his dark eyes swimming with emotion as he looks you over. You want to straddle his hips, kiss him, and lose yourself in him, just like with his body wash. You want him to make you forget, you want him to comfort you.

But most of all, you just want him.

“Hey.” You say softly as you search his dark eyes for any indication of what he’s thinking.

“Hey.”

“I think I just popped my nose, doesn’t seem broken.” You say as you scrunch up your face and wiggle your nose, only wincing slightly at the stab of pain the action brings.

“Good.” Is all Dave can muster as he feels his heart break at the sight of you. You’re forlorn, lost, vulnerable. He laments that your usual sass and barbed tongue are ostensibly muted.

He feels responsible somehow, maybe if he’d not been so wrapped up in his own internal struggle, he would have gotten you to stay in, watch tv together. Do anything else but let you go out and let someone hurt you.

“Dave?”

His head snaps up as he realises that he’s been spiralling.

“What? What can I do?”

“I don’t want to be weird,” You take a deep breath as you try and muster the courage to ask for what you need, but you fumble, “But could we put something on the TV?”

“Of course.” Dave answers almost without thinking but he can’t understand your hesitancy.

“Cool, cool,” You nod quickly before you just let go and ask for what you want, “Shit, no, that’s not what I wanted to ask. Can you- can you hold me?”

Dave’s brain almost short circuits as he replays the words over in his mind like a broken record. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before you chicken out. You feel the sting of rejection constrict tightly in your chest and you feel the tears burning in your eyes as you realise how fucked up you must sound.

“Sorry, forget it, I’m just drunk,” You lie, “I think I should just head to bed.”

You move to get up but the press of Dave’s broad hand on your thigh stops you in your tracks. You look up to see longing in Dave’s eyes as he gives you a soft, vulnerable smile.

“Come here.”

Dave removes his hand from your leg as he leans back, spreading his arms wide, an invitation.

You take a shaky breath, and do as you’re told. You scoot closer to him, pulling your feet underneath you as you lean into his chest. You let out a soft hum as his one arm moves from around the back of the sofa to curl around you. His other hand falls to your knee, squeezing gently as you press into him. He removes his hand from your knee for a brief moment to start the next episode of Parks and Rec.

You both know it’s wrong, that this is crossing a line and coming back from this would be difficult, if not impossible. But neither of you can bring yourselves to stop, not now, and maybe not ever.

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