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1384 - The Middle Ages. In what was to become the North American Midwest lay a hamlet called Hawkins Haven.
It was known historically that strange activity materialized in the staggering mountains on the horizon and the forests encircling the village. It was an area found to be filled with mysteries, the further you chose to trek.
The townspeople weren't keen on traveling out of bounds all too much. Things were too dangerous to get mixed up in, and they found themselves too comfortable in the familiarity of their safety.
Even the ones who came here for shelter felt as if something tragic followed them. Lurking in the shadows, the treelines, and expansive plains. They believed that should they falter on their journey's path, they'd be brought to their fate.
But others faced the darkness head-on, wishing to chase it all away with a pointed sword and a lick of courage. They hunted the dragons and basilisks, coming home to slurp down golden ale and tell stories of the ages.
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Tonight, one of those men rode up to the Starcoin Tavern. Fresh from years-long adventures. His previous stop was in a neighboring village, The Falls of Frell, to drive out a rampaging Ogre. Now, he was homeward bound. In desperate need of a breather and a beer.
Dismounting from his horse, he hitched its reins to a tree branch a few meters from the entrance. A big wooden door, worse for wear, beckoned him with the lively sounds concealed behind it. The pub was nestled into a section of a landslide-ridden mountain, caused by a great beast of the past.
He gave his brown steed a final pat before sauntering into the earth-bound pub in his dented but polished knight's livery.
The doorway opened to a deafening cacophony of a crowd. The traveler took a moment's pause to let his ears adjust. He noticed the diversity spread into every corner of this space. Humans and anthropomorphic creatures garbling over spilling drinks. Laughing into the faces of obscure-looking friends and mystical strangers.
He was bee-lining his way towards the bar. Bumping and shuffling past a glaring Cyclops. "This shit is hard to maneuver a crowd in. I'm sorry." Seemingly, in the backmost section of the tavern, there was a bit more room for him to move in his ensemble, and there lay a different buzz of activity drawing him in.
The barmaids whizzed in all directions. The man could appreciate how the pair skillfully danced around one another while slinging pints filled to the brim. Careful not to slosh the ale, as grabby hands reached and flowing clothes, tassels, and hair whipped.
He found a spot along the long wooden countertop. Squeezing in next to another human and some sort of Werewolf man, who was chatting up a fawning, disguised princess. This was a prime front row seat to all the fascinating action.
The man to his left chugged an offered drink down so fast that he gasped when he finished. "Pure fuel, Lady Ella!”
One of the barmaids stood opposite with a pleased smile. She was striking. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the dim light of the oil lamps hanging above in the cavern's rafters.
"Just something new I was trying out while brewing kegs. Secret recipe," she leaned closer, playfully lowering her voice. "It's infused with crushed rosemary and lavender."
The man blinked.
Did he not hear her?
"I want to show you my secret recipe," he slurred.
“Gods,” she chuckled to herself, taking his mug to refill it. She should've known better than to enable him. All too well, she was familiar with the devilishness that the spirits tended to provoke out of this man.
He was one of the regular patrons, named Thomas. From what Ella recalled, he lived on the edge of the forest and sold unique, scavenged fungi at the market. He claimed he caught a unicorn back in his teens and harvested its blood into a limited supply of vials. He consistently proposed - never outright telling her to, ever the gentleman - that he would give a discounted value on the eternal elixir if Ella granted him a good time in return.
She had yet to take him up on the tempting offer. Even immortality wouldn't be worth a night with him. Honestly, thinking sincerely about it, she doesn't even think that she'd want to be who she was for that long anyhow.
Robin, the other barmaid assisting during the rush, with a sharp jaw and pixie cut, winked at Ella as she glided past. Heading further down the bar to serve the patrons anxiously waiting for drinks. She was humming along to the bard's shanty, who was strumming away on a harpsichord in a corner at the front of the tavern.
Ella watched Robin's inaudible banter with a fetching Fairy familiar, whom Robin had gushed about after hours, countless times. She caught her coworker's eye, who then nodded her head toward the newly arrived patron - Steve.
Ella flicked her gaze over at the gesture and the glint of armor. Taking in the unidentified man's full get-up with a sweet tilt of her head.
"What can I getcha, traveler?"
Steve's holstered sword accidentally clanged against his metal greave while gesturing to the drink that Tommy just emptied. He hastily hastened the vibrating weapon, as Ella struggled to make out anything legible that he just attempted to say.
"Ah. Sorry! I'll take an ale."
He was wearing his helmet. Big, brown eyes blinking stupidly at her through the slit in the metal.
She furrowed her brow slightly, leaning further across the wooden surface. Not-so-deliberately pushing her chest out due to the constricting corset she wore —"All in pursuit of better tips", Robin advised a fortnight ago, while tightly binding her in.
Steve babbled again from behind his mask as his eyes lingered lowly before snapping back up to the attentive barmaiden.
The lady was straining to catch any of the man's words amid the clamour of the tavern; Steve struggled to process that he was actively wearing another big part of the hearing problem.
"Who are you?" A pinch of frustration reflected on her pretty face.
Gloved hands grasp the face-piece, sliding up the maxilla like mouth-guard. All while still trying to talk as he did so, for some reason.
"I'm so lost. I'm sorry, darling-"
“Stevenson Harrington the third,” he repeated through the lifted flap.
“The third? Your family decided that they needed a name like that to be out in the world two more times, huh?” Ella teased.
He smirked inside his helmet, proceeding to pull it off. “Just Steve is fine. “
"Just Steve."
"You know what I meant." He set the helmet against his hip, and the warm skin on his cooling face stretched into another grin.
"Ah-huh." Ella blinked at the handsome knight standing before her. "I'm only messing with you."
They shared a moment. Gazing at one another. She noted that his eyes were a shade of hazel, not brown. Steve noticed how pieces of Ella's auburn hair wisped away from her braid, like grass blowing in the breeze, and into her freckled face.
"I'm afraid I still didn't catch your order, Sir Harrington."
"An ale will do me just fine, babe."
She hummed, with a bite to her bottom lip, and a turn on her heel. Steve placed his helmet on the bartop, taking off the arming cap next.
Why didn't he think to do this outside first? A busy pub is not the place to offer elbow room to undress, and then have to carry all this shit around.
Ella returned with the drink.
How could his hair look like a healthy, groomed mane after being freed from its restriction?
"On the house, traveler."
"Will the barkeep mind?" Off to the side, he glanced, as if he'd spot a husky man leaning against the wall, playing with a rusted knife, and eyeing him down. Ella's voice caught his attention again,
"The establishment is mine. I think that we could spare the funds lost for your one drink."
Steve nodded graciously, "Thanks. I seriously needed this."
"Hells, Ells-bells." Robin's presence breezed to her side. Rummaging around to pour more beverages. Ella knew her friend was about to bitch about something, but she slowed her rant to eye Steve skeptically. Who, in courtesy, had on a sheepish, close-mouthed smile.
Taking a sip, he smacked his pink lips. Cautiously continuing conversation with the new pair of watchful eyes, "It's, uh, my first day here...in this tavern. This must be a new place.
I say that because I was raised in Hawkins, but it's been a while. I've been away doing stuff. So, I guess I mean to say that it's my first day back. Here. Home. But, first time here." He gestured with his free hand around his head to reference the tavern.
"We thank you for your patronage," Robin smirked.
His mouth twitched back a self-deprecatory grimace. "I should simply say thanks for the hospitality, huh?" Quieting himself with a slurp of his drink.
"What are you?" Robin asked curiously, as she rested against the counter.
“Uh," He licked at his lips, "a guy?"
Robin scrutinized him rather amusedly, "I figured as much, dingus. I meant what's with the getup? Are you a rogue knight?"
He attempted a shrug, "The armor was my father's hand-me-down. I left my finishing school, and with little family, I've been traveling around townships for a few years. I've done day-to-day tasks for royal families and very hopeless people. Slaying beasts, brutes...and damsels." He smirked.
"Scoundrel," Robin snickered, not even attempting to feign offense.
He waved his hand absentmindedly, "Yeah, yeah. All that malarkey. I’m basically a 'Rent-a-Knight'."
"You speak of beasts?" Ella chirped, "Have you slain a dragon?"
He waggled a finger, "I'd like to think that the rabid squirrel I recently encountered put me a hop-skip away from the fire-breathing lizard tier."
"Are you wanting to show off all of your little victories? Still got some of the rodent's blood on you," Robin gestured to the stain on Steve's chest plate. He gasped quietly before Ella handed him a dirty, wet rag to clean his gear.
With a grunting thud, Thomas stole Steve's train of thought. He fell like a plank, genuinely, flat back to the stone. The armored man moved to help him up, but, almost like Thomas has done this drunken dance nightly - which he has - the older man clambered up without so much as a further comment and stumbled out, back toward his home.
"I've, uh - What the hell was that?" He laughed, a thumb pointing the way the man just left. Refocusing on his anecdote with the girls, "I've found human men to be the cruelest on my journey. I've dealt with nearly every type of joker out there, and curiously, the common theme amongst them has been swiping princesses. Which is such a lame motive when you get down to it. Almost embarrassing, really. When do you let it get to that point in your life, man, you know? No game. Just stealing girls."
Robin hummed, "The eighties have been so messy. Why is that?”
“To keep us busy-"
"-To get me paid." Ella and Steve answered together. He motioned to her with a raised beer and eyebrow. Ella watched his Adam's apple bob while he took another drink.
There's a lick to his pink lips, tasting the spirit's residue. “How’d you come to own this place?”
“It was a ruin for years. My family then found their way into a small fortune, and helped me fix it up to shut me up. This type of business keeps me busy, and them away.”
Steve pursed his lips with an understanding nod at that.
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Robin caught Ella's arm, careful not to spill the two drinks she held. "Even I can tell that tinhead is trying to hit on you. Sure, none of his material is landing. But, wring his pouches dry. Flirt back with him," she encouraged.
Ella's nose twitched. Reapproaching the waiting man, like a huntress on the prowl. Her eyes traced Steve's fluffy brown hair as he ran his fingers through it for the umpteenth time tonight. Setting the new ale down and recapturing his regard.
A single brown curl rested against his forehead as he reached for the ale. He felt as if she were observing him.
"What is it?"
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?" He chuckled.
Ella mimicked the flow of Steve's hair, motioning with her hand. “The swoosh.”
Steve doesn't think he has stopped smiling since getting the fetching barmaid's full attention. His beaming grin felt as stiff as his garb.
“Eggs," he said. As if he'd been waiting to tell someone his beauty hack for eons.
"Like, chicken?"
“Sure," He lifted the mug to his mouth. "Though, I'm curious what other egg variants you think I'd come across and am audacious enough to put in my precious hair," he teased.
"I'm not the one who puts bird excretions onto my head in the first place, Sir Harrington. I'm just asking!"
He lowered the drink, airing out a breath of earnestness. "I discovered that with commonly found chicken eggs, the yolk adds moisture to hair and makes it a hell of a lot softer. Mix it with some crushed flowers for a pleasing scent," he did a 'chef's kiss' motion. "The whites also hold it all in place if I add more of them than the yolk.”
Ella was smiling, “You’ve got a whole beauty routine, Prince Charming.”
"Suppose that I do. Even knights deserve to deem themselves pretty like the dames."
"Can I?"
Without question or hesitation, just minor physical resistance,
Steve leaned forward. Lowering his head, as Ella reached forward to run her fingers through the soft, brown locks.
His gaze was up. Essentially, watching her through his lashes. A puppy dog-like stare. Being this close, he could study her freckles, like an astronomer tracing the stars into constellations.
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"Roaming Robin!" Steve hit his mug on the flat-top surface of the bar. Nights later and with plenty of drinks coursing through his bloodstream, he was hit with an epiphany. "In Veritas City. That's where I know you from!"
Robin's face actually fell, needing a second to process. Steve stood expectantly in his gambeson. Having shed his bulky armor after his first night's learning lesson.
"I don't recognize you at all."
Steve shook his head, "You wouldn't have. I was wearing my armor,"
"Oh, nothing new-"
"-just passing through. But you sold me sketchy herbs! Said they healed and had magical properties, or whatever."
"Oh, they totally were real!" She smacked her hand onto the wooden surface. "Did you even prepare them right?!"
"I may have twisted the directions that were given. I was still in serious misery after a fight that had happened before. I could have burned them, or tried drinking the leaves like a tea. It's a blur, now, really."
Robin tisked. "Somewhat of a valid strategy. I suppose."
The pair's banter was Ella's newfound, favored nightly ritual. That and the overall fact that this attractive wanderer regularly visited them. Steve made the time to chat and charm the girls, regaling them during their lengthy shifts, all while attempting to settle back into his hometown. She sought out his charming smile in any crowd. Though he made it particularly easy since he sauntered in around the same time with different tales to recount.
He was a godsend. The spot he stood at the bar was beginning to become his own. He rarely talked about embarking back out into the world, only reminiscing on his past adventures. Could he be finding reasons to plant his roots in Hawkins Haven?
No matter how hard you scrub, you couldn't seem to get the stains out of the bar top. Because of the red ale you serve and the careless men who chug it down, the discolored, splitting surface resembled purplewood rather than the original natural oak.
"Ah, shit." You withdraw your hand the second you feel a sliver catch your skin just between your first knuckle. Wiping now paused to pluck the wood splice out. Instinctively, you suck on the small wound to prevent much bleeding.
"What a tantalizing salutation." A familiar voice teasingly sounds as they approach through the swinging door. The bright sunlight silhouettes their figure.
Eric.
You pop your finger out of your mouth before hastily wiping it on your apron, smearing a dribble of blood into the fabric. He leans his forearms on the bar with a handsome smile gracing his face. Your name leaves his lips like it's the sweetest thing he's tasted in a while.
You regain your composure even as your stomach does a tumble at the sight of the long-lost Prince.
"It's been quite some time, world traveler."
It had only been two months, but every passing day felt emptier and more hopeless of a reunion.
You admittedly messed up by parting with Eric the way that you did. You regret not saying goodbye the moment you saw the Royal sailing away, not even half an hour after you disembarked. It's like your soul ached for a do-over. He was too interesting a person, and an amazing shag, to just let slip between your fingers like sand. You vowed to cherish the charming prince when he chooses to be within reach, even if you are seen as just a mindless hookup to him.
Every night, the saloon doors swung open. New strangers and stories. Solo drifters to groups of wayfarers. Each one blowing in, phased, and in need of a stiff drink. And each night, you remained hopeful that Eric would be one of the faces mixed amongst the crowds of crewmen.
Finally, he has returned to your sleepy marina.
"I've definitely been about. Can't seem to find myself staying in one place for too long."
"Don't I know it," you mumble, ducking your head as an excuse not to catch his reaction, and pouring him a complementary ale.
When you slide him the tankard, you'll never know how he took your subtle jab. He was looking around at the sparse patrons in the saloon before focusing back on you.
"Slow day?"
You nod, "I'd think that you know best, Captain, that most seamen take advantage of the fleeting daylight." You gesture toward the small table in the corner where three men are seated. "Fortunately, we have our loyal regulars to keep me company."
He glances back over his shoulder to eye them with you - Passing a crinkly-eyed smile in return when the group catches you both watching.
"Another round, boys?"
They cheer in agreement. Eric sips amusedly at his tankard. His blue eyes are just over the rim, shamelessly watching you move about.
After delivering on your promise, pouring more ale for the trio and serving them, you return to stand behind the bar.
Now that the other patrons are sated for a spell, you rest your hands on the bartop, fingertips of your left hand brushing Eric's hairy forearm - Afraid to move them a millimeter more so as not to alert him of the touch and have him pull away.
He clearly is unbothered by your contact as he presses his skin closer to yours. He carefully sets his drink down with his other hand and offers you that damnable smile.
Shared familiarity and lust of your last rendezvous looms between you.
He has a special way of making you feel like the only lady in the room - and for your own sake, you shouldn't guess how many women or princesses he's schmoozed to make them feel just as lucky.
Deciding to pick up a conversation before you both let yourselves get lost in the building heat of it all, you stand up straighter. Breaking his gaze and busying yourself with drying out some recently cleaned tankards.
"Daily, I'm graced with the company of only the drunkest of men. But they tip very well."
Eric's mouth twitches as he rakes his eyes over you. Very clearly acknowledging what the men are really appreciating. But he utters a different answer with a half-shrug, "They've probably seen things. Need a break from the scary sea."
Your head tilts. Mentions of the ocean and beyond always pique your interest, "Like what?"
He leans closer like he's whispering the filthiest of secrets, "their men could be eaten whole by sharks. Large sea creatures lurking in the nighttime, thumping tentacles against the boats, waiting to pull you under into the depths. Maybe even beautiful creatures, disarming caution with song, given extremities by the gods unlike our own. Readying their claws to slash into your skin if you lean too close over the ledge."
You raise your eyebrows, "Sirens? Are those tales even true?"
Eric nods with a grin.
"Have you ever come across one?"
He smacks his lips, "None of the above, actually. But as of late, my men seem optimistic that we'll be fortunate enough to catch a mermaid. They say it's soon to be their active season with the moon phase. Whatever that may mean."
"Since you're always out on the water, I'm sure your luck will pay off someday." You catch yourself, "Hopefully you don't run into the man-eating sharks though."
With a chuckle into his brew, he took another sip.
You bite back any comfortable silence, "How long are you here for?"
He let out a heavy sigh. "We're on our way back from affairs in Western Europe. I made up a bullshit excuse of needing to stop here. I've been told that we have to go back home tonight. My mother wants to see me for my birthday at some point. Which is tomorrow and unlikely.
Grimsby won't let up on the fact that I'm dragging this expedition out. I just feel like I'm still stretching and shaking off my sea legs. I could try to stall us setting sail until tomorrow. If Grims allows it, and if you ladies can manage getting my men drunk enough. Can't voyage with a sloppy crew."
You smirk, "What is Grimsby, the baby prince handler?"
Eric rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile behind the next sip of his ale.
Just then, Gwen slips in through the back door, arriving for her shift - Right as an idea comes to Eric's lovely head.
"Is now a good time for a break? Do you think your dear colleague can handle this rowdy crowd?" He teases.
"Always a pleasure to see you, Princey," Gwen says. "Though it always feels as if my workload doubles when you're around."
"I'll pay you handsomely if I can borrow her for a while."
"Have fun!" Gwen beams, with a change of tune, as she pockets the pile of gold coins he placed on the bartop.
To you, he smiles wider, "Follow me to the port."
He gestures with his head. His hair fell into his face ever so gracefully, like a true, charming prince's would.
He is halfway out the back door by the time your feet start following after him, sparing Gwen one last grateful glimpse.
"I'm trying to improve business on my island." He says, making small talk. Absentmindedly brushing your arms and the back of your hands together as you walk.
As you round the back of the saloon, men down the pier chatting come into view. The massive ships behind them almost materialize as you broaden your perspective; they're anchored along the port like wooden, elongated buildings.
Men use this marina like a rest stop to slumber after long voyages, to store their boats while they visit their yearning family, or to find a stiff drink or five before continuing on their journeys.
"Our port has been lacking lately. Well, I guess it's safe to say that our reputation as being one of the best has faltered since my dad passed. I'm hoping to expand our horizons and start looking locally."
"Clearly, you've been busy at it. You keep popping up." You tease.
Eric smiles over at you before stopping to speak to a vendor. He selects various colored fruit offered in a burlap bag and hands the man a few coins in return.
He glances over his shoulder. "Maybe you'll help me out? Send some explorers my way, yeah?"
"Am I your newfound business associate?" You're reciprocating his smile.
"We've got to buy more. Right now, our stock is limited. But a lot of different men from different cultures come through here. I bring you regular business with my rowdy crew. Be fair."
Smiling, you roll your eyes at his whine. "You got the money to spend on these expensive new goods coming your way?"
"So much of it," he breathes. "Do you want to see my wares?"
"Is that some kind of euphemism?"
Eric chuckles, "No!" He begins moving toward the other end of the pier. "Not necessarily."
His ship is at the end. The Royal - of course, it stood out, clearly coming from money. His boat was by far the biggest, and if you were honest about one thing in your life, it's that he was definitely not compensating.
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You found yourself back in his room. He is mid-way through explaining the exotic isles he's been to and the new collection he's acquired since the last time you walked along these floorboards.
He's holding a cracked mirror with an ornate frame. The faded gold was melted into shapes of seashells, and so heavy he has to grasp it with both hands as he shows it off in all its glory. He made sure to clarify that he got it at a discounted price for the imperfection. He then went off on an anecdote about why he ventures around so much. Again, it's summed up to him wanting to bring splendor to his port, and you listened because he's treated you well, he’s earnest, and a man who shapes his life based on what he believes in is commendable.
"I want to be a different kind of adventurer. It's in my blood to follow what's calling out to me."
"You're very dramatic."
"Maybe you," his dimple pops, "need to get out more."
He watches you fondly for a beat before setting down the cracked mirror. You subtly pivot on your feet as he crosses in front of you, eyes following as he moves toward a chest at the foot of his bed.
With his back to you, he kneels in front of the now-opened trunk and begins rifling through the goodies he had stored. You can't resist watching his arms flex as he searches.
"I've also bought some Baltic cloth, new spices, glass, and rocks. Pretty gem-like ones."
He stands and holds out a pile of sparkling gemstones as if he's cupping a handful of water. He moves toward you,
"Here. Pick some out."
"I couldn't."
"I don't mind."
"Eric."
"I'm offering them to you."
You look up at him before plucking the smallest one from the heap. A ruby, no bigger than a peanut.
"Another." He breathes, eyes fixed on you.
"Eric," you frown. "These are your rewards for traveling. They're all beautiful, but I know you spent your money on them."
You move away, having the feeling he wouldn't stop being so gracious unless you physically denied him.
There's a beat of silence as you divert your attention. Poking at a squishy, silk cushion resting on a slender table lining one of the walls of his Captain's quarters.
"I still have your necklace."
The revelation made the rock, pebble really, feel heavier in your hand. You glance over your shoulder at Eric. He was already watching you - a fixed stare and expression, vulnerable.
"That was left as a token for you to keep."
"A payment for our relations, like I’m some harlot?" He feigns offense.
"No!" You giggle as he gradually closes the space. "As a way to say thank you, or more of a don't-forget-about-me."
You trail off the latter half of that sentence, and if his gaze could soften even more, it did. He takes your wrist and carefully removes the gem from your hand.
"Let's not lose this now," he says quietly, setting the ruby on the silk cushion.
His chest flexes in the nearly sheer tunic. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head as he lowers his own into your space.
"Can I have you again?" He whispers against your ear.
An agreeable whimper escapes your lips.
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You're taking him, like the good girl he keeps reminding you that you are. His large hands are gripping your hips from behind. Thrusting rhymically as your back arches. With your skirt hiked up, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin resounds around the chambers.
You're weeping pleasure into his feather-soft pillows and grasping at the bed sheets.
"Wait," even though he's the one in control. He stops his movement to pull back ever so slightly. "I have an idea."
He doesn't want to pull out, but does. Using his strength to maneuver you both to the edge of the bed. He's sitting on the side with you in his lap, your legs spread open by his parted thighs.
Your back rests against his toned chest. He gathers your hair, moving it away from your breasts and over your shoulder.
He gestures across the room to the mirror. The glimmering object is capturing your every move. He slowly slides back in with the lift of his hips.
"Gods," He breathes. "Look at you."
His thighs flex as he rocks up. You both were able to see the marvel of his cock sliding in and out in the cracked reflection.
Sharp nails dig into his muscular arm, wrapping around your middle, creating stability for both participants. Your other hand reaches back to entangle in his dark brown curls.
His size stretches you open and makes you a whimpering mess. Pulling harshly at his hair, whining his name, he's moaning yours, and it's all egging the Prince on.
"I cannot. get. over you," he confesses in your ear, emphasizing with his thrusts and grunts.
Grimsby must've known better than to disturb the young Prince when he had company over, because he did not disturb the pair of you until morning. Meaning Eric got his birthday wish to stay the night.
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Grimsby's graciousness left his body come sunrise. He threatened to have the crewmen bust the door down and drag you out themselves if Eric didn't return you to the marina.
Before he turned a shade of red, only sea crustaceans have achieved, you both comply with the man’s yelling and redress.
The pair of you now stand, down the pier and away from the Royal for privacy, as you share your meek goodbyes. Eric feels as if he were departing this town once again with his tail between his legs.
He cups your face and plants a firm kiss on your lips,
"Happy Birthday, Eric," you whisper in the space between breaths once you break the connection.
He breathes your name like an exhale of salty air from his lungs. Is he truly ridding you of his system?
He blinks a soft smile, but it doesn't show his sweet dimples. He takes a step back as if it were too painful to utter an actual response.
"Safe travels."
"I'll see you soon. Yeah?"
Apparently, having made a silent descent from the ship and silent stomps down the pier, Grimsby appears beside the pair, "Prince Eric, it's time. We're already behind as it is."
Eric grunts in regretful agreement before pulling away fully. As he backs a following-trail after Grimsby, he holds his gaze on you.
You fist at the small ruby in your retied apron pocket as you watch him board the ship.
Accepting that your Prince was leaving once more, you sent Eric a parting wave. He reciprocates and then places his hand to his chest.
He stands on the back deck. Overseeing your figure as it grows smaller, the farther they sail from the port.
Unknowingly floating toward his destiny.
In the pit of your stomach, where the self-deprecation lies, you sense that you might never see the traveler again. As history may have it, and as you've come to learn, once men cross that horizon, it's hard to tell who you will lose to the sea; they always choose to chase wilder dreams that you can’t offer.
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In the quiet car of a speeding train, you made your way through the spacious compartment. Accidentally bumping your knees into armrests as you shuffled down the dimly lit aisle.
You're feeling like you're the loudest one there. Seemingly, this is why you don't splurge for the first-class quiet car all too often. You felt out of your element with these snudes, much to your parents' dismay.
Your vision was almost completely lost when the train entered a tunnel. The sound of the high-speed rail in the deep underpass rushed around you, like a full-body vibration. But the lights above glowed warmly over the sleeping faces and plush leather seating - still guiding your way. It created a surreal atmosphere with the fuzzy lighting, and then a blurringly bright, blinding landscape that rushed by through the wide windows.
You soon found your reserved booth - Four empty seats with a table stationery in the middle. All the room you get to yourself would allow you to stretch out and write during the travels today - Score!
Deciding to sit in the seat closer to the window, your back now faced the doors from which you came. You placed your tote bag in the unoccupied spot beside you.
A smile is nibbled back from your lips as you rifled through your bag for your laptop. You hoped that this long train ride into the city would bring inspiration for your next article - Hundreds of writing prompts were already flowing through your mind.
There was a distinct, continuous sound, but a shifting movement from across the aisle prompted you to glance up. In the faint light, you noticed an older woman sitting in the other reserved section. The low hum you heard wasn't coming from some part of the train, but from h e r.
Frankly, you're surprised that you hadn't noticed the source of this sound sooner. She was the only one engaged in a conversation on her phone - and based on her pinched face, she was the only one who seemed like she would snap if you reminded her of the rules of the quiet car.
Something about the woman exuded this air of significance. Or at least she thought as much about herself. Her stiff silhouette enhanced the frustration in her features. Even as she spoke softly, her voice reverberated off the plush walls in the otherwise silent car. The words were harshly whispered, and whoever was on the other end of that line was evidently getting ripped a new one, in the most professional manner.
You caught yourself staring for a beat too long, while she hadn't even spared you a glance.
She seemed so rigid. Almost too ornery for public travel. She seemed like a b i t c h.
'Oh gosh. Well, that's an unfair judgment,' you mentally scolded.
Now, to choose this moment to mind your own business and finally pull your computer out of the bag.
Waggling fingers hovered over the open laptop's keyboard. You stared at the blinking, empty Word document. Waiting for the right story to bite you.
Why are you struggling to settle on one idea to start? You have more than enough time to begin some work or even a creative writing project. R e a l l y, wherever adventure your mind may take you...
But that damn low droning from the woman across the way was like a static buzz in your ear ever since you tuned it in.
# # #
It felt as if the moment you're fully settled, the swoosh of the automatic doors opening startled you. You sincerely hoped the snooty phone lady didn't catch that you jumped in your seat.
Curiously, you turned, just as a pair of men glide in.
They walked with determined purpose. Their eyes scanned the sparse passengers seated throughout the shadows. The men are on a pursuit, with their heads oscillating. Searching for something or someone.
The frontman had rich, umber skin, blonde coily hair, and gold earrings that sparkled in the limited light.
His eyes find yours first.
As they moved closer, the pair of hunting sharks created some space between themselves, and you were able to spot the other man better, who was a few paces behind the first.
His complexion was a creamy white, paired with a brown, chevron-style mustache and curly, slicked-back hair.
He was seemingly more reserved with his gaze. It swept across the heads with a subtle intensity. His eyes met yours next.
The pair focused on you like pointed lasers. Their expressions were unreadable as they neared.
'My God. You're staring, again,' you chastised, as you quickly averted your eye, turning to sit properly in your seat.
The two men rounded the section you occupied before they casually plopped down. You instantly felt the intensity of their company. You're intimidated by these two burly strangers.
You couldn't help your whole body freezing, back leaning against the cool window. While attempting to muster a gentle but anxious smile, you uttered a weak, "Oh. Uhm, hello."
Both men are looking at you.
The Gold Earrings man sat directly next to you, and the other, deemed Mustache, was across the table by the window.
Then Gold Earrings squirmed. Uncomfortably so. He shifted in the seat he was now occupying.
You both looked down at his lap, and you quickly realized what he was sitting on. Tugging your canvas bag out from under him in a swift, hurried motion with minor resistance, as he lifted up his left thigh to help speed up the process.
"Sure. I should totally be the one to move my shit." You mumbled. Shoving the bag down by your sneakered feet and out of his way. "How rude."
"No. My mistake, kid," he replied, with a sheepish smile. There was some hint of surprise in his eyes, almost like he didn't expect you or your things to be there ... Though you had a strong inkling that they one hundred percent knew you were here. Especially considering that previous terrifying twin telepathy-like look they gave before joining you.
There was another beat of silence. You jingled the ring on your pointer finger with your thumbnail under the table, acrylic scraping skin, as this is one of the things you do when you get anxious. Your mind raced to make sense of this situation.
'Who are these guys? Why the fuck are they here?'
In your natural fashion, during one of those 'always-tempted-to-break-those-silences-that-aren't-entirely-awkward-but-in-need-of-filling' moments, you said,
"I’m also not a kid, by the way...If that even matters."
Your voice faded out once they exhibited similar expressions without even having to look at one another. The moment the words left your lips, you were feeling stupid.
'Why do you feel the need to explain yourself? Is it because you're intimidated? Are you feeling cornered, confused, and a bit scared? Is that man across the table from you unfairly attractive, or what?'
Both of them kept their eyes on you.
"We're just taking a seat." The larger man, Gold Earrings, to your right, hummed.
"Hope you don't mind," Mustache finished. His voice was soft and husky. Flitting across the table and dancing through your ears. You mentally noted that both men were blessed with British accents.
You gestured with a small nibble to your bottom lip again, "I clearly have enough room to spare."
'Now feeling gracious, are you?' Can this odd encounter be blamed on a lack of European social cues?
With a content sigh of finally feeling welcome, Gold Earrings sat back in his seat. He looked across to his companion, Mustache, just as you did.
Mustache's long, lean fingers twitched in disgust on the sticky tabletop that divided the space between. He chose to hover his hands just over the surface. Eyes assessing you, in this moment that you all shared.
The intensity made you look away first. Gazing past his presence to some empty seats further down the aisle. Seriously, still confused as to why they chose this reserved section to occupy, when there were dozens of free booths nearby.
'Did they want something from you?'
Your eyes flicked back between the men. Realizing that they're not budging and getting quite comfortable. Attempting to look composed, and act like a confident adult, you break the tension that evidently only you were feeling,
"I understand that personal space is often hard to come by on public transportation. However, it would be great if my belongings weren’t squashed by random strangers." A teasing smile graced your lips, to indicate your playfulness.
Gold Earrings' smile spread as Mustache let out a low chuckle. The latter's eyes glinted with amusement at your comment. He tilted his head slightly, roaming his eyes over your face with a glimpse of curiosity mixed with something else.
Mustache sat back, and his body language appeared to be more relaxed, yet still alert, saying nothing.
'Do these two talk or just sit silently to freak women out?' You blinked for a beat more before clearing your throat. Making sure to give the pair equal attention or to cautiously monitor them.
"Anyway. I don’t mind you guys joining me." You shut your laptop. "It’s kind of a big day for me. The company is making me feel better. Secure, actually."
'Are you trying to convince them or yourself?'
"She seems like a peach," Gold Earrings hummed, looking back to Mustache. You glanced over at him with a thankful, small smile.
Mustache grinned at your shy expression. You almost missed it. His eyes flicked between you and his partner, then back, before raising an eyebrow,
"A big day, huh?"
"Oh! Fill us in with the juicy details. What's the occasion?" The voice beside you dripped with curiosity as he joined in.
"I have a consultation," you shrugged. Slowly warming up to the men, "I don't even know if it's anything major. It's like an interview for a research article I wrote. I'm meant to discuss it with another journalist about my findings. It might become a big deal."
"Ah, well, that is quite impressive," Mustache said. He was soon to be identified as 'Tangerine'.
"What is it about?" Who you will find to be 'Lemon' chirped next.
You popped your lip out from between your teeth, lowering your voice a little, "The Blissy Boostrix drug trade. I think I narrowed down where the hot spots the mafia deals out of and who the 'boss' is," doing the air-quotes gesture and all, "that runs the whole operation. I posted my theory on my blog."
As you motioned to your closed laptop, you failed to notice how Lemon's gaze flickered toward Tangerine’s, as if he had suddenly recalled something important. Which, he had—the objectives of their mission for today.
"Protect the poet." The text the Twins received from their handler this morning read. The briefing was vague as hell, but they knew they also had to keep an eye out for any Boostrix drug deals while sharing a ride with a woman who would be sitting alone.
As they exchanged another look, they telepathically confirmed they found their main objective - You.
With your words and their revelation, Tangerine's eyes narrowed slightly. They are putting the pieces together, realizing the danger you're in.
Correction. The naive and stupidly dangerous position you put yourself in by posting expository information on a public platform.
"A bold move," Lemon commented, glancing around the train car subtly. He swept his gaze, searching for any signs of potential threats.
Mustache, either attempting to distract you from the pair's now heightened awareness of every person in this train car or genuinely intrigued by your knowledge and research, leaned forward just a bit.
"Have you had this blog for a while?" His voice was low and measured.
You shrugged and fingered at your ring again. "I’ve only had like forty subscribers following it. A small community that was growing slowly. But for the longest time, I gained the most traffic with my food reviews. That still was only just a handful of saves."
You continued to open up to these men. "Recently, my reviews felt empty. I wanted to work on something different. Something that might make a difference. I've lost too many friends to Bliss... So, I dove into this topic as a form of therapy. But I didn’t think the research articles would get much recognition. Some small, local news channels referenced my story. Then I was asked to meet with a journalist today. It's with someone who writes for a major paper with writing skills beyond my capabilities and credentials. So, knowing this was a rare opportunity, I bit the bullet, and now I’m headed to the City."
The men processed your words, and their worries deepened at your lack of awareness. Lemon pulled out his phone to open an internet browser.
"Have you ever tried a good Hot Pot joint in the City? Do you have an article on that?"
Tangerine rolled his eyes, as you smirked to look over at Lemon, "Oodles of Noodles? Favorite hole-in-the-wall, by far!"
Lemon made a small joyous gasp, and the pair of you began chatting about the blog while he scrolled through the articles. Tangerine's quiet amusement faded as he spotted a suspicious-looking man five rows from your section. This man held a newspaper to cover his face, but occasionally flipped the corner down to stare in your direction. He was an Asian man, Chinese specifically, in a black trench coat.
Tangerine kept watch for a beat longer before he tapped his brother on the ankle with the tip of his shoe, signaling him to stay alert and stop hunting for lunch recommendations.
Lemon felt the subtle shift in Tangerine's demeanor and glanced over at him, quickly gathering that something was up. His expression hinted at concern, but he didn't want the pair of them to startle you.
Yet, you still were able to catch their vibe shift. Looking between the two men, your brows furrowed. Feeling as if you missed a whole conversation that happened without your knowledge, "W-what’s going on?"
Lemon shot Tangerine a wide-eyed look as if to say, ‘I’ll handle it.’
Tangerine didn't even need to subtly nod to understand the unspoken strategy - Lemon should stealthily neutralize the potential enemy, while Tangerine created a distraction with you - Mustache turned his attention only onto you.
His gaze softened. "Nothing to worry about, darling," his voice soothing. "We just remembered some travel plans that we need to get done."
Not fully convinced, you still decided not to pry. Just as the train exited the tunnel, you looked out the window. As if the moving landscape could explain the change in the internal atmosphere. The trees and rocks rush by in green-grey blurs. Your mind wandered.
As you're looking away, Lemon all but rolled into the aisle. Twisting a silencer onto his gun.
Thinking the not-so-graceful thud of Lemon's body, and his accidental kick to the chair arm, was an actual disruption on the train tracks, you reached across the table with a jump.
Tangerine's eyes widened slightly from your nails digging into his skin. His muscled, lean forearm was a temporary anchor for your comfort. And with your smaller fingers twitching slightly in anxiousness, he regained his composure.
"Just a bit of unexpected turbulence is all."
"Turbulence on a train?" You breathed with eyebrows furrowing. Trying to maintain your nervous gaze on the blurring landscape, as if you could find the problem out there.
His gaze flickered onto your face for a moment before looking out the window with you. Pretending that he was watching the scenery, but monitoring Lemon in the reflection. Tangerine's body was alert and growing tense at the potential danger they were fast approaching.
"The country is so beautiful. But rocky too, I guess."
Tangerine sensed the warmth in your voice and from your hand still on his arm, and a peculiar intent to comfort flowed through him. His expression remained neutral despite the unexpected touch affecting him more than he would've expected. He nodded slightly, forcing himself to focus on the task of distracting you.
"There's something peaceful about the countryside, isn't there?" He replied. "Wide expanses of forest, and in some spots, there is absolute isolation. For miles, not a single sound to be heard. Just the wildlife looming and watching. No bothersome traffic, or people with zero fucking spatial awareness-"
"I take it you're not much of a city man," you teased, catching his eye.
Tangerine smirked at that, with a twitch of his mustache. "What gave it away?"
You're now aware that your hand was still on his arm. Deciding to smoothly slide it back onto your lap as your cheeks flushed. Your eyes roamed over him - Taking in the formal attire, his partially exposed hairy chest and ... you're catching his piercing blue eyes again.
'How long was he staring at you?'
"Why did you both decide to travel out to the City today, then?"
"I suppose I'm opportunistic."
Back into another tunnel.
Mustache's handsome features were masked in the booth's lighting. His true demeanor shadowed, causing your insecurities to flare and skin to burn from his attention. He explained how they're set to meet a sick family member in the City. Unbeknownst to you, this was complete bullshit.
With a soft pop down the aisle, Lemon killed the suspect in the darkness. He casually made his way back to the seats after propping the dead body up to appear as if he had fallen asleep.
After plopping back down, it takes no time for Lemon to watch the interaction to enjoy the way you're both subtly flirting with each other.
Beside him, the woman across the aisle hung up her phone hastily and fled the train car.
This swift action caught all of your attention. Lemon furrowed his brow and looked to Tangerine.
"Do you think that's related to us?" Tangerine questioned his brother.
"Might've had to piss," Lemon mumbled through a handful of sunflower seeds he magically produced, or stolen on his route back.
Tangerine observed the retreating woman. His expression became serious once more. He was silently acknowledging the possible significance of her departure. And in the remerging light, like a true epiphany, he recognized that woman. He knew she was very important.
Notorious, even.
"Could be," he muttered under his breath, his eyes following the rows of seats back to you.
He noticed the way you're worrying your lip between your teeth. Again, able to recognize the shift in the Twins' behavior, and not knowing what to expect if angered or frustrated. Time for him to bite a different bullet and let you in instead of letting you remain blissfully ignorant.
"That was Yuna Nakamura." He said it directly to Lemon at first - Since the Twins are more familiarized with the world's underground societies - But the name hit you like a ton of bricks.
"She’s the woman my article exposed," you whispered.
The Twins' expressions darkened as they realized the implications of your words. Tangerine leaned forward, his eyes locked on yours with a mixture of concern and understanding.
"The woman your article exposed," Lemon repeated quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "And now she's on this train, with you. That can't be a coincidence."
"No shit, Lem." Tangerine's jaw clenched as he processed the new information and his brother's idiocy.
He glanced down at your hand as you fidgeted with your ring.
"Am I in danger?" you whimpered. The worry and fear in your eyes made a different form of protective stir within him.
"You're in danger," he confirmed, his voice steady and serious. "This woman has a vendetta against you, and she's not going to let your article slide."
Tangerine's frown deepened as he spotted the small amount of blood on your finger from the picking at your skin. He moved to grab your hand, his touch gentle yet firm, as he inspected the cut.
"You're bleeding," his voice laced with concern. He held your hand in his, his thumb gently tracing the edges of the cut. Lemon fumbling for a Band-Aid in his pocket, before handing it to Tangerine.
He can't help but raise an eyebrow at the choice of bandaid, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he opened the package to expose the cartoonish faces and carefully applied it to your finger. A gentle, smoothing movement with his thumb to make sure it covered the cut properly.
You smiled at them both appreciatively, before it wavered, your eyes fell heavily back onto Tangerine.
His gaze was holding yours captive. He pressed a kiss to the top of the plaster. The subtle action, paired with the softness of your skin in his hand and the look in your eye, sent an odd jolt of electricity through him. His eyes darkened with desire as he pulled away, his expression still stoic but now tinged with a hint of hunger.
"There," he murmured.
"Thank you."
Lemon watched the interaction with a smirk, clearly amused by the chemistry between the two of you.
The feel from the press of his lips and the coarse hair above his lip still tickled your skin and ghosted your senses. Your fingers dancing over your own lips, and hiding a nervous smile.
"Maybe we should relocate cars, or you take her elsewhere." Lemon cleared his throat to get the attention.
He was gesturing down the aisle. Two men who appeared to be wearing similar clothes approached the suspicious man Lemon killed. Tangerine's eyes narrowed - He was alert again.
"We should move, now."
"Agreed," Tangerine muttered, sliding out of the booth.
Lemon barely stood up from his seat, allowing zero room for you to scoot by, right as Tangerine met you in the aisle with a grab to your wrist. Dragging you over Lemon's lap and onto your feet.
The Twins were acting as a sandwich of meat shields while guiding you into the gangway connection. As you pushed forward, you glanced back, over your shoulder, past Lemon, to the men studying the dead guy with the newspaper over his stiff face.
Tangerine's grip was firm as he led the way, his steps quick and purposeful. He doesn't need to look. They know what those men are really looking for, and the Twins don't want to give them any opportunity to find you.
As you passed through the gangway, he pulled you closer.
While you're shuffling through the hall, there's a loud commotion from the car you just came from. Your heart begins beating at the same pace as the Twins increasingly racing footsteps. Matching their pace, or otherwise thinking you'll be trampled if you don't in the process, you continued to willingly follow the Twins.
Trusting these muscular escorts as you passed through the next train car into the next, and the next, and then stopping in the further gangway. Without much conversation, but with yells growing louder, you were shoved by one of the Twins into an open bathroom stall.
"Oh, shit." Your hip bones collided with the sink in the small space.
In the reflection of the mirror, Tangerine's eyes widened in surprise as you stumbled into the sink. His hands shot out to steady you by the waist.
"Careful," he murmured. The door slid shut behind you, presumably by Lemon on the other side.
Tangerine gripped your flesh through your clothes, his toned body pressed flushed to your back. His breath caught in his throat when he felt you against him. The heat was increasingly driving him wild with desire. You felt it too.
"You be careful, tough guy." You cannot help the whine.
Tangerine groaned softly as you pressed your hips back. His grip on them tightened instinctively. He could feel the heat pooling in his lower abdomen, his body responding to your every move.
"Don't do this right now," he growled in your ear. Mustache tickling your skin.
"You're the one feeling me up. Doesn’t seem like I’m putting up much of a fight, am I?"
"You're not fighting at all," he murmured again, his hands slowly sliding up your hips and along your sides.
"What does that tell you?" You couldn't raise your head to look at yourself in the mirror. 'Who are you?'
"You're practically begging for it."
"What if I started to? Would you?" Your breath hitched just then. "Would you fuck me? Would you lock that door and have your way with me in here?"
Tangerine stopped breathing. You literally felt his chest heave to a halt. His body responded to the challenge in your voice. He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just millimeters from your ear as he spoke,
"You have no idea what I would do to you," he growled. His fingers dug into your flesh possessively. "But I'm not going to risk getting caught with you like this."
You rest your head against the mirror with a soft whine. The sound of a low and throaty chuckle escaped Tangerine's lips.
"Life's not fair, love," his hands continued to explore your body, tracing along the curves of your thighs. "Especially not when you look like this."
"B-but what if I die out there? You’d seriously let me die without getting your dick wet?"
"Damnit. Don't say things like that." Tangerine pushed off of you and turned to adjust himself.
You watched his reflection. His possessiveness and desire were warring within him.
With an angled body, back mostly to you, he regained some of his composure, "I won't let anything happen to you, you hear me?"
"Okay. I’m not playing this game with you," you huffed and smoothed out your skirt.
A silent battle must have been happening in the gangway because right as you exited, you watched Lemon chasing a Hokkaido gangman down one of the train cars. The doors slid shut in his departure.
Tangerine shut the bathroom door to will his hard-on down. He was equally unaware of the threats all around and directly behind you.
You were lunged at and grabbed around the neck. The man frantically patted at his sides, presumably to find a weapon.
Your nails dig into the guy’s arm to get him to let go of you. He failed to find his gun in the struggle and started pulling at your hair, dragging you backwards with him.
"I’ll just bring you to her, myself." He growled as you kicked your feet. Your airways were getting cut off by the pressure of his brawny arm. Eyes pleading for Tangerine to leave the bathroom.
In that split second, he did.
His expression hardened as he took no time to take in the situation. The grip on his gun tightened to the point of white-knuckled. He immediately moved to intervene, right as Lemon burst back into the gangway.
Tangerine shot the man who held you hostage right between the eyes.
The guy collapsed, and you're taken down with him. Landing on the floor by Lemon's feet. You're whimpering as you attempt to untangle yourself from the corpse.
Tangerine quickly holstered his gun and rushed over to you. Kneeling down to get on your level as you absorbed and processed the shock.
"Easy, love," he helped pull you free.
"You could've shot me," Lemon grumbled. Tangerine glowered up at him before refocusing on you.
Tears brimmed in your eyes as you glanced from the dead body to Tangerine. Lurching forward to hug him.
Tangerine's heart ached as he felt your body shake against his. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to hold you tightly against his chest.
"It's okay," he whispered. "This is what we're here for."
Lemon shuffled by as Tangerine comforted you. He gathered up the corpse and dragged it to the Exit door. Pressing the button and chucking the body out of the moving train. There was a dusting of his hands before turning back to the pair of you.
You caught all of his actions, like fluid movements of a second nature. Gawking at him, then looking to Tangerine, "W-who are you guys?"
Lemon caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips as he saw your expression.
"Just a couple of mercenaries, love," he replied casually, as if tossing dead bodies out of moving trains is a common occurrence for him.
"And you’re here to protect me?"
Lemon nodded, his smirk widening as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Think we're doing a good job so far, if I do say so myself."
"But, you both have killed, like, three people in front of me. Wouldn’t you also be considered the bad guys?" You looked from him to Tangerine with a worried expression.
Tangerine chuckled lightly. "We're the bad guys with good intentions, love."
"We're tasked with taking out the other bad guys," Lemon added.
"It's a bit of a gray area, but it keeps you alive, doesn't it?"
You nodded. Lemon held a hand out to help you up. With a yank, his brother also clambered to his feet.
"Yes, yes," Tangerine waved his hand around dismissively. "Tangerine and Lemon at your service. We should keep moving."
"Wait. Those are seriously your codenames? Like fruit?"
Lemon grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Exactly like the fruit, love."
"Surely, this is Lemon. Because he's sour?" You teasingly poked at the hollow in Tangerine's cheek.
Looking to Lemon, he gave him a sarcastic smirk, "I think we've got ourselves a comedian here, Lem. Reminds me of someone else I know a bit too well."
Lemon beamed. "You’ll fit right in," he said to you with a hum. "He just has a resting bitch face. He’s Tangerine, I’m Lemon."
He proceeded to the next automatic door in the gangway. "We should hide out in the dining car for a bit until the train reaches the next stop. Them ladies are out and about anyway." He waved absentmindedly behind himself, referring to the snack cart workers.
Behind you, Tangerine nodded in agreement, but you were too focused on his hand. The heat of it. His fingers splayed, spreading their warmth on the small of your back, guiding you towards the dining car.
'Why do you have the feeling in the depths of your naive gut that you'd follow these men anywhere?'
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Eric sat alone on a palace bench outside, down the winding gravel path leading to the sea. He was calmly observing the ocean view. Black hair ruffled with the breeze. You swallowed your nerves as you walked down toward the young royal.
You haven’t had the chance to talk to him directly since starting your new position. But the other head maid was out today, so Grimsby tasked you with fetching Eric to assist in getting him ready for the party tonight.
“Excuse me, Prince Eric?” He perked up, and a kind smile crossed his face as he saw you.
"Yes?" He turned on the bench to get a better look. You fisted at the fabric of your long cotton skirt. Smiling softly back at the man.
To be entrusted with the responsibility of taking care of the young royal, while also hoping he does not catch wind of the very intense infatuation you have built up for him over the past few months, is entirely nervewracking.
You saw the type of person he was when he was alone in his study, interacting with the other housekeepers, his mother, and the civilians who trusted him. You and the others who value him do not judge him solely on his looks or the title he holds—he has made you admire who he is as the Prince in a new light.
“The Queen wants you to get ready now.” He nodded at your words. Standing from the bench and walking towards you.
"Mm, thank you for letting me know. Though I'm sure my presence is needed much later than now." He was teasing. Stopping in front of you with his eyes meeting yours.
You smiled up at him, “I think she knows her son’s tricks a little too well and anticipates that if we don’t hound you to prepare for the party then you’ll manage to escape going to the event completely.”
He chuckled as his expression softened even more. He liked that you teased him like this, most people were too intimidated to joke around with him. Eric leaned a little closer, the height difference being quite obvious,
"Mm, everyone knows me a bit too well. I suppose I'll have to do as I'm told then."
“We mustn’t keep the Queen waiting, hm? It is your party after all. This must be a little exciting, yeah?” You began to back up, turning on the path to walk toward the castle. Sensing the taller man's presence not too far behind. He hummed in agreement, following closely as you led him.
"It is a bit exciting being the center of attention. Though I think I'd rather be off by myself, doing my own thing."
The two of you entered the castle and began strolling through the halls.
“This is the event that’ll have you choosing your future Queen. Your wife. All these desirable princesses are sailing in from near and far to meet you!” You spared him a look as your footsteps fell into sync and echoed on the cobbled floor. He rolled his eyes slightly, though a smirk was still on his face,
"I'm well aware of what this reception is about. I don't really want a wife right now, and if I were to have one I'd rather her be my equal, not a boring pretty girl who'll sit on the sidelines while I'm off sailing."
“Isn’t that all it is?” You muttered, “Someone to manage the home while you’re off on adventures?”
He laughed, giving you a knowing look, "You don't agree with it, do you?"
“I never liked the idea of arranged marriages or the pressure behind it. No.”
Eric nodded, a hum in response. Continuing to follow you down the halls and up some stairs.
"Mm, I agree. I'd much rather be free to marry whomever I wish, not someone I have no interest in," he said with a little sigh.
“Well, I wish you at least have some fun tonight. And I hope you can work with your mother to give yourself the future you want.” You paused in the hallway, now standing outside his bathing room. He grinned at your kind words, and stepped closer to you, leaning down slightly so he was at eye level.
"Thank you, truly. It means a lot to hear someone say that to me."
He said it quietly, before standing back up to his full height, giving you a smirk. "You're much more pleasant to talk to than the other maids."
You smiled brightly back at him for the compliment. Watching him intently, “I am here for you, My Prince. It is my pleasure, truly.”
He smiled back, his expression growing more gentle as he looked down at you. "I know you are. You're like a breath of fresh air."
He paused before a smirk tugged at his lips again
"And you can call me Eric, I don't mind."
“Oh, I don’t. I don’t think I can…” Your brows furrowed, but looking at his sweet, assured face had your worry to maintain professionalism out the window. “Ah, okay. Who am I to deny the Prince? Well, thank you for your kindness, Eric.”
He seemed pleased that you agreed to drop the formalities, especially because it was more intimate to him.
"You're very welcome. You're adorable, by the way."
He's leaning against the wall beside you. Causing you to blush and press a hand to your hot face as you fight off a smile. “Oh goodness, thank you, Eric. You’re not making this easy for me.” You tease and wipe the hand down your face as your lips quirked into a small smirk. You leaned over, pushing the door open, “Y-your bath has been drawn. If you want to ring the bell, I can assist with bathing but otherwise, I was going to help lay out your clothes for tonight.”
He watched you with a smirk of his own as you blushed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He was quite enjoying making you flustered. It was a good look on you.
"Mm, I think I'll need some assistance with my bath, actually. If you don't mind." He said it in a smooth tone. Tilting his head as he looked at you. You nodded with a neutral smile but swore under your breath as he turned and stepped into the bathroom.
You follow him in, closing the door and averting your gaze as you default into servant mode. Not wanting to make the royal feel like he constantly had eyes on him, especially soon-to-be in his most vulnerable state.
He chuckled softly as you averted your gaze, and began to disrobe, letting his clothes fall to the floor without care. He slowly eased himself into the tub, letting out a small sigh as he relaxed into the warm water.
"You can look, you know. I don't mind," He teased.
“Are you fully submerged?” You kept looking at your shoes and worrying at your lip. He hummed, a small smirk on his face as he watched you. You were being so adorably respectful and shy about looking at him.
"Almost. Just my head isn't under yet."
He was teasing you again. You giggled and flick your eyes up to see him sitting in the tub with a playful smile on his handsome face.
“I can appreciate the shamelessness when you have a body like that and the power that you do, but you know the housemaid code. I’m just following the rules.” You hummed as you glided to the wooden stand next to the tub. Where the soaks and sponges are kept to assist with baths.
His eyes were trained on you as you came closer to him. He leaned his arms on the edge, resting his chin on his forearms as he looked up at you.
"Oh, but rules are meant to be broken, my dear. You know that just as well as I do." He said in a sultry tone, looking you up and down shamelessly. You lightly pushed his head back so he lay normally in the tub, as you kneeled by the edge to prepare to lather him with a soaked sponge and soap.
“I am in no position to risk anything. I will follow the rules because you and your mother are giving it to me good here.”
He was amused at how stubborn you were being. He let out a small hum as you began to lather him up. “So uptight, my dear. You could stand to loosen up a little."
He was still watching you with a smirk as you moved about. He found himself quite distracted by your form, his eyes roaming your body as he took in the sight.
“I loosen up with a bottle of wine and my hand every night. I get by just fine,” you said absentmindedly, as you scrubbed his muscular arms and chest. Blushing at the fact that you just confessed that.
He let out a low whistle, his smirk turning into a full-on grin at your comment. He was pleasantly surprised by your boldness, and the thought of you alone in your room with a bottle of wine and your hand...
"Well, isn't that an interesting mental image?” He purred, shifting a bit in the tub to get more comfortable.
“Glad to provide you with some material for later if it doesn’t work out with the princesses tonight.” You teased again. Not knowing where this surge of playful boldness is coming from but thinking it works with the banter you’ve had so far today.
Eric laughed in surprise at your response, clearly not expecting that. He liked it and he found you even more endearing now than before. He raised an eyebrow and smirked up at you, looking you over again with starved eyes.
"I'm going to have to make sure I give you some more opportunities to loosen up, my dear."
“Don’t worry. When I’m done with you, and you’re down at your party, it’ll be just like any other night. I’ll be sure to secretly snag a bottle of the good wine from the kitchen for your special occasion too.” You winked, lathering up his hairy, toned chest. Trying not to squeeze at his fleshy pec while you rest your hand for stability on him.
He chuckled softly at your teasing, his eyes darkening slightly, "Oh, I'll be looking forward to that.” He purred, eyes raking over your body.
“Oh, I don’t think I sent you an invite for a private show.” You giggled softly, “And you’ll surely have your hands full in the ballroom. You can’t just sneak off from your own party.”
His expression became more sultry and flirtatious. He couldn't resist the temptation of teasing you more, especially with how fun it was.
"I'll find a way, trust me. And who says I can't have a personal show later tonight?” He asked lowly, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a moment before meeting your stare again.
“Me. I say so.” You leaned in to annunciate your point. Flicking your eyes to his smirking mouth, then meeting his hooded stormy blue look. He grinned at your response, his eyes darkening even more as you leaned closer.
His gaze roved over your face, lingering on your lips for a moment longer before flicking back to your eyes, "Mm, are you sure about that?” His voice dropped an octave lower.
“How about, if you’re bored at the party, you should seek me out. But you ought to be able to find my room yourself before my performance is over.” You bit your lip at the proposition, and absentmindedly rubbed the sponge down his chest, to his abdomen, and over his partially submerged happy trail. He let out a small groan, his body shivering slightly at your touch. He was struggling to keep himself under control now, your proximity and teasing words driving him crazy.
"Deal."
His eyes followed your every motion as you moved the sponge lower and lower.
“I can tell you like that idea.” You hummed, and you cannot fight back your own smirk when your hand ran over his hardening dick. He let out a small hiss as you brushed against him. His eyes widened for a moment before his smirk returned,
"I do. A lot." His voice was low and husky as he looked up at you through hooded eyes. He shifted slightly as if to push himself against your hand.
“Eager.”
You raised an eyebrow and kept his watch. Using the sponge to wash his junk, your hand goes back to stroke him a few times. Paying attention to his alert cock under the water.
Eric let out a shaky breath as you teased him, his body tensing up at the feeling of your hand on him. His stare was intense as he looked up at you,
"Mm, can you blame me?” He asked, his voice strained and slightly breathless.
He wanted more, struggling to keep himself composed under your touch. You glanced down at his dick, then to your own breasts that were being pushed up onto the edge of the tub, on full display for the hormonal Prince.
“Hm, no, I guess I cannot blame you.”
His eyes immediately followed yours. His mouth went dry as he took in the sight of you, his hands gripping the marble tub tightly to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing you.
"You're being a tease, you know that?” He growled, his gaze roaming over your body hungrily.
“I’m just doing my duty, my Prince.” You pouted innocently as your hands slid from his groin to his muscular thighs and legs.
He groaned, frustrated, as you moved your hands away from his perked-up dick. He desperately wanted your touch back where he needed it most, and how good you looked pouting was not helping.
"Don't give me that look, my dear. You know exactly what you're doing to me." His voice strained and slightly pleading.
“I think you’re just getting worked up in a steamy room with someone you deem to be easy and will ‘bend over’ at your will.” You hummed with a quirked eyebrow. “Do you have this type of response with every maiden tasked to wash you?”
He grimaced at your words, "You're not like every other maiden, you know that. You're different."
His eyes burned with desire, as he looked up at you. You shook your head in disbelief at the Prince. Thinking he was just desperate enough to say the right thing to get you to succumb. Not thinking he could ever see you as someone he’d lay with. You fretted as your fantasies were coming to a head because you didn’t believe you’d ever get to the point where the Prince would even acknowledge you.
"You have no idea how badly I want you right now," he breathed.
“Come off it, Eric.” Your eyes were trained on his feet while scrubbing them. Positioned at the end of the tub, thankfully out of arms reach from him if he got insistent. He huffed in annoyance as you refused to believe him, clearly frustrated by your disbelief. He sat up more, his body tense, coiled like a spring.
"I'm being serious. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I want you. I want you so badly it hurts. Can't you see that?" Eric said firmly, eyes burning.
“I think you’re just horny, my Prince.” You swallowed and looked him in the eye. Trying to hold your poise and professionalism. You teetered so close to the edge of this teasing, flirting jesting that you were scared you'd capsize and crash and burn if you pushed it too far, endangering your job position,
“It doesn’t matter which head is attached to the body touching you," you muttered.
He clenched his jaw, clearly aggravated that you were still doubting him. He was so used to getting whatever and whoever he wanted, that your resistance was a new and unexpected experience for him.
"I don't just want just anyone. I want you. And I can tell you feel the same way. Stop faking like you don't." His voice was low and insistent. Eric was getting more desperate, needing you and needing you to admit that you wanted him.
You rose to your feet and put some of the soap away. With a turn, a huff, and hands on your hips, you scowled at the handsome prince, “What you think I’m just dripping? Aching to be filled by you? Because you’re the prince and you get what you want. So how could there possibly ever be a lady to turn you down, when you’re so certain of yourself?” You challenged.
He watched you. His eyes roamed over your body before he met your stare. He could see the challenge in your eyes, and he found it infuriatingly attractive. He clenched his jaw again, his frustration mounting.
"Maybe I do think that. Maybe I'm so used to getting what I want, that I expect everyone to fall at my feet." He retorted, his tone sharp and biting.
"But you're different." He continued, "I know you are. You don't just give in to me because I'm the Prince. And that's what makes me want you even more."
You narrowed your eyes at him and approached slowly. Your hand ruched up the hem of the skirt, as you stalk closer to the gazing Prince in the tub.
The dress is bunched up in your small fist, your bare thigh exposed to Eric. He watched you as you approached, his eyes widening slightly.
“Why don’t you have a feel then? Prove yourself right. You tell me, am I aching for you, my Prince?” You whispered sharply. Knowing the truth was hidden underneath, as you held a steely gaze. He could see the defiance in your eyes, the challenge, and it sent a shiver down his spine,
"Gladly."
His voice was rough with desire. He reached out and wrapped his large hand around your thigh, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to him. You held a poker face, as your eyes deceived you and followed down the wet, muscular body, the abs poking out of the sudsy water, and his pink tip bobbing like a buoy. You rest your knee on the tub's edge, eyes flicking up to his.
His blue eyes were dark like a stormy ocean. He’s gazing up your skirt like he’s looking to heaven. You smirked slightly as Prince Eric reached deeper between your legs.
“You’re gonna be so disappointed.” You teased, as you bit your bottom lip. Eric groaned softly as he ran his hand further up your thigh, his eyes following the path of his hand as he reached higher and higher. He could feel your wetness through the fabric of your underwear, and it was driving him crazy.
"Oh, really? We'll see about that."
He slowly pulled the fabric aside, his eyes fixated on your most intimate part. His fingers brushed your wet cunt.
“See? C-completely dry.” You obviously lied, as you cleared your throat, eyes hooding. Your own fingers playing with the ribbons on your corset. He smirked as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with amusement and desire. He knew you were trying to hide how much you wanted him,
"Liar." He purred, his hand tracing over your slick folds gently.
“I’d never lie to you, my Prince.” You hummed, running fingers through his dark strands of hair. Pulling his head back to look at you more. He let out a low growl, his grip on your thigh tightening possessively.
This rush of confidence slammed into you like a tidal wave. Heart thrumming as you bite your lip red. Rocking hips down against his fingers. He loved the way you looked down at him, the way you were trying to take control, and he couldn't deny how much it turned him on.
"Mm, you're being a naughty girl now, aren't you?" He teased, his fingers moving more firmly against your folds as he began to rub your clit in slow circles.
“F-fuck.” You're whining and rocking your hips down again. Loving the rough feeling of his calloused hand, and nimble fingers against your most sensitive area.
You used your grip on his hair as stability. Catching the way he kept rolling his head back to look at you from a different angle, his mouth dumbly and hotly hanging open as he rubbed.
“Mmm, no, I’m good. N-no. I am just here to serve my Prince.”
He chuckled lowly, enjoying how you were trying to hold back your moans and how you kept calling him your Prince. It was driving him insane with desire, and he wanted nothing more than to hear you completely fall apart for him.
"Are you now? Then why are you so wet for me, my good little servant?" His fingers circling your clit faster and more insistently.
You humped your hips down, moved your knee off the tub, and stepped into the water. Standing over the Prince more, as you climbed into the tub, “I realized you needed to feel my wet pussy and I am solely here to serve the king.” You moaned softly, straddling his lap, as you sat fully in the bathtub still in your skirt. The water made it heavy.
He groaned, his hands moved to grip your hips tightly as you straddle his lap. The feeling of your wet skin against his and the weight of your skirt made him shudder in pleasure.
"Good girl," he praised, his voice rough and strained. He loved having you on top of him, completely at his mercy and he at yours.
Your experienced, nimble fingers undid the ribbons holding the corset together. A pull at the breastbones opened the top. Tossing the shirt to the marble floor and putting your hands on Eric’s shoulders. His eyes widened slightly as you discarded your corset, and Eric couldn't help but let out a low moan as he took in the sight of your bare chest. His hands immediately moved to cup your breasts.
"Fuck, you're beautiful." He breathed, his gaze raking over your body hungrily.
“Thank you, My Prince.” You gasped, feeling his hard cock rubbing against your core. He growled as he felt your slick heat pressing against his cock, the urge to be inside you becoming more and more overwhelming. The head pushed in intently.
"God, I want you so badly. I want to feel you around me."
“Just take me, I’m yours to have.” You whined into his ear. Pressing your breasts to his hairy chest. He shuddered at your words, his control snapping completely as he finally gave in to his desires.
He lifted you up slightly, positioning you over his cock, and then slowly lowered you down onto him, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so.
Arching your back as he breached your walls. Nails digging into hair and flesh, “O-oh, my gods," You whimpered.
He let out a strangled moan, his hands gripped your hips tightly as he held you still for a moment. Letting you adjust. The feeling of you clenching around him was almost too much to handle.
"So tight... so perfect..," he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as he fought to keep control. He wanted to just pound into you relentlessly, but he also wanted to savor the feeling of being inside you for the first time.
You yanked at the heavy material of your skirt to move it away from where your bodies met. He then started to manhandle your body, getting into a rhythm of fucking you. Keeping a hand on his chest to steady yourself. The other hand tangling in his hair again.
He let out a low growl as you yank your skirt out of the way, the sight of his cock disappearing inside you making him even more aroused. He began to thrust up into you harder and faster, his hands moving to your hips to guide your movements as he used you like a rag doll.
"Gods, look at you, taking me so well..."
“I’d bend at your will, my Prince. I’d do anything for you.” Gasping breathlessly into his ear. Whining and clawing at him as he uses you. He shuddered at your words, he loved the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, the way you were completely giving yourself to him.
"That's right, you're mine to use however I please. And I plan on taking full advantage of that." He growled, his thrusts becoming more and more brutal as he lost himself in the pleasure.
You rocked your hips down to meet his thrusts and your chests slid together. Your large breasts rubbing against his hairy-toned chest, “I aim to please, Your Majesty.”
He moaned loudly, the feeling of your nipples brushing against his skin sent shivers down his spine. He loved how responsive you were, and how you moved with him so perfectly,
"You're such a good little servant, doing exactly as I say. I should reward you for being such a good girl."
“This is an honor to fuck you, Eric.” You breathed, nipping at his ear. Feeling his facial hair rubbing harshly against your soft skin; Scraping at it hotly.
"Fuck, you drive me crazy. You're such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"
You're a whiny mess, as you rocked and rubbed against him. Nearing your orgasm. Feeling his strong hands gripping your ass in the soaked thin material of your skirt, “Y-yes, my Prince.”
He could tell you were close, and he began to thrust even harder. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, as he chased his own release.
"I want you to cum for me, darling. I want to feel you come undone on my cock. Can you do that for me, princess?"
“Y-ye—yeah," you tugged at his hair and brokenly moaned in agreement, as his hips fucked up into you in the soapy water.
You're clenching then spasming, as your hips flexed and rocked. Hitting your climax. Moaning his name over and over. He groaned, your orgasm sending him over the edge as well. He buried his face in your neck, his hips bucking up into you a few more times as he emptied himself inside you.
"F-fuck, princess... you're amazing..."
You sighed heavily as you came down from your orgasm, “Oh, fuck me, Prince Eric…”
He chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you and holding you close as he caught his breath. He gently nuzzled your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline,
"I think I just did, darling."
You shivered in his touch, giggling and pushing weakly at his chest. He grinned at your weak attempt and he tightened his grip on you instead, pulling you even closer to him.
"Oh no, you're not going anywhere. You're mine now."
“I already work for you. I’ve been yours all along.” You grumbled into his skin. He chuckled again, running his hands up and down your back soothingly.
"I know, but I mean it differently now. You're mine in every sense of the word. You belong to me, both body and soul."
“Eric," you pushed firmly on his chest, a furrow to your brow, sitting up more as you straddle the Prince. His cock softened inside you. You're cocking your head to the side, “Careful, now. Body and soul? You’re nearing the territory of uncharted waters.”
You were starting to feel like you walked into someone else’s fairytale. Like he was your dream prince, who wanted you back. But you know that’s not reality. You work for him.
A soft smile graced his face, as he watched you. He reached up to brush a strand of hair away from your eye. His touch was gentle and affectionate,
"I know what I said. And I mean it. You're mine to cherish, to worship, to protect. I want all of you, body and soul. I want you by my side always, princess."
“Eric, please.” You flushed, “Hundreds of princesses are coming to see you soon. Don’t be talking like that.”
He rolled his eyes, hands resting on your hips again as he looked at you with a playful smirk.
"I don't care about those princesses. They mean nothing to me. I only want you, my sweet little servant. My good girl."
“What, like forever? Your mother would never accept me.” You worry at your lip again. He frowned slightly, his expression turning serious as he cupped your face in his hands.
"I don't care what my mother thinks. She doesn't get to dictate who I love. And I love you, princess. I'll make her accept you if I have to."
You blinked at him stupidly and confusedly, as you pulled away and off him. Climbing out of the tub, “No don’t say that. Don’t say that word to me when you don’t mean it. You don’t know me.”
You grabbed a dry robe off a hook and wiggled out of your heavy wet skirt. Shooting a glare at him over your shoulder.
“This fantasy is going too far!"
He sat up in the tub, a mixture of confusion and frustration on his face as you pulled away from him. He silently tracked your movements around the bathing room, before shaking his head.
"What the hell are you talking about? Of course, I mean it. I love you. And I do know you. I know everything about you. You're my housemaid, remember? I've seen you almost every day for months now," He wrinkled his handsome face with a frown.
You walked over and handed him a towel, so he could get out of the tub to dry off. Unable to knock your capacity to take care of him, “You haven’t held a conversation with me once.”
He seized the towel from you, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood up and began to dry himself. He can't help but feel a pang of guilt at your words, knowing that you were right.
"I... I know that. But I didn't think I needed to. I thought I knew everything about you just by observing you."
“What?" You laughed dryly, "No, you don’t observe me.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair, frustration growing within him,
"I do, though. I've been watching you for months, memorizing your every move. I know how you like your tea, how you prefer to have your hair done, the way you walk, the way you laugh... I know everything about you in that way."
Your curls fell into your face, shaking your head, “You’re out sailing half the time, Eric. Meeting beautiful exotic women. You’re too busy talking about your adventures and looking through your collections. I mean, like, we have had passing glances." You blinked as you started to realize. "Are you telling me all those times we've crossed paths, your desperate attempts at us having a moment? The fingers brushing mine in the hall? Rubbing against me as you pass in a crowded party...?”
He stepped closer to you, his eyes darkening at your words. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but firm.
"Those passing glances were more than you realize. They were the times that I was tempted to pull you aside and take you for myself. The times I wanted to bend you over my desk and have my way with you in front of everyone. The times I imagined what it would be like to have you writhing beneath me - but I had to refrain."
You stepped back and kept shaking your head, “Too much. Too, too much! I can’t do this. We can't do this. We have Kings and Queens, Counts, Barons, and Lords, coming to your castle with their gorgeous daughters. To meet you.”
You backed up more. Not letting him get too close. His musk and eyes, the charming British accent. All tempting to lure you in like a siren's song, “And I am not a princess.”
He let out a frustrated growl, following as you backed away.
"I don't care if you're a princess or not. I don't care about those other girls. I don't want any of them. I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. And you can't deny the connection between us. The way our bodies fit together, the way we move in sync... We're meant to be together, princess."
You outstretched your arms to keep him at bay. Flattening your hands to his bare chest. Fingers twitched on his skin as there was a loud knock on the bathing room’s door. Grimsby’s voice on the other side rang through the thick wood,
“Prince Eric, your mother is asking for you. She picked out your outfit and wants to see you try it on!"
Eric sighed heavily, annoyance clear on his face as Grimsby's voice interrupted the moment. He glanced towards the door, then back at you. Eyes lingering on your hands against his chest.
"Fine. I'll be there in a minute," he called back to the man through gritted teeth, his body tense with frustration and unfulfilled desire.
'We’re done here' you mouthed to him, pushing him back firmly but not harshly. After scooping up your skirt, you wait by the door to hear Grimsby’s footsteps patter over the stone flooring; echoing away.
“I have to get back to work or he’ll personally get me fired.”
He scowled at your words, clearly unhappy with the idea of leaving things as they are. He took a step towards you, but you pushed him back again, and he reluctantly stepped back further. He watched you gather your things, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and desire.
"We're not done, princess. Not by a long shot."
You yanked the door open and lingered in the royal bathing room doorway, “Except we are, at least for now. You need to go meet so many pretty ladies and look just happy enough to keep world peace between your kingdom and all of theirs. So, go do your own damn job or risk pissing off mommy." You said in a semi-mocking tone.
He grumbled under his breath, knowing you were right but hating it. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his jaw clenched tight,
"Damn it, you're infuriating, you know that?"
“Then stay away from me," You said with a teasing raise of your eyebrows, then hastily exiting the doorway and into the shadows.
Scurrying down the hall and to your room. Passing other servant friends and your coworkers. Rinsing your hair with a proper wash in the communal quarters.
After drying off, you touched up your makeup. Making it a little sexier tonight, with darker shadows and brighter blush. You changed into the formal event uniform - a slim, black maid's dress. Spinning in the mirror, you grimaced at your reflection. Feeling not sexy at all.
You'll blend in with the shadows, as colorful princesses in ball gowns soon swarm the castle.
Trevor x Fem!Reader
Part 1 | Part 2 * - (in progress)
𓎙─۫──۪─𓎙
Trevor got home, drunk, and you were pissed off at him for it. You started an argument with him because lately, he's always out late and intoxicated when he gets home.
He started yelling at you back, pissed too that you're always bringing up him going out and, in his eyes, having fun.
"Seriously? You're bringing up me getting drunk when you're literally the one who gives me grief for being even a minute late getting back from work? Work, babe. I need a drink in me to handle your war paths." He groans as he puts a hand on his head and runs it down the front of his face, before snagging the freshly opened beer bottle off the side table and taking a swig.
"I made dinner, Trev," I sigh. Gesturing to the pans on the stove with the cold, burnt food caked inside. Feeling stupid standing in the kitchen in a floral patterned dress.
"Yeah, and? It's your job to make dinner. The food is cold at this point anyway," He scoffs and leans back against the wall. He didn't notice how upset you were. He was just being stubborn as always.
"No, it's not my job, you prick."
I toss the hastily untied apron onto the counter, before opening the fridge and getting my own beer. Cracking it open and taking a swig.
He glares at you, watching you drink the beer, "Oh really? Then what is it, huh? Housework?"
He says it sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. Pushing off the wall as he walks closer to you, clearly still drunk.
You scoff at his ignorant comment, but point your beer neck toward him, "Don't you come near me. I'm so fucking annoyed with you." Then tossing one of the pans into the sink. He grabs your arm and pulls you against him.
"What're you gonna do about it, princess?" He chuckles and looks down at you, smirking as he's clearly messing with you.
"You're drunk. Let go of me," you shrug him off and turn to start scrubbing at the pan. He wraps his arms around your waist and presses himself against your back, his chin on your shoulder as he watches you clean the pan.
"But I don't wanna..." He says it in a pouty tone, acting like a brat on purpose to get a reaction out of you.
You scrub at the pan as you let him hold on. Pausing to drink your beer with a heavy sigh as it's set back down. Dropping the sponge. And without turning around, you stare blankly at the backsplash that you helped him pick out last month, "Was Riley there?"
He groans when you bring up Riley. Not wanting to admit that he was at the bar with her. Knowing that it'll make you even more pissed at him.
"Yea, she was." He admits it quietly, while his grip on your waist tightens. Not wanting you to turn around.
"Of course she was," you mumble as you start scrubbing the pan again. He sighs, hearing the irritation in your voice.
"C'mon, don't be mad. It was just for fun." He tries to defend himself, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and mumbling against your skin.
You huff, "How am I supposed to feel when you still hang out alone with the girl you used to fuck, Trev?"
He grits his teeth when you ask that. Clearly, he does not want to talk about it. "We're just friends. We've been over this." He mutters and tightens his grip even more. Now just holding you possessively.
"Yeah, I know. But you never have us hang out all together anymore," you rinse the pan, wash your hands, and let them fall to the edge of the countertop; Clenching tightly.
"Because you always act like this when she's around," He mutters. Moving his hands to grip your hips instead. Spinning you around so you're facing him now. He leans against the counter, trapping you between him and it. Looking down at you with a slight glare. You look into his blue eyes and just feel the anger and resentment. There's something dark about the way he looks at you now. You don't know when things started going downward. But he just started to shift away emotionally and it's severely affecting your relationship,
"She is just so handsy when she drinks and you just let her." You frown at him as he rolls his eyes at that. Not seeing the problem with it, sighs, his grip on your hips tightening a bit more.
"She's just a touchy person when she's drunk. That's all. It's not like she's doing anything to me," He mutters. His tone is dismissive, as if your feelings didn't matter in this situation.
"I just," you sigh. Feeling like you're not going to get through to him. You know the routine - He drinks, you bicker, you either fight or fuck, he forgets, he's super apologetic like a dog with its tail between its legs the next day, he drinks, repeat. "I mean, surely you could understand that I worry she doesn't know her limit when she's alone with you."
He sighs again. Growing annoyed at your concerns and how much you're worrying about something that he sees as insignificant.
"Babe," He groans and moves one of his hands to your chin. Tilting your head up to look at him. His expression was stern as he looked down at you. His grip on your chin is almost tight enough to bruise. "Stop worrying so much. Nothing is going to happen between me and her, I promise."
"Okay," you wince and grab his wrist. Pulling his hand away from your face. "Jesus, fuck. I hate how aggressive you get when you drink."
He looks slightly annoyed that you pulled his hand away. His grip on your hip tightened to a point where it was almost painful. "Then why do you keep pissing me off?" He grumbles, not really meaning it, but still being antagonistic from the alcohol in his system.
"I don't know, Trev!?" You give a firm but not harsh shove, as you move away from the counter. Not liking him cornering you like that. You scoop up your beer and walk through his studio apartment into the living room and onto the leather couch. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore."
He follows you, "What do you mean you don't know me anymore?" His tone is cold as he sits beside you, leaving a bit of space between.
"You-...you came home late one night a few weeks ago and you've just seemed off ever since," you furrow your brow as you gaze out of focus into the apartment. Trying to remember what may have happened to cause this change in him. He raises an eyebrow at that. A look of irritation on his face as he tries to also remember what you're talking about. He leans back against the couch and crosses his arms, his mind racing.
He finally speaks, "I've been off because you keep pestering me about stupid shit like work and what time I get home. That's why I seem 'off'."
"No. No, Trevor. That's not just it. You came back on edge that night. Like you did something bad and wrong. And I always thought you were seeing someone. Maybe Riley again. And you've just been distant..."
As you sip your beer with a sigh, Trevor clenched his jaw. He wasn't expecting you to bring that up again. He looks at you, his expression closed off as he processes what you say. He was silent for a moment before speaking again. His tone was cold and emotionless, "And you're accusing me of cheating on you again, huh?"
"Because I feel like I don't know you," You repeat. Slapping your hand to your side as you turn to him. Taking in his lack of expression. A dim light of the man you actually fell in love with. His handsome defined features are now stony. "You have been pushing me away."
He scoffs and rolls his eyes again, clearly not believing you. "I'm pushing you away because you're constantly accusing me of cheating on you, and it's pissing me off, princess." The nickname he uses sounds almost like an insult now. He clenches his jaw again, and you wonder if it could unhinge if he does that too often. The irritation is clear on his face as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Because you're never around?! And when you are, you're drunk! It's like you need to be away from me or under the influence when you're around." You huff, as you sneer over at him. Angry at yourself that your features are betraying you as they brim your eyes with tears.
He groans when he sees you getting teary-eyed. He hates when you cry, especially when it's because of him. "Oh, so I'm a bad boyfriend because I need a few drinks every now and then? You're so damn sensitive." Not wanting to admit that he does have a drinking problem and that it is starting to affect his relationship with you.
You shake your head and finish the beer. Getting up to retrieve another. "Happy Anniversary, Trev."
He watches you walk into the kitchen, "Ah yeah, forgot that was today," he says sarcastically.
You keep the fridge open, as you hide behind the door from Trevor. Letting some angry tears fall. Wiping at them harshly as you snag another beer bottle. "You're just further proving my point." You mumble, before letting the fridge door slam shut.
"And what point would that be, hm?" He grunts as he rises from the couch and stalks into the kitchen, stopping behind you to lean against the counter. "That I'm a bad boyfriend? Because I'm fully aware of that, sweetheart."
"Yes. Exactly. Something happened to you three weeks ago and you've been a really shitty boyfriend ever since," you snap, angrily facing him.
He raises an eyebrow before glaring down at you, "You really think I'm a shitty boyfriend because of a single night where I came home late?" Despite the night having affected him more than he wanted to admit, he feigns ignorance.
"No! That night changed you into becoming a shitty person," you shout, growing frustrated.
He steps closer, getting in your face and towering over you. "Watch your tone, princess." He growls. His expression turned into a scowl.
"No." You outstretch your arm to keep him at a distance. Manicured fingertips barely touching his toned chest, "You don't get to intimidate me. I'm done with this fucking toxic cycle!"
He grabs your wrist, his grip tight. He pulls you closer to him, leaving no space between your bodies. "Oh yeah? What're you going to do about it?" He asks in a challenging tone. Looking down at you with a smirk, enjoying this a bit too much.
You look up at him in terror before instinctively slamming the beer bottle onto the counter. Holding the jagged end toward him as you back up, "I'm done with the fighting and the aggressive sex. The darkness you bring with you into a room. You have been nothing but a storm cloud in your own life. You don't go to work, you just drink. You avoid. You destroy."
He looks at the broken bottle in your hand, eyes widening slightly at the action, before returning to their fixed cold glare on you. "Oh yeah? Well, maybe you should've thought of that before falling in love with me, huh?" His tone was almost cruel as he held his gaze. Not intimidated at all by you or the broken glass.
You feel your back hit the wall as you whimper slightly. Yet, you keep your stare hardened and determined. Sick of the emotional abuse that you've been suffering through for the past few weeks. Knowing in your gut something happened to your once loving boyfriend that fateful night.
"I loved your old self. The Trevor I fell in love with would've never made me question that he would've ever laid a hand on me. Unlike the version of you standing in front of me now." My hand holding the bottle was shaking.
Trevor notices the shaking hand, a bit of amusement in his eyes, as he steps closer again. Closing the distance between you. He places a hand on the wall next to your head, trapping you against the wall with his body.
"Oh really?" He asks in a mocking tone, a smirk gracing his lips. "You're sure you still love the old me? Not even the version of me that you see now?"
You shake your head, "No. Because I'm not sure there's an ounce of him left in you. You have been so abusive. I don't even feel loved by you anymore," your lip is uncontrollably wobbling. "We don't make love as much as we used to. It's all aggressive and hard and punishing. You hit, and scratch, and I claw to get away from you."
Trevor raises an eyebrow at your words. His smirk widens slightly as he looks at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. He leans in close to your ear, his voice low and mocking as he speaks, "Oh? And who's fault is that? Who's the one who gets me drunk and then expects me to not be a little rough with you?"
"I don't want you drinking!? You've just used it to cope or numb something. Baby, I want to help you. But you have to help me. This isn't you." You try fighting the tears, but they trickle down as you plead to him.
He scoffs at your words. Moving his face away from your ear and looks down at you with a cold expression. "Help me? Help me with what? You can't help me, princess. No one can."
His tone is harsh and dismissive as if he truly believed that there was nothing that could be done to fix him or the mess he's in.
"But there is something that happened?! I can try." you whimper. "Please baby, just talk to me."
You place a shaking hand on his cheek. His expression softened slightly. He stays silent for a moment. Debating whether or not to tell you what happened that night, three weeks ago.
He sighs, the fight leaving his body as he leans into your touch. The coldness in his eyes fades as he looks at you.
"Please, Trevy," you whisper. A thumb caressing his skin.
He sighs again and closes his eyes. The nickname causes a pang of guilt to go through his chest. He was still a little drunk, but the softness in your touch and the tone of your voice was making him vulnerable again. Something that he recently hated being. But, he knows deep within his soul that he should be taking care of you.
He leans into your touch more, his head dropping down onto your shoulder as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. Silent; he just rests there.
"Okay, maybe not tonight. Maybe let's go to bed, yeah?" You whisper. Your hand moves to card through his hair. Feeling your heart clench as he finally shows you a minuscule glimpse of a gentle reaction.
He lets out a shaky exhale against your neck as your fingers move. The sensation was soothing him in a way that he didn't know he needed. He stays like that for a moment, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him as he clings to you like a lifeline.
"I love you so much, Trevor. I want to be there for you. I'm here for you." Your hands continue to gently scrape at his scalp. Feeling him slacken into your touch. You push off the wall and slumped over, now cuddly man toward his bed.
He allows you to guide him. You sit him on the bed and help him remove his pants and shirt. You catch the tired smirk on his lips, while his eyes remain closed. Only catching them peeking open as he sleepily watches you move around the room while taking care of him. He lets you help him lie down, and you place a garbage can by his side of the bed.
"Bedtime, baby. We'll talk tomorrow."
He grabs your wrist as you try to pull away, "Stay with me." He mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper as he tugs you down onto the bed with him. You oblige as you let him pull you. Having changed into one of his t-shirts while puttering about the apartment.
You curl into him and appreciate the warmth his body provides. You bury your face in his chest and let out a deep sigh. He immediately wraps his arms around you. Pulling you flush against his chest and holding you close to him. Burying his face in your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, and letting it calm him further. He's silent for a moment before speaking again, his voice still quiet and hoarse,
"I'm sorry."
"I know," I hum, as I press a soft kiss to his chest.
He shivers slightly. Arms tightening around you like you're the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
𓎙─۫──۪─𓎙
Eventually, you feel Trevor's breathing even out. You roll over in his arms, and he unconsciously pulls you closer, staring out into the dark apartment. Wide awake after the events of tonight.
The darkness plays tricks with the shadowy furniture, as you glance around the room. Your mind races as the overthinking kicks in. What did he do three weeks ago? What happened to him? He came back almost the exact way he's been acting now. Just so much more aggressive, all softness scrubbed out of his body. This is the first time in a long time that you feel like you actually cracked him a bit.
His face is buried in your neck again, breathing steady and soft. Your eyes flick to his phone lighting up in his jeans pocket. Illuminating the section of the room like a spotlight. You hesitate but then move carefully to get up.
Trevor lets out a small noise of disapproval when you move, his arms searching for you in his sleep and finding nothing. He grumbles as he rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow and remaining fast asleep.
You breathe a sigh of relief when he stops fussing and take out his phone. Lowering the screen brightness before seeing the message. From Riley, asking him if he made it home safely.
You worry at your lip before unlocking the phone and texting her.
'Yes. But it's Diana. I'm concerned about him. Can we talk?'
The phone buzzes with a response almost immediately, 'sure. we can talk now if you want.' And she asks if you're able to talk privately.
'Ye can we meet at that 24/7 diner at the corner of ferry street??' You start pulling on a pair of Trevor's sweatpants and zip-up as you wait for her response.
Riley texts back a 'sure thing,' and tells you she'll meet you there in a few minutes. Quickly, you put Trevor's phone back and slip a pair of boots on before quietly leaving the apartment. Heading out of the complex, and over a few blocks to the diner.
𓎙─۫──۪─𓎙
You arrive at the diner, noticing the back of Riley's curly hair sitting in the booth in the corner. This place is mostly empty. She waves you over when she sees you walk in, you spare a glance at the clock on the wall and note that it's almost 4am.
Her expression is filled with concern as she watches you approach.
"Hi Riley," you smile softly, before sitting down opposite her in the booth. Taking in how tired she looked. "I'm sorry for keeping you up."
She waves her hand dismissively, her eyes studying you closely as she takes in your appearance. "Don't worry about it, Diana. I was awake anyway."
She lets out a small sigh and leans back in her seat, a tired look in her eyes, "so, what's up with Trevor?"
You fiddle with your fingers nervously on the table, "Y-you're his friend. Have you noticed he's been acting different?"
Riley nods in agreement, "Yeah you're not the only one who has noticed that. He's been really different. I've tried talking to him about it, but he just shuts me down and changes the subject every time."
You worry at your lip and then look at her, "Was he with you? Three weeks ago?"
Riley looks at you for a moment, her eyes widening slightly as she realizes what you're asking. She hesitates for a moment, clearly conflicted about whether or not to tell you the truth. She lets out a sigh and nods slowly.
Your brow furrows as you feel your heart drop. Eyes falling to your hands and sliding them off the table, "Yeah, he was with me three weeks ago."
"Were you guys like...sleeping together?"
Riley's eyes comically widen even more at your question. She quickly shakes her head, a look of horror on her face. "No! God, no. We weren't sleeping together." She says firmly. Clearly taken aback by the suggestion.
Your eyes dart up and you sit back in your seat. "Oh! Oh. I'm so sorry, I just know you guys have a history and I've only just started being really paranoid."
You shake your head, but Riley lets out a soft sigh as she releases a bit. Understanding where you were coming from.
"I get why you would've thought that though. But we're friends. Nothing more, I swear."
"Thanks. I believe you," you nod. "What were you guys doing that night then?"
Riley looks down at the table for a moment, hesitating again before answering.
"He was having a rough night. And I let him stay over at my place for a while to get his mind off of things." She says, keeping her answer vague. Not wanting to tell you the details of that night.
"Did he tell you what happened? Please, he won't tell me anything. But I feel like he came home almost possessed that night and just hasn't been the same since." Desperation and worry lacing your words.
Riley sighs again, her expression filled with sympathy as she sees the desperation in your eyes, "He was, really messed up that night. I tried talking to him about it but he didn't tell me anything. All he said was that he did something stupid."
She pauses for a moment, debating whether or not to continue. You look to her, silently pleading that she does.
"He was just so full of guilt and regret when he showed up at my place. I've never seen him like that before. He wouldn't even look me in the eyes. It was like he couldn't bear to face me."
"Did he say why?" You ask breathlessly. "I'm sorry, I just want to understand so I can know if I can help him in any way."
Riley shakes her head, messy curls bouncing. A look of frustration on her face, "He didn't give me details. He just kept saying 'I did something terrible' and 'I don't deserve her.'"
Her expression softens slightly, "He really loves you, you know..."
Your lip wobbles, feeling like you've hit a dead end. Nodding halfheartedly, "I just don't get it."
"I know it's hard."
"I mean," you sigh. "I think deep down that he wouldn't cheat. At least the Trevor I knew for a good chunk of our relationship wouldn't. And if that's the Trevor that went out that night, then how awful was the circumstance that he put himself into?"
Riley squeezes your hand reassuringly, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know you trust him. And I know he wouldn't cheat. But whatever he did that night, it really messed him up. I've never seen him so self-destructive before."
You can't help your worried tears as you hastily wipe them away with the sleeve of the hoodie. Breathing in his familiar cologne. "Did he like, mention anything else that may have not made sense? Like he didn't hint at anything he got himself into?"
Riley shakes her head again, "He didn't say anything else. Just drank himself stupid and cried. Pretty closed off. Ok, well, I guess he did say one more thing though..."
You peek up with piqued interest. Riley's expression grows serious, "he mentioned a 'lament' and that he didn't deserve you. That he was a monster for what he's done and you should hate him."
"What?" Riley nods slowly. Eyes locked in on yours as she sees the shock and disbelief. Your brows furrow again, as your mind spirals. Lament? And if not cheating then what else?
Riley watches as your mind clearly starts racing. A look of worry on her face as she could practically see the gears turning.
"Don't. Don't over think it, Diana," She says softly, gently squeezing your hand again.
"I don't think that's possible. I worry so much for him."
"I know you do. But you're not going to figure out what happened by stressing yourself out. It's not good for you."
You nod and almost ignore her concern as you ask your follow-up question, "What do you guys talk about when you're together?"
Riley raises an eyebrow at the question, caught off guard by it, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, again, I trust and know that there's nothing funny going on between you guys. You're friends. Always shooting the shit and catching each other up on life, from what I've seen. What have you guys been chatting about lately? Any plans? Did he talk about anything in the past few weeks before that night?"
Riley's question becomes more thoughtful as she processes the question, "Well, we haven't really been talking much recently. Things have been a bit tense between us since that night. He kind of sulks and drinks and keeps me as a drinking buddy. But I think around the time of the incident, he mentioned going out to meet up with some old friends."
"Anything else?"
"We didn't really talk for long. He seemed distracted the whole time. And I didn't want to pry or make him uncomfortable."
You squeeze her hand and smile at her gratefully, "Okay. Ok, thank you for sitting through my interrogation," you tease.
Riley chuckles and rolls her eyes, "It wasn't one! I understand why you're asking, you know. I'd probably be just as confused and worried if I were in your positon right now."
"Thank you. It just isn't sitting right with me," I release her hand and look at the clock. "I've kept you. You need some sleep, I bet."
Riley looks to the clock and realizes how late it is. "Yeah, you're probably right. I have work in the morning." She looks back to you concerned, "Are you gonna be okay, Diana?"
"I will be once he is, probably." You admit, "But, I wanted to say I'm sorry if I ever have been bitchy to you or have come off cold when we have all hung out. I really appreciate you being in his life, and I genuinely hope to get to know you more." You smile softly.
Riley's heart warms at your sincerity. "It's okay, I get it. And there's no need to apologize. I know you're going through a lot right now. And I would like to get a beer with you guys, we'll need to figure out a time when you're not in the mood to kick my ass for hanging out with your boyfriend."
"No, I trust your word. There will be no skepticism seeping from me again," you promise with a bigger smile. "But just no hands on the upper thighs. Everywhere else, above the belt, is at the legal limit," you tease.
Riley bursts out laughing at your comment. A light blush crept on her cheeks, "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." She says giggling a bit.
"We all get that way when drinking, I don't blame you, girl." You giggle a bit and feel a wave of comfort and happiness wash over you - Having the feeling of being shut into a dark corner for some time in these past few weeks.
Riley smiles warmly, feeling a sense of camaraderie between you. "Exactly, and I know I can be a bit touchy when I'm drunk...But I can't help it. Trevor is just so touchable, ya know?"
You smirk, "He really is! He works that body to perfection. Hard not to poke at those muscles."
Riley nods, "Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible not to want to touch those muscles. They're so defined, I could just drool over them for hours."
You laugh and nudge her playfully, "Alright, relax!"
"I'm just being honest! Haven't you seen the way he looks without the shirt on?"
You smirk to yourself. Nibbling on your lip a little as you think of all the times you've walked into his apartment after he's worked out, or got out of the shower, in the shower with him, on top of him, underneath him. He had an amazing physique that can be appreciated by all. But you get to see and feel it at all of his most intimate angles. And while Riley may share similar experiences with you, you can feel in your gut that she is no threat.
Riley can't help but notice the way your eyes glaze over slightly as you think of Trevor. She smirks at the sight, clearly amused.
With your mind focused on Trevor, your lips falter as you begin to worry about him. Your mind falls back on how much he has shut down. You spare Riley a weak smile before lightly tapping the table, "Right. I'm gonna motor. We'll keep in touch, yeah? I'll snag your number from him. Good Night, Riley!"
Riley smiles softly as she notices your expression falter again, her playful demeanor lessening. "Yeah, of course. Get some rest, Diana. You look like you need it."
"You too. Stay safe and well." You bid her farewell as you leave the diner. Briskly walking back to Trevor's apartment complex and letting yourself in with your key.
𓎙─۫──۪─𓎙
The apartment is dark and quiet. The only sounds are the low hum of the air conditioning and soft snores coming from the bed. Trevor is still asleep.
You breathe shakily, grateful that he’s still asleep. And before you think better of it, you’re back on his phone. Scrolling through text messages. He only has a couple of group chats, and single chats to search through. He doesn’t really keep up conversations or talk to a whole lot of people.
You find a group chat that showed the last message was received the night things went to shit. It was a message confirming a meeting point.
The group chat seems to consist of a few unknown numbers. There are only a few messages in the chat. You scroll through the messages, looking for any clues or hints as to what he was doing that night.
An unknown number was texting about a burglary they were planning. - ‘Big score.’ - There was dropped a pin to an address. - Trevor confirmed he ‘was in.’ - Is this what they got up to that night? Was he a part of a robbery? Did he kill someone? Did someone do something to him? Instinctively, you look at his sleeping form.
Then your eyes flick back to stare at the text messages for a moment longer, your heart racing in your chest. You’re not sure what to think. The thought of Trevor being involved in a robbery is shocking and unnerving. And you can’t help but notice the lack of details about what actually happened that night
As you look at his sleeping form, you feel a mix of emotions. You’re worried about him but also hurt and confused by his actions. You don’t want to believe that he would do something like this, but the evidence is right in front of you. But that still doesn't answer the glaring questions.
After a beat, you glance at the clock and a sigh of resignation, locking the phone. That’s enough detective work for the night, Nancy Drew, you mentally chide. You put his phone back and shed the boots, hoodie, and sweatpants, and crawl back into bed with Trevor.
Trevor stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open just a bit.
“Babe…?” He mumbles sleepily, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
“Sorry, baby. I just got back from the bathroom. Didn’t mean to disturb you.” You whisper, kissing his arm as you settle in.
Trevor hums softly at the press of your lips to his arm, and his grip on you tightens slightly. He mumbles something incoherent, his eyes still half closed as he pulls you flush against his chest.
You let his breathing guide you into sleep. Comforted just knowing he’s here, providing you warmth and not pushing you away. You fall asleep for only a few hours but soak in the moments of tranquility. Ready to tackle this mystery tomorrow.
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