#next part most likely this weekend and that will be that!

[jarofstyles]

The Favor 12

It’s been 800 years and I’m sorry 😭 now that we reached this point inspo has come and gone so fast. But I got this part done and the next one on Patreon now! I would love to hear thoughts and suggestions, I’ve already implemented some of what you guys have asked for in my planned parts 🩷 enjoy! And happy holidays

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WC- 6.6k

Warnings- mentions of a Dom/sub dynamic, anxiety mention, misogyny, we hate Danny club tee shirts being passed around, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of relationship trauma

Danny hadn’t always been a bad boyfriend. 

At first he had been kind and sweet. With him being a tad bit more outgoing than Y/N, he had brought her into his friend group and integrated her as one of them. He had brought her flowers for their 6 month anniversary, they went on dates on the weekends twice a month, and it was nice. Solid, steady. 

Until he got a little too comfortable. 

Y/N could see it now that she had removed her heart from the equation. Danny was lazy, and it had shown more and more as the year mark hit, and then two years, and she had to remind him of Valentine’s Day, make the birthday plans, schedule the dates, or go along with the plans he’d made with his friends. He would get her gifts on those occasions, yes, but the most stereotypical things. It had lacked thought. Flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day were nice! She didn’t want to come across as ungrateful ever- but when he’d gotten her dark chocolate when he should have known she really disliked it, it made it a little less sweet- pun intended. 

If someone were to ask Y/N why she stayed so long,  she wouldn’t have one singular answer. Comfort? Familiarity? Routine? Perhaps lack of self esteem? She wasn’t sure. Being raised to think you had a specific way of doing things, of dating, engagement, then marriage, she hadn’t really been given many other examples. Growing up, her parents had been high school sweethearts, as had both of their parents. There was no breaking up, it was a one and done type of deal. 

She wasn’t sure if that was set in stone, though. It was an unspoken rule, something left unsaid like a thinly veiled threat in the night air. They spoke of the great love story of finding your one and only and it made her feel like she had to stick to that too. She’d never asked her mother about it, because she never really entertained the idea of having any other partner. 

It was easy with Danny in the way that she knew what to expect. She knew his habits, she knew his work, his schedule. She knew his friends, his plans for life, there were no surprises. Nothing that would jump back out and bite her, catch her off guard as he slowly leaned into being less attentive.&

Maybe that’s why even when she started having doubts she had stuck them to the back of her mind. 

There was no denying that Harry had been a very, very big part in all of it. The funny part of it was, she wasn’t sure that the sex bit was what truly got her to reconsider even if it had started it all. As incredible, euphoric as she felt- it was the way she felt afterwards. Before, even. When they sat in his bed and he stroked her cheek, feeding her cubes of cantaloupe or strawberries sliced in half, or when he’d picked up a carton of her yogurt and granola after mentioning what she usually had for breakfast at home. 

It was how gentle he handled her not only physically, but emotionally. He checked in, he cared, he asked her multiple times what she liked and what she didn’t. If it was okay to touch her certain ways, if he could kiss her. Just little things that seemed so minuscule in size if you looked at it from the outside but felt so big to her that it tore at her heart. 

He’d gotten her that damn water bottle, he’d gotten used to washing her hair when they shared showered, he used that tender tone of voice that had her bones feeling flexible as she melded into him each and every time. 

And another thing she had found to like about Harry, was the fact that he was just… dominant in most regards.

It wasn’t overly so. He wasn’t this complete alpha, macho man, fists banging on the chest sort of guy. He didn’t walk into the room and demand to be the biggest and baddest in the room. It was understated, quiet. If you looked at him you could just… see. Feel it. You could see he held it together well, that he liked control in the way he kept things organized and held eye contact regardless of who it was. He very rarely shied away from a situation. In fact, Y/N felt very special for being one of the only people she had seen make him blush or get flustered. 

It was second nature to him to just do. To pick up where she left off. So it did make her wonder what else she could do for him. How she could help him relieve stress. Yes, there was the sexual aspect that she was more than willing to hand over whenever he wanted (no exaggeration- any time, any place) but she wanted to be the person he allowed himself to loosen up with. 

She’d seen glimpses. Silliness and joking, that sort of tenderness that he didn’t seem to give to anyone else, but she wanted to make his life easier. Researching the dynamics between dominants and submissives, she had some questions- but the first thing she needed to do was cut off the dead weight- the only thing holding them back. 

—-

Meeting at the park was a good idea. She could tell by his face that he had a clue what was going to happen and as much as she tried not to, she did feel a tiny sliver of guilt. 

Y/N didn’t necessarily cheat, no. She’d had full permission, ecstatic permission, actually. He’d handed her over to Harry. Being realistic she knew he didn’t realize it would be an option that he wouldn’t get her back. Danny was headstrong in a way she found a lot of men were. He didn’t consider the possibility that she actually did know what she wanted and once she had a taste, she would want that for herself all the time.

“You’re leaving me for him.”

“Not necessarily.” She sighed, crossing her arms around her body. “It isn’t just about him. It’s about the fact that we aren’t compatible anymore, and we haven’t been in a long time.”

Danny scoffed, tilting his head towards the sky. “So, what? I’m nice? I let you go and see and play around to explore that shit and now you’ve gotten addicted to that sort of stuff? We can get you to therapy, because it isn’t healthy. But obviously it was a mistake to hand you off to him-“

“Yes. If you loved me, if you truly wanted me, Daniel- you’d never, ever want someone else to touch me.” She remembered how Harry had said he didn’t want to share her. Look, sure. But never touch. “You said the shit I’m into is weird, you shame me, then pawn me off to your friend which… it’s dangerous. The both of us are lucky Harry is genuinely an amazing guy-“ she shot him a look as he let out a noise but continued anyways. “Harry is amazing and kept me safe. He taught me the safe ways of doing things. And I liked it. I’m not going to lie to you, I really liked all of it and I know you aren’t into it.” For once, her face softened.

“And you don’t have to be. I don’t judge you for not wanting to do it. I never have. I was upset by your reactions and how you made me feel bad, but I would never ask you to do something you truly aren’t comfortable with. But if this is something I want, something I find myself needing to be fulfilled, I’m not going to try to change you or myself to try and salvage a relationship that was barely working anyways.”

“Barely working?” Danny looked genuinely confused. “The fuck are you talking about.” Again, her anger bubbled under the surface, but the exhaustion of the whole thing kept her from exploding. 

“Danny, you barely gave me attention. When you apologized the first time and we went out to the bar, you brushed me off the whole time. You treated me like an accessory. There was no passion to our relationship.” Y/N wasn’t sure how he didn’t see that. “We had the same conversations every day, barely had any excitement. I don’t think you loved me- I think I was convenient. And I don’t hold that against you either, but I think I was convenient to you.”

“That’s just how relationships are! They even out and get a little boring.” He defended, nostrils flaring as he was obviously offended with her observation. She had a feeling he would get that way. It was just another reason why they needed to end things. 

“To a degree. After years of marriage and things settle down, your partner is supposed to become your best friend. And we barely speak to each other if it isn’t about plans, or something you want to. If I feel like talking about something I can physically see you tune me out. This was happening far before you even handed me off to Harry.”

“And he’s going to give you that?” He sneered, looking at her like she was some sort of idiot. It had been very clear since the beginning that Danny really did put people into boxes, and Harry was in the sexual deviant one. He had no ability to see the depth in people and that had always been something that bothered her about him, but seeing it now towards someone she was falling for made her angry. 

“I don’t know.” She snapped. “But regardless if it is him or not, you need to stop that. You just… you learn something about someone and you completely disregard them as people. You knew he was into some different stuff and all of a sudden he’s a whore, some kind of sexual deviant that can’t commit. He’s had partners, long term. He’s caring. He’s kind. He listens to what I have to say. It isn’t just sex every time I go over to his place, you understand that right?” 

He didn’t, obviously, but the way his brows pulled together and he looked at her like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Did you expect him to string me up and hit me with a paddle a few times and me to run back to you?” She was positive that was the thought process as it was as soon as she saw the face he made. “We bond. We make breakfast or go out for it, we watch shows, we take his dog on a walk- the dynamic of this whole thing goes far past just sex, Danny. It’s trust. I know you did minimal research into what this actually is, but I’m telling you that we weren’t just going at it like bunnies. I’m not hypnotized by his dick. He’s so nice to me, and he listens, and he….” Y/N could feel herself getting emotional, so she had to reign it in. He didn’t need this sort of response from her. 

“Listen. I’m sorry. I know we had plans, but they’re not for me anymore. I have no idea if Harry wants to actually date me or not. I have no clue where my life is going, but I just don’t see us being together anymore.”

——

It was a bit anticlimactic. Danny couldn’t really argue with her, (even if he did try a few times). Not when it was so abundantly clear her mind was made up. It was over. Regardless of what he thought about Harry or her sexual preferences or anything she liked, it was her opinion that mattered. She’d been coasting for so long that she had forgotten how it felt to actually be behind the wheel. As terrifying as it was to navigate- it felt good. 

“A mixed box, please.” Y/N politely asked the worker at the donut shop, knowing Harry was a bit of a fiend for a donut with his coffee. “An extra chocolate though, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course! Half or whole dozen?” 

“Whole, please.” 

She checked her phone to see a text waiting from him, her mood lightening immediately as her eyes traced over the screen. 

H: You alright, sweetheart? Please text me when you’re on your way here x. 

H: p.s. I miss you a little. 

Her heart felt like it grew too big for her chest as she took a shaky inhale, thumbing over the keyboard to reply to the man. It had been ages since she had gotten giddy over a man texting her, Harry being the first one since she’d left school honestly. It wasn’t that she wanted to constantly compare her past relationship with him, but it was hard not to when everything felt so much better.

Y/N: hiiii ❤️ I’m good. I made a stop but as soon as I’m done here I’ll be on my way. Maybe 20? 

Y/N: p.s. I miss you a little bit too 

Tucking her phone back in her pocket, she thanked the girl and checked out at the register, tapping her card before taking the box and walking back out to her car. 

She was a single woman, now. Sort of? That was sort of a mystery. She was Harry’s. The fact was clear both in her heart and the bruises sucked over the swell of her breast, also coincidentally over her heart. The question laid in his hands, if they were an actual item or not. He’d proclaimed she was his what seemed to be a million times but how far did that go? 

It wasn’t like she was dumb- she knew there were feelings in both ends. Men didn’t act like that unless they were actually wanting you. She knew she wasn’t completely naive for feeling somewhat confident that Harry would want her, but it was the question of in what way. As a submissive? As a girlfriend? That question would be asked tonight, but right now she really just needed a hug. 

There was no need to knock anymore as she scales the porch steps and approached the door, instead punching in the code to his security system and pushing the door open. The clicking of nails alerted her to Buttons before she even saw the pup, eagerly running towards her with a happy yip. 

“Hello, my darling.” She cooed, hanging her purse up on the hook and toed her shoes off. “These are not for you, M’sorry. We can get you a treat though. Where’s daddy, hm?” 

“Kitchen!” He called through the house, making her smile widen. She could smell coffee, the dark roast permeating the air as she padded towards the room. It was one of the best times of day to be in the room, sunlight pouring through the wide windows. Even better to frame him as he leaned against the island, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. 

He was always beautiful, but seeing him in this light- literally and metaphorically- had her tummy swirling. His hair fluffy from the shower this morning and pushed off his head, the facial hair he had let grow because she said she liked it, the tee shirt tucked into linen pants, all of it was enticing. It felt more intense now that there was no real barrier holding her back from allowing her to think those sorts of things about him. 

“Excuse me, miss? What’s in that box?” His voice tilted as his smile grew, looking at the familiar pink box. 

“You know what’s in the box.” She hummed, placing it down next to him. “It’s where I stopped. I’m sorry to say I broke into them and ate a chocolate one on the drive here, but there’s 11 others in there for you to choose from.” 

“How will I ever forgive you.” His eyes rolled as he uncrossed his arms and pulled her into them, seeming to know what she needed before she could even utter a word about it. He knew what she went to do and while it was exciting, he knew she had been slightly anxious about the reaction. “You alright, darling? Seriously?” 

Y/N wasn’t sure if it was being in the safety of his arms and realizing that he was the only one she felt this safe with, if it was the slight exhaustion from not being able to sleep well, or the emotion of letting go of something that had once felt like her life, but she felt the wall hit her. Nodding into his chest, she stayed buried there as the tears bubbled over her lashline. 

“Oh, Angel. M’sorry. That’s a dumb question.”’he sighed, curling his hand around the back of her head and gently running his fingers through her hair. “I know. S’been a lot, the last few weeks. But you’re safe here, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it, or we can. It’s up to you.”

She knew he did want to. He wouldn’t press her because he was a good man and he was considerate of her feelings, but he wanted to know what happened and considering the entirety of this, she wanted to. It just… needed to be in a minute. Arms wrapped around his form as she took in unsteady breaths, trying to calm herself down. It was easier said than done when he felt like the lifeline now, but she didn’t want to cry over it. 

“We can.” She gave a watery laugh as she turned her cheek to rest on him, letting herself breathe properly instead of keeping herself shoved against his body. “I’m not upset because we broke up. I-I don’t really care about that, actually. I’m glad. He didn’t take it well but he also didn’t throw a tantrum. It just upset me because I was seeing him for one of the first times as who he was instead of m-making excuses and I felt a little dumb for staying for so long.” It was embarrassing.

Harry knew she wasn’t done so he didn’t interrupt, continuing the soothing strokes as she stayed leaning against him. “He puts people in boxes. Like he… he thought you were one dimensional and so was I. Thought that I didn’t actually know what I w-wanted, and that we were just fucking this whole time. Couldn’t believe that we were actually bonding and that you could possibly like me, or vice versa, outside a bedroom.” Her scoff made him chuckle just a bit, leaning his head down to kiss the top of hers, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. 

“And it really hit me how he couldn’t fathom that you have feelings that go past sexual deviancy or that I actually know what I want and I wasn’t just addicted to sex or something. Did you know he used to get me chocolates for Valentine’s Day but he’d get dark, and I hate dark chocolate.” She sniffled. “Or he’d make me plan stuff because I was ‘better’ at it. I just felt in charge of everything except plans with his friends, unless it had to do with getting a gift for a wedding or baby shower or birthday. Then I could handle it because… I don’t know. I was leading the whole thing and I wasn’t getting anything in return and I’m just now realizing how shitty I felt the whole time. I think I just coasted the whole time b-because my family did the whole high school or college sweetheart things and I felt like I needed to, too.”

It made a lot of sense to him, now, why she felt she needed this. The dynamic. Naturally submissive, he knew, but being forced to take the role that she didn’t want for the sake of a relationship she was trying to keep afloat merely because she felt a responsibility? His poor fucking girl. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I know it isn’t exactly the sort of thing you want to hear and it won’t make it better, but I’m sorry. It hurt you, it made you feel under appreciated and taken for granted. You didn’t deserve any of that.” 

It wouldn’t make a difference now but he wished he had met her first. Met her before Danny had gotten to her and been able to snatch her up, give her the sort of attention she properly needed, take care of her the way she had always been craving. For someone who didn’t naturally have that sort of instinct he had to imagine it was exhausting. Harry took pride in being the planner, the provider. He liked being in charge and knowing what was happening, making things easy and smooth. But for Y/N who already didn’t want to be doing it, he knew it had to have felt like she was trapped. 

“M’never going to make you do those things.” He murmured. “Not if you don’t want to. I don’t… it isn’t something that I’d ever want you to do if you didn’t want to. There is no right or wrong way to have a relationship, but the burden shouldn’t fall on only one person if they don’t want it to.” He smeared his lips in a ring of kisses around her hairline. “I know you don’t need me t’tell you that how you were treated wasn’t right, but I hope you know that you can tell me if you ever feel that way. If you… if you don’t want to do something, you don’t have to.” There was a pause. “When we’re not playing.” 

“I was gonna hold you to that.” She laughed against him, pulling her head back to look at him. “So, um.. I didn’t want to assume anything, but I’m gonna now and think that you want to.. that you like me enough to keep me around?”

Harry looked at her for a few moments before shutting his eyes, dropping his head to rest on hers. “If I hadn’t made it clear before, I think M’gonna make it even clearer now.” 

Y/N didn’t have a chance to breathe before he scooped her up to sit her in the counter, their lips fused together in a kiss she hadn’t fully felt before. Something he had held back, it lingered under it all as she easily melted into him.  It felt different, like a barrier had fallen off with the way he handled her. It was still delicate, still tender, but there was no hint of hesitancy in the way he led the kisses, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks as he cupped her face in those massive hands she loved so much. Unhurried, unrestrained but no sense of urgency. 

Like he knew now he didn’t have to rush, that he had more time to prove to her that he meant every unspoken word he poured into this. 

The slight salt of her tears reminded him to pull back, to pace himself. Oddly enough, he had no urge to have sex right now. Everything was soft. Silky. Lovelaced and sweet, hinted with the motivation to give her the relationship that she deserved. It meant he’d have to ask her what she would want, but right now he just wanted to bask in the feeling of her in his palms and the warm sun and sugary donuts in the box and the strong coffee finishing its brew across the kitchen. 

“Hi.” He smiled lightly as he pulled back, eyes hooded as he watched hers peel open to meet his own. Her lips were bare of anything but chapstick he had faint taste of- strawberry, he was positive of it- and slightly puffy from the kiss that had gone on for a bit longer than they should have been able to breathe. 

“Hi.” Her voice was a peep as the shyness took over her face, but Harry didn’t let her move from it. As much as she wanted to burrow back into his chest, he kept her chin up. The energy was palpable, giddiness rocking his belly as he tugged her lip from her teeth. No biting of lips near him, not right now. Even if it was cute. 

There was a lot to speak about in regards to them as a pairing, but he wanted to soak in this warmth for a bit before getting down to the gritty bit of it. The girl had brought him his favorite sweets, and he wanted to enjoy them with her.

“Do you want some coffee?” 

“Tea, please.” 

—

Harry hadn’t been positive Y/N would go through with it. 

That wasn’t a fault or doubt of her person, not at all. But he knew that she really didn’t like hurting people. That much had been something he’d learned very early on in knowing her. She had been mindful of Danny’s feelings the whole time, trying not to flaunt any of it in his face and not giving details unless he asked- which he hardly did. 

They’d not really gotten any sort of response about what they’d done in front of him but Harry knew he wasn’t going to say anything about it because he would be too ashamed to admit it. He wasn’t shocked, though, when he got text messages during the day while Y/N slept soundly on his lap while watching a movie as Harry worked on his phone. She never could stay awake when the movie turned on and he played with her hair. One hand had been gently massaging her scalp while the other typed on his screen when the message popped up on his screen. 

D: I don’t know what the fuck you did to her but I hope you’re happy. I trusted you with her, man. And you fucking stole her. She was mine. That shit you’re into is disgusting and you’ve brainwashed her or something, it’s fucked up. 

Harry almost laughed at the message until he remembered what Y/N had been so upset about. The fact she hadn’t been seen as a person with her own emotions and feelings during the duration of the relationship had hit her. It may have started out good but it ended badly when she realized that he didn’t think she could choose what she liked. This was a prime example of it. 

HS: I get being upset, but I didn’t steal her. She isn’t property. She’s capable of making her own decisions and you texting me something like that proves you don’t trust her judgment yet again. I’ll do my best to make her happy, I care about her more than you can fathom. 

HS: I won’t be by any group gatherings, so don’t worry about that. Bye. 

Harry muted the conversation. 

It really wasn’t something he needed to talk to about with him anymore. He wasn’t sorry, he didn’t regret anything, he didn’t think what they did was fucked up. He could go back and forth about how Danny had been the one to hand over his girlfriend and push her right into Harry’s arms but at what cost? Why would he bother? 

She was curled in his lap, head on his thighs with soft breaths puffing against his shirt. Buttons laid at his dog bed near the fireplace and he felt that happiness bubble up in his stomach again. This was what he wanted. 

The dominant and submissive dynamic was something he loved and he enjoyed, absolutely. But the base level of his desires was wanting a real relationship with this before all the rest of it fell into place. Happiness at the most base level, trust, peace. Finding the delicate balance. 

His eyes traced over her features as his mind wandered a bit. Was a full dynamic what she wanted? Was she looking for commitment right off the bat? Or did she need a little breathing room? 

That didn’t seem as likely considering how she’d come right back home to him. 

The knowledge that she didn’t have anything holding her back was something that pleased him endlessly. He didn’t have to worry about stepping on toes. While they hadn’t expressed out loud that they wanted to be in a full and committed relationship, he knew she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be. 

If he was honest with himself, he knew that an emotional affair had played a part in it. The both of them had been feeling things for each other for a bit, at least for him it had been a while. Y/N had poured her trust into him and he had taken that very seriously. He’d done his best to keep himself in check but now he really didn’t have to. 

It was astounding how fast emotions could form, how feelings could grow from a seedling planted in the pit of his belly to a full bloom that burst through his chest. She’d made a garden inside of him and he wanted her to see just how beautiful it could be, if she gave him the chance. A real one. 

Harry the dominant was one part of him but it wasn’t the whole part. He was a fully fleshed out human with faults. He was picky about keeping his house clean, he could be a bit pushy sometimes, he tended to isolate when he was upset about something. There was hints of insecurity and possessiveness in his personality, jealousy. God, he was a pathetically jealous person even if he tried to keep it under wraps. These were things she hadn’t exactly gotten to see, even if there were glimpses here and there. The underlying anxiety was there and prevalent that maybe she’d see those parts and not like him as much. 

The reminder that Y/N wasn’t that cruel circled back around and called him some, smiling as he felt her stir and scoot closer to him. Her nose nuzzled into his stomach, slow breathing evening out as she got comfortable again pressed up against him. The reminder that she also had faults that he hadn’t exactly seen yet was a comfort. He doubted that anything would truly scare him away, though. The obsession was already in place. 

“M’gonna do my best.” He whispered quietly, letting the back of his hand brush her warm cheek as she snoozed, unaware of his tender words under his breath. Unaware that it felt like he was holding the world in the palm of his hand now, and it was slightly terrifying as he tried to ensure he wouldn’t break it. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl. Promise.” 

——

Their dinner was quiet. Harry had put on jazz music that was understated beneath their talking, the food was good, but there was no denying that they both knew a conversation laid ahead that would be a defining factor. 

As much as Harry tried to be calm about it, he was slightly nervous. Y/N looked slightly anxious and he tried to keep his shoulders relaxed but it was hard to when he was unsure what part she was anxious about. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. 

“I’m over Danny.” She blurted out. The dam had splintered and she felt like she couldn’t keep it back anymore. “I think I was over him for a long time. if he was in love with me, he would have never sent me to fuck around with someone else. If I was truly in love with him, I wouldn’t have agreed. I wouldn’t have been so eager to come and see you. It has been bothering me for a bit thinking maybe I was a bad person for wanting to move on so quickly but I think I had accepted subconsciously that it had been over for so long that it made it easier for me to feel almost single when I was around you.” Taking a gulp of air, she continued. To his credit Harry didn’t interrupt, merely folded his hands on the table and looked intently at her. 

“The last thing I want you to consider yourself is a rebound, though. I’ve been torn because… while I know I like you a lot, and I do- I really do like you,” she paused to give him a nervous smile. “I wanted to make sure that you understand that I never saw you as someone to move on with when I wasn’t distracted by him in the first place. Every single time we were together I forgot about him. As cruel as it sounds… maybe the first time I had thought about how much better it was and how this was what I was missing, that I knew he’d never be capable of the things I wanted- but being with you was never about him for me.”

Y/N knew she was a flawed individual and it wasn’t a secret. It wasn’t morally right to most people and she understood that. But this had felt like a natural turn of events for her.

“You’ve been at the forefront of my mind since we first met up at the coffee shop. I always thought you were slightly intimidating and very handsome, very kind- but once I had the go ahead to think of you as more, it never stopped. It only grew.” Her eyes dropped to her mostly finished plate as she took a deeper breath. It felt like an avalanche of words were trying to come out, all the things she had held back coming out now that she felt safe enough to. 

“I thought at first it really was a favor to him, that you were doing this because you were a good friend. But I… I’d like to think I have good enough senses to know that you enjoyed it too. You paid me more attention than anyone else ever has. From the texting to check in and remembering things I said off hand, to getting me things that are so unique to me and our conversations… it blew me away.” Her fingers fiddled with the napkin before she braved his eyes again. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I… I really would like to try. With you. The um, the dominant stuff too, but… more? If that's something you’d want.” 

“It is.” There was no hesitation in his answer, knowing she was losing steam in her rant. “It’s what I’ve wanted for a while. I tried very hard to be respectful at first, you know…” he swallowed, trying to find the words. “I wanted to be respectful because of you. I didn’t want to get out of turn. And then… I started to care less about it when I saw how little he cared about your relationship himself. I didn’t take the favor on directly because he asked me.” This was a revelation, just a bit. “I took it on because I knew you, I knew the… I know how it is wanting to try something and feeling like you’ve got no options. I also know how dangerous it could be with the wrong hands on you. And I cared for you, back then more so as a friend but I cared and didn’t want you to have a bad experience. I wanted it to be safe and pleasure filled and selfishly, I was attracted to you as it was.” 

He may have fooled himself into thinking it was for Danny but he knew deep down why he had done it. 

“I think that you took me by surprise. How well we worked together from day one. It felt like… you were made for me. Y’know?”

“Yeah.” She peeped. “I felt the same.”

The small smile on his lips was a reward for her, the table being a good divider for now. If it wasn’t there he knew he would be distracted by wanting to touch her. “Good. I was taken back by it and I wanted more n’more, I got selfish and greedy for a bit. I broke a little, having you in the cafe bathroom. Doin’ that, it was selfish for me. For us. There wasn’t anything pre planned and I knew by how you reacted I wasn’t exactly alone in the want to do more but I didn’t want to make you feel guilty, so I kept it back for a bit.”

It had been so difficult not to beg for me. Ask her to come over during the week when he felt especially lonely. Even just to have her sit in his bed and leave her scent all over the sheets or hear her padding around while he worked. That was the domesticity that he wanted. “It’s been more than sex for me for a while. I know the dynamic is more than that too, but I found myself wanting you around more. Wanting to do more things with you than what we were supposed to do. When we went out the first time together, had me all sort of nervous in the good way and I realized I was getting myself into something that could be really good, or really bad.” His heart had been on the line the whole time. 

“Listen.” Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together again as he had her eyes. “I want t’be with you too. I want more. I want… the fun side where we play and go to the club, all of that. But I want more, too. The dinners and having you in my bed, without fucking. The softer things. I know that in the past you mentioned you had to control everything in your last relationship and I wanted to warn you that m’not like that- I like control in all areas of my life. It’s one of those things I’ve tried to work on a bit. Not necessarily of you in the traditional sense but… I like t’plan the dates. I like to feel needed, don’t mind bein’ the one to take care of you as long as you save that softness for me. Jus’ like you loving on me and being that sweet girl that you’ve shown me so far, and it’ll make me happy.” His hands itched to grab her. “Does that sound like something you can deal with.”

“It sounds like it’s perfect.” A shaky laugh left her as she felt slightly like she was dreaming. “I want to know more about how I can give back to you if you’re doing all the controlling but I… I really like that idea. I don’t mind you being the one to do all those things.” His version was exactly what she wanted. 

“Good.” The sigh of relief was enough to relax his shoulders. “Now c’mon over here. You’ve been far away from me for far too long.”

Y/N scrambled up and rounded the table, a shy smile lighting up her face as she sat in his lap and giggled in surprise as his mouth met hers, eager and languid as his large hand held her hip. She felt safe. Giddy. Warm. She could get used to this. 

[honeyncherry]

Through the Looking Glass - One

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: drinking, tension (rafe likes to look at you)

word count: 6k

prologue

The last time you set foot in a new school, you were nine years old. Your father had sent you off to a prestigious boarding school halfway across the country. Though it wasn’t a school, not really. It was more like a factory, cold and unyielding, designed to shape children from high-profile government families into the next generation of leaders and operatives. The halls were filled with future politicians, intelligence agents, and power brokers. Each was more intense, more cutthroat, and more determined than the last.

Breaks were a luxury you couldn’t afford. The instructors were strict to the point of being merciless, expecting perfection and punishing anything less. The curriculum was relentless, grinding you down and reshaping you into something sharp and efficient. There were no sleepovers or giggling with friends, no carefree afternoons in the park. Just drills, evaluations, and endless expectations. You learned quickly how to suppress your emotions, to quiet the part of you that wanted to cry or rebel. 

You became what they wanted: disciplined, composed, and ready to take orders. But walking onto the University of North Carolina’s campus felt like stepping into another universe. 

The differences were staggering, almost surreal. Where the boarding school had been rigid and sterile, UNC was alive, teeming with energy and freedom. Some students sprawled out on blankets under monstrous oak trees, laughing and playing games of spikeball in the sunshine, while others sat in their own study groups more focused on gossiping about who was interested in whom than working on their essays.

The buildings, their brick facades draped in ivy, stood proud yet inviting, as though welcoming you into a new chapter of your life. It was a world you’d only ever viewed from a distance, in movies or fleeting glimpses during missions. It felt chaotic, free, and utterly alien to you.

UNC wasn’t just one of the country’s top business schools; it was also renowned for its vibrant social scene. Greek Row was the epicenter of it all, alive with parties that raged late into the night, music spilling into the streets. On game days, tailgates transformed the campus into a sprawling festival, with canopies, kegs, and mini grills crowding every open space. Each weekend brought something new to celebrate, another excuse to gather and let loose. It was a world you could barely imagine fitting into, let alone navigating by yourself.

But you didn’t have to imagine. You’d been preparing for this moment for nearly a year. From the second the case file landed on your desk, you’d immersed yourself in everything UNC had to offer. You memorized its culture, its traditions, and even its most recent scandals. You knew which bars on Franklin Street were the most popular on Thursday nights, which fraternity houses held the most exclusive parties, and which sororities had the most influence. You even learned the best shortcuts through campus, routes that would let you avoid campus police or slip away unnoticed.

Your apartment was a short ten-minute walk from the heart of campus. On the surface, it seemed ordinary: a modest brick complex tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. But as you approached, the details stood out. The doorman, Johnny, was the first clue. He wasn’t just a friendly face stationed at the entrance — he was part of the agency, placed there to keep an eye on you. Whether his presence was meant to protect you or monitor you was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Either way, it offered a small sense of security in an otherwise unsettling situation.

Johnny greeted you with a polite nod as you entered, his expression neutral. You returned the gesture with a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t personal; you simply couldn’t afford to let your guard down. Not here. Not yet.

The elevator ride to the third floor was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery filling the space. When the doors slid open, you stepped into a hallway lined with neutral-toned carpeting and soft overhead lighting. Your apartment was at the end of the hall. The space was small but well-appointed, with sleek, modern furniture, warm lighting, and a fully stocked kitchen. It looked nothing like the cramped dorms you’d read about in your research, where freshmen shared tiny rooms and whispered secrets late into the night. 

You set your bag down just inside the door, taking a moment to absorb your surroundings. This was it. Your new life. For the next semester you wouldn’t be the girl forged in the cold, unyielding halls of your past. You’d become a confident, ambitious, college girl who blended seamlessly into this bright, chaotic world. 

The girl who walked into this apartment was no longer a government agent’s daughter or a product of a childhood spent in the shadows of high-stakes operations. She was a girl who went to all the football games and studied on the quad. Someone who danced under neon lights at Sigma Chi parties and laughed too loudly with friends in the library.

At least, that’s who you needed to be.

You crossed the room and pulled open the blinds, letting the golden light of the setting sun flood the space. From here, you could see the edges of campus. Students moved in clusters, their voices carrying faintly through the evening air. Somewhere out there, Rafe Cameron was waiting.

You’d seen his face a hundred times in the photos tucked inside his dossier. From the cocky smirk, the piercing blue eyes, the sleek buzzed blonde hair, it was all etched into your memory. You knew his routines, his weaknesses, his tells. You’d studied him like a final exam, preparing for the moment you’d meet him in person. Yet, as you stared out at the campus, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach.

Because no amount of training could prepare you for what came next. This wasn’t just another assignment you sat on the sidelines of, watching every move, critiquing every wrong step. It was your very own assignment. The decade long case you were meant to crack. And this was Rafe Cameron, the key to the entire operation.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the windowsill. The world outside seemed so vibrant, so full of life, but you knew better than to get swept up in it. This wasn’t about fun or freedom. It was about the mission. The stakes were too high to let anything distract you.

You turned away from the window, the sound of your sandals clicking softly against the polished wood floors as you moved back toward your bag. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of doubt tried to take hold, but you pushed it down. You couldn’t afford doubt.

Brooke O’Brien was UNC’s very own Barbie doll. The kind of girl who seemed almost too perfect, her presence glowing with an effortless charisma that felt more polished than natural. Maybe it was her blonde curls and doll-like hazel eyes, or the way she lit up every room she entered with an energy that was both magnetic and overwhelming. Either way, she was someone people both admired and envied in equal measure.

To you, Brooke was… a lot. Too much, maybe. But that didn’t matter. She was your way in. If there was one person you needed to befriend, it was Brooke O’Brien.

When you saw her crossing the quad toward you, waving enthusiastically, you braced yourself. Her dazzling smile and quick pace made it seem like nothing could stop her.

“Wow!” she called out, her voice ringing through the crowd. “It’s so great to finally meet you!”

Before you could react, she had thrown her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Caught off guard, you hesitated for only a moment before hugging her back. If she was this excited, then so were you. Or at least, that’s what you had to make her believe.

“Totally,” you said, pulling back with your best gleaming smile. “Everyone here already seems so friendly.”

Brooke’s laugh was light and airy, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh along even if you didn’t know what was funny. “Oh, honey, you don’t even know! UNC is, like, the friendliest place on Earth. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

She slipped her arm through yours without hesitation, as though you’d been best friends for years, and began guiding you across the quad. Her energy was infectious, and you found yourself grateful for how easy she made it to keep up the act.

“So,” she said, turning her head to study you, “first impressions? Be honest.”

“It’s... a lot,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the bustling campus. “But in a good way.”

Brooke beamed. “That’s what I like to hear! College is supposed to be a lot. It’s all about finding yourself, you know? And trust me, UNC is the perfect place for that.”

You smiled politely, wondering if the line about "finding yourself" was something she said to everyone or if she actually believed it. Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by her enthusiasm.

As she gestured toward a row of buildings, pointing out the arts building and student union, she glanced at you curiously. “So, tell me about your last school. What was it like?”

The question was casual, but your stomach tightened all the same. You’d been preparing for this, practicing your answers until they felt natural, but it was still unnerving to hear it aloud. “Oh, it was... fine,” you said with a small shrug. “A lot smaller than this. Not as lively.”

Brooke tilted her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “Really? Where’d you go again?”

“Uh, Hawthorne College,” you said, dropping the name of the small liberal arts school the agency had assigned to your cover story. “It was nice, but it didn’t really feel like the right fit.”

Brooke nodded knowingly. “Oh, I totally get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start, you know? That’s what I love about UNC — it’s, like, impossible not to find your people here.”

You nodded along, grateful that she didn’t press further. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You will,” Brooke said firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “College is all about reinventing yourself. I mean, when I got here, I was, like, so shy. Couldn’t even raise my hand in class without turning bright red.”

You raise an eyebrow, struggling to imagine Brooke as anything less than radiant and self-assured. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe not that shy,” she admits with a laugh. “But still, this college changes you. In the best way. You’ll see.”

As she leads you through the quad, Brooke chats non-stop, pointing out landmarks and weaving in bits of campus gossip like it’s second nature. You nod along, doing your best to look captivated while mentally filing away the information that might actually be useful.

Brooke’s warmth was disarming, a sharp contrast to the cold precision you’d been trained to embody since becoming a pre-teen. For a moment, you wondered if it was genuine or if everyone here wore their own kind of mask. Either way, letting your guard down wasn’t an option, not even with the sweet and charming Brooke O’Brien. Not with so much riding on this. 

“That’s the library,” Brooke says, gesturing toward an imposing brick building covered in ivy. “You’ll spend way too much time there during finals. Oh, and over there—” she points to a cluster of tables shaded by oak trees, “—that’s where the serious study groups hang out. They’re, like, terrifyingly intense. But if you ever need help with a project, that’s the place to go.”

You nod, making a mental note. “Good to know.”

Brooke stops suddenly, spinning to face you with wide eyes. “Wait! I have to introduce you to my favorite place on campus.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabs your hand and pulls you toward a small café tucked into the corner of the quad. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits you as soon as you step inside, and you can’t help but feel a small pang of appreciation. For all her energy, Brooke seems genuinely excited to share this with you.

“Isn’t it cute?” she gushes, gesturing toward the mismatched chairs and cozy lighting. “I swear, their iced caramel macchiatos are life-changing. And if you ever need a good place to study, this is it.”

“Noted,” you say, allowing a small smile to slip through. It’s hard not to truly warm up to her enthusiasm, even if you’re supposed to be keeping people at arm's length.

The two of you grab drinks before heading back outside, and as you settle onto a bench near the quad, Brooke leans in conspiratorially. “Okay, so now that you’ve got the basics, it’s time for the fun stuff.”

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. “Oh?”

“My friends,” she says with a grin. “You’re going to love them. Well, most of them.”

She launched into a detailed rundown of her friend group as the two of you sat and enjoyed your drinks. You had to admit, the coffee rivaled anything you’d had in the city.

“Okay, so first there’s Maddie, she’s my best friend. She’s super sweet, but, like, don’t get on her bad side. She’ll smile while ripping you to shreds, and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

You chuckled, making a mental note of Maddie’s name.

“Then there’s Sabrina,” Brooke continued. “She’s the fun one. She can make anyone dance, even if they swear they don’t dance. Seriously, she could probably convince a statue to do the Cupid Shuffle.”

You smiled, appreciating the way Brooke’s tone shifted slightly with each new person she described. It was obvious she genuinely cared about them.

“And then there’s Liam,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “He’s... complicated. Kind of a wild card, but in a good way. He’s always down for an adventure. Like, last week, he tried to convince us all to go skydiving. At midnight. I don’t even think that’s legal.”

Your brows lifted. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, he is,” Brooke said with a knowing grin. “But don’t worry. He’s harmless.” She hesitated for a moment, her expression shifting slightly. “And, um, Chase. We’ve been... talking. Kind of.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up slightly. “Talking?”

“Okay, maybe more than talking,” Brooke admitted, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “He’s cute, but, like, he can be so frustrating sometimes. He has this thing where he just disappears for days and then texts me like nothing happened. But whatever. It’s not serious.”

The slight edge in her voice suggested otherwise, but you didn’t press. “He sounds... nice?”

Brooke laughed, rolling her eyes. “He is. When he wants to be.” She paused for a moment, her expression shifting. “And then there’s Rafe.”

Your heartbeat quickened at the mention of his name, but you kept your face carefully neutral. “What’s he like?”

Brooke hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “He’s complicated too. Intense, definitely. But once you get to know him, he’s one of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet.”

She took a sip of her drink, her brows knitting together. “Lately, though, he’s been in a mood. Something about a girl he was seeing. But he won’t talk about it. Anyway, he invited everyone to a sports bar tonight, so maybe he’s trying to shake it off.”

You nodded, keeping your expression casual even as your thoughts raced. A girl? That wasn’t in the file. Who was she, and what did she mean to him?

Brooke’s face brightened again, and she reached out to squeeze your arm. “You should come! It’ll be fun, and you can meet everyone.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, feigning reluctance. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are you kidding?” Brooke laughed. “You’re not intruding. You’re with me now, and trust me, they’ll love you. Besides, I’ll pick you up, so you have no excuse.”

You let out a small laugh, unable to resist her enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”

“Yay!” Brooke clapped her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun. Text me your address and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

Later that evening, after carefully choosing an outfit, you stood by the window. The campus nightlife flickered to life below, a vibrant pulse that felt both foreign and inviting. When Brooke’s text came through, your breath caught for a moment before you grabbed your bag and headed down.

She waved excitedly as you approached, her pristine convertible parked at an angle, music thumping from the speakers like it was an extension of her energy.

You climbed into the passenger seat with a bright smile and as she pulled away, she launched into another flurry of conversation. This time, it was all about classes, professors, Chase, and her favorite spots on Franklin Street.

“I swear,” she said, shaking her head, “Professor Klein is the worst. Like, don’t even bother trying to win her over. Just turn in your essays on time and pray for a C.”

You laughed, relaxing slightly as Brooke’s chatter filled the car. For all her energy, there was something undeniably comforting about her. It was easy to see how she’d become the center of her friend group — and why she was exactly who you needed on your side.

When the sports bar came into view, its neon lights glowing against the night sky, Brooke turned to you with a grin. “Ready to meet the crew?”

You nodded, your stomach tightening with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

The moment you stepped inside, the bar thrummed with life, a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and thumping bass. The mingling scents of fried food and beer created a sensory overload that left you slightly off balance 

This was nothing like the polished, controlled environments of stuffy dinners with your father and his colleagues. Here, the chaos was unfiltered: crop tops and cutoff shorts replaced formal evening wear, discount beer flowed from taps instead of martinis, and greasy nachos piled high replaced hors d'oeuvres served on silver platters.

Brooke led the way, weaving through the crowd like she’d done it a hundred times before, her confidence a beacon in the chaos. You followed closely, trying not to bump into too many shoulders as you glanced around, taking it all in. Groups of students laughed loudly, some leaning over the tables to shout above the music, others already swaying slightly from one too many drinks.

“Over here!” Brooke chirped, pointing toward a table in the corner where three people were already seated. As you got closer, you could make out two girls and a guy, all of them mid-conversation and laughing.

“This is them!” Brooke said, practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured to the group. “Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

The girl with dark, pin-straight hair was the first to look up, her sharp look flicking over you before her lips curved into a welcoming smile. “Hey! I’m Sabrina. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” you said, returning the smile as she reached out for a quick handshake. Her grip was warm but firm, and she had this effortless confidence that instantly put you at ease.

The guy beside her leaned back in his chair, his grin easy and a little mischievous as he said, “I’m Liam. You must be the new girl Brooke’s been hyping up.”

You laughed lightly, glancing at Brooke. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam added, raising his beer. “If you can survive Brooke, you’ll fit right in.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Brooke said with a roll of her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “And this,” she added, gesturing toward the last girl at the table, “is Maddie.”

Maddie’s sharp gaze flicked over you, her crossed arms and measured tone making it clear she wasn’t quick to warm up. “Hey,” she said, her words as neutral as her expression.

“Hi,” you replied. Maddie didn’t smile, her silence sharper than words, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was sizing you up.

Brooke patted the seat beside her, breaking the moment. “Come on, sit! I’ll grab us drinks in a second.”

As you slid into the booth, the group’s chatter flowed easily around you. Sabrina asked about your classes, Liam cracked jokes that drew groans from Brooke, and even Maddie softened slightly, her dry humor slipping through now and then.

But as the night went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something, or someone, was missing.

“Where’s Chase?” Brooke asked suddenly, leaning closer to Sabrina and Maddie.

Maddie smirked, tilting her head toward the bar. “Over there. He’s with Rafe.”

Your stomach tightened as you followed her eye line, scanning the crowd until your eyes found them. Chase was easy to spot, leaning against the counter, his grin wide and animated as he chatted with the bartender. He was exactly as you’d seen in the photos: open, carefree, the life of any conversation.

But the man beside him was a different story.

Rafe Cameron was the kind of person whose presence you felt before you saw him. His presence preceded him, tangible and charged, like the static before a storm. He stood at ease, resting his arms on the bartop, his sharp features caught in the dim light that carved shadows along his jawline. When his eyes found yours, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement: I see you.

The air shifted. The sounds of the bar faded into a dull hum. His intensity sent a ripple through you, one you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t expected this — not from a man you’d studied for months, memorized through pages and pages of official documents. Yet here he was, impossibly real and entirely unsettling.

There was no smile, no casual acknowledgment, just a quiet intensity that felt like it was meant to see past every carefully constructed layer.

“He’s looking at you,” Brooke murmured, her voice low and tinged with amusement as she leaned in closer.

You blinked, breaking the moment as you turned to her. “Who?”

She smirked knowingly, her view flicking back toward the bar. “Rafe. I told you, he’s intense.”

Your pulse quickened as you stole another glance. Rafe was still angled toward you, though his focus had shifted momentarily to Chase, who was speaking beside him. He didn’t respond to whatever Chase had said, his attention half-turned as though occupied by something else entirely.

Brooke’s playful tone broke the spell and you turned your attention back to the table, willing yourself to focus. But even as you smiled and joined the group’s chatter, Rafe’s gaze lingered in your mind like an unfinished thought.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, breaking through your thoughts. “So, tell me… what’s your major?”

You blinked, grateful for the distraction as you turned toward her. “Communications,” you replied, the answer smooth and practiced. “I was studying it at my last school, so it made sense to stick with it here.”

“Smart choice,” Liam chimed in, resting his elbows on the table. “You could probably out-talk all of us, huh?”

“Definitely me,” Brooke interjected with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose an argument, Liam.”

“That’s because I don’t lose,” he said, lifting his beer in mock celebration.

“Oh, please,” Maddie cut in, her tone dry. “You lose all the time. You just don’t know it.”

The group laughed, and you found yourself smiling despite the underlying tension still buzzing in your chest. Sabrina drew closer, her curiosity apparent. “Why communications, though? What’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “I guess I like the idea of... connecting with people,” you said carefully. “Understanding how they think, how they move and work. How to utilize that to your advantage. It’s fascinating.”

Sabrina nodded, her smile genuine. “I get that. Honestly, it sounds way more interesting than my major. I’m stuck in econ.”

“Econ’s useful,” Liam said, shrugging. “You’ll be the one bailing us all out when we screw up our taxes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what economics is,” Maddie muttered, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Sabrina asking about your transition to UNC and Liam tossing out lighthearted quips that kept the mood buoyant. Even Maddie seemed to loosen up a bit more, though her sharp watch still flicked toward you now and then, like she was assessing your place in the group.

Just as you were beginning to relax, you felt a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. The energy at the table changed, the noise around you seeming to dim as two familiar figures approached. You glanced up instinctively, your breath catching as Rafe and Chase came into view.

Chase was the first to speak, his grin wide and easy as he set a tray of drinks on the table. “Miss us?”

“Finally!” Brooke said, clapping her hands together. “What took you so long?”

“The line’s insane,” Chase replied, sliding into the booth beside her. “Be grateful we didn’t give up and just grab water.”

Rafe didn’t say anything as he followed, his movements measured and calculated. He placed a glass in front of Maddie before taking the last empty seat across from you. The table suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as his presence settled over the group.

Brooke leaned into Chase, nudging him playfully. “So, are you just going to ignore our new friend, or...?”

Chase’s eyes flicked to you, his grin widening. “Oh, right. You’re the transfer, right? I’m Chase. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Thanks,” you introduced yourself, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened again.

“And this,” Brooke said, gesturing to the man sitting across from you, “is Rafe.”

His name lingered in the air for a beat too long, the unspoken weight of it making your chest tighten. Rafe’s gaze met yours again, the intensity in vision eyes sharper now that he was closer. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment, as he nodded once.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice softer than you intended.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The table filled with chatter as the others picked up where they’d left off, but you barely heard it. Rafe’s watch didn’t waver, fixed on you in a way that felt deliberately unnerving, as though he wanted you to squirm. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn't welcoming either. It was something else entirely. A silent challenge, perhaps, or a test you weren’t sure how to pass.

“So,” Chase said, drawing your attention to him. “How are you liking UNC so far?”

“It’s... different,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Bigger than my last school, for sure.”

“Better parties, too,” Liam added, raising his drink in mock toast.

“Oh, absolutely,” Chase agreed. “Stick with us, and you’ll see the best this place has to offer.”

“She’s already stuck with us,” Brooke interjected, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ve claimed her.”

“Possessive much?” Maddie muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone now.

The laughter at the table felt like a reprieve, a momentary distraction from the way Rafe’s presence filled every corner of your awareness. Even when you weren’t looking, you could feel his eyes on you.

As the conversation continued, you risked another glance at him. He was sitting back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. When your eyes met, his brow arched just slightly, as if to say caught you.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the chill in the air-conditioned room. The tension was almost unbearable.

“Another round?” Brooke suggested, breaking the moment as she reached for her empty glass.

“Yes, please,” Sabrina said. “And get me some fries while you’re at it.”

Brooke stood, tugging Chase up with her. “Come on, you’re helping.”

Chase groaned but followed, leaving the rest of you at the table. Liam immediately launched into a story about some party mishap the night before, pulling laughter from Maddie and Sabrina. Their energy was light and easy, but your focus drifted. The conversation faded into the background as a quiet tension hummed in the air.

You absently toyed with the straw in your drink, the condensation cool against your fingertips. It wasn’t the story keeping you distracted, it was a feeling, steady and insistent, like the faint pull of a current just beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked toward Rafe, catching him mid-motion. He leaned forward in his seat, his fingers resting lightly around his glass. His expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, something shifted. His expression shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, like he was inviting you into a silent exchange you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “so, does he always let her boss him around like that?” You nodded toward the bar, where Chase and Brooke were deep in conversation with each other.

Rafe’s lips curved faintly into something between a smirk and a smile. “Only when it’s easier than arguing.”

His voice was low, smooth, and somehow it cut through the noise of the bar as if it were meant just for you. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he added, “Besides, Brooke likes to think she’s in charge. No harm in letting her believe it.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Generous of you.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a casualness that felt anything but. “And you? Do you let people boss you around, or are you the one calling the shots?”

The question caught you off guard, the weight of it settling in a way that felt heavier than the words themselves. You played it off with a shrug, your voice light as you said, “I guess it depends on who’s asking.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his regard was steady and unflinching. The space between you felt charged, as though the brief exchange had opened a door you weren’t sure you wanted to walk through. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension shifted. Rafe leaned back again, his attention flicking to the table for a moment before returning to you.

“Fair enough,” he said simply, his tone neutral but laced with something that made your pulse quicken.

The conversation broke as Liam’s voice rose in laughter again, drawing your focus back to the group. You turned away from Rafe, but the weight of his words, and the way he’d looked at you, like he was turning over some unspoken thought, lingered in the back of your mind.

Chase and Brooke returned a few minutes later, Brooke balancing a tray of drinks with the practiced ease of someone who could do it blindfolded. Chase trailed behind her, a basket of fries in one hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“Fries are here, ladies and gentlemen,” Chase announced, sliding the basket onto the table with exaggerated flair. “You’re welcome.”

“And drinks,” Brooke added, placing the tray down and handing out glasses. “Okay, who’s ready to have some real fun?”

Sabrina immediately perked up. “What kind of fun are we talking about?”

“Dancing, duh,” Brooke said, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she looked at you. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

You returned her smile easily, “lead the way!”

Brooke’s grin widened. “Now that’s the energy I like! Let’s go.”

The group cheered enthusiastically as Brooke grabbed your hand, tugging you out of your seat with surprising strength and pulling you toward the dance floor with a playful urgency. The music grew louder as you wove through the crowd, the bass thrumming beneath your feet and mingling with the laughter and chatter around you. It was vibrant, intoxicating, and all too easy to step into.

The moment you reached the dance floor, you fell into the rhythm naturally. The beat pulsed through your body, every movement intentional but fluid. This was the game you were built to play, slipping into the moment, owning it, and making it look effortless.

“See?” Brooke shouted over the music as she spun to face you, her hands grabbing yours. “Isn’t this amazing?”

You laughed, matching her energy. “I get it now. Totally worth it.”

Brooke twirled herself dramatically, her curls bouncing with the movement. “I knew you’d fit right in. Seriously, I’m so glad we met. It’s like, you were meant to be here.”

Her words carried a warmth that felt genuine, even though you knew you couldn’t take them at face value. Still, you played along, letting your smile widen as you leaned in. “I’m glad, too. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Same,” Brooke said, her expression softening for a moment. “You don’t even know. You’re like... the missing piece. It’s been forever since I clicked with someone this fast.”

The sincerity in her voice struck you more than you expected, and you squeezed her hands briefly before letting go, your movements falling effortlessly back into the music. 

“You’re making this way too easy!” You teased.

“Good!” Brooke laughed, tossing her head back, “that’s what friends are for.”

The crowd pressed in around you, bodies swaying and shifting with the beat, but you held your space with ease, your movements a blend of precision and spontaneity. Brooke’s laughter rang As Brooke spun you, you caught a flicker of movement near the table. Rafe leaned forward across the table, murmuring something to Chase.

His hand moved absently to the edge of the table, fingers drumming once, twice, before stilling. Chase laughed, gesturing animatedly, though it was clear Rafe’s attention wasn’t fully on him. There was a restlessness to his movements, a little pull that made your focus longer than you meant to let it.

“Don’t look,” Brooke began a second later, leaning in with a grin that was both teasing and knowing, “but Rafe had been staring at you for, like, five minutes straight.”

You blinked and turned to Brooke. “Really?”

Brooke gave you a playful nudge. “Uh, yeah. It’s not exactly subtle.”

Your stomach fluttered as you glanced back toward the table, this time catching Rafe’s gaze. His fingers rested lightly on the table’s edge now, his posture easy yet fixed, as though he was aware of exactly when you’d look. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to leave you wondering what it meant.

“Told you,” Brooke said, leaning closer. “You’ve got his attention.”

Your heart raced, but your exterior stayed calm. You held his focus a bit longer before turning back to Brooke with a playful shrug. “Maybe I’ll let him keep it. He’s cute.”

Brooke gasped and twirled you dramatically, her laughter ringing out above the music. “Oh, I like you! You’re dangerous.”

You grinned, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. The weight of Rafe’s attention only added to your focus, sharpening every movement, every smile.

The song shifted and Brooke leaned in again, her voice warm and truly genuine, “I mean it. I’m really glad you’re here. You’ve made this semester so much better already.”

“Right back at you,” you said, matching her sincerity.

But even as you spoke, the weight of Rafe’s fixation clung to you, impossible to ignore.

You glanced back at the table, catching his focus once more. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes made your chest tighten. A heat spread through you that had nothing to do with the dancing.

He wasn’t just looking. His stare lingered, sharp and probing, as if peeling back layers you hadn’t meant to reveal. It felt deliberate, practiced. Like a skill honed over years. This wasn’t just attention. It was control.

And Rafe Cameron knew how to hold it. Everyone was aware of it. He was the kind of guy who turned heads effortlessly, who drew people toward him whether they wanted to be near him or not.

For a split second, you’d doubted if you were the one setting the trap — or if you’d already stepped into his.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 9 - Made a promise to be kept

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Illness, self-esteem issues, discussion of spanking, handjob/masturbation, voyeurism, suggestion of ass play, possessive kink.

Tegan spends the day at work feeling gradually more and more ill, so she decides to pick up a few things on her way home in case she can’t get out to get them the next day. It’s probably just a cold she picked up from the kids at the weekend, but she doesn’t want to have to drag herself out of bed and look for cough medicine if it’s worse than that. As she gets out of the car she suddenly remembers that Elvis basically lives in her apartment right now, and she could send him out to get things. Part of her wonders what on earth he’d come back with, but she also realises she’s been on her own for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to rely on someone else.

Elvis fusses her and tries to insist on her resting, but she’s too worried about what kind of dinner he’ll cook without her help, so she tells him she doesn’t feel that bad. And she doesn’t, not really. Not until she tries to sleep. They lie down together as usual and she lets her mind drift off, but her thoughts stop making sense. It’s as if she’s put the words in a blender and then poured them out, and all the while she’s sweating and starting to wonder if her legs belong to her or have been swapped out for someone else’s. Eventually she tosses and turns herself fully awake, body hot and arms outside of the duvet freezing cold, sweat dampening the hair at the back of her head. 

“Queenie?” Elvis whispers. He looks at the digital clock by the bed. 2.30am. He’s been awake this whole time, watching her thrash about in her sleep and listening to the odd random word she’d mumbled. 

She rolls over and looks up into his concerned face. “Elvis, I’m sick.”

He strokes her forehead gently. “I can see that, baby.”

She closes her eyes again and groans. He presses a little kiss to her forehead now, carefully moving her sweaty hair out of her face. 

“Try ‘an go back ta sleep, honey.”

She groans again. “I’ll try.”

She closes her eyes but Elvis feels like a furnace next to her, he’s making it even hotter in the bed that already seems like it might be on fire. Then she hears him start to sing. 

Forever, my darling / Our love will be true / Always and forever / I'll love only you / Just promise me, darling / Your love in return / May this fire in my soul, dear / Forever burn

Her mouth curls into a smile and she opens her eyes again. 

“That’s cute.”

“Mmmm. I’m trying ta sing ya ta sleep.”

She giggles, putting her hand on his cheek. “Oh ‘raur. Don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re going to keep me awake if you keep doing that.”

Elvis immediately looks hurt and she wishes she could take it back. “Hm. Forget it then.” He flops onto his back, sighing loudly. He doesn’t mind staying up late, in fact he kind of enjoys it, but he wants to be asleep right now. When you’re asleep you can’t feel rejected.

“‘Raur.” Tegan rolls onto her side, leaning over him to look into his face and seeing his eyes firmly shut. “I’m sorry. I love your singing.” She nuzzles his cheek. “I just don’t find it very sleep-inducing.”

He grumbles again. 

“You could sing to me when I feel better. I’d like that.” She’s still feeling a bit delirious from the fever and so she puts her head on his chest and says, “I’d really like that, Elvis.”

“Why’s ‘at then?” He huffs. 

She giggles into his pyjama top. “‘Cause I’d find it a turn on.”

His lips curl into a smile at the revelation and he starts singing again, right in her ear.

My heart's at your command, dear / To keep, love, and to hold / Making you happy's my desire / Keeping you is my goal

She giggles even more. “Stop it! I’m sick!”

“Alright then. Try ‘an sleep. I won’t sing this time.”

She props herself back up on her elbow again. “You’re making the bed kind of hot…” She pulls an awkward face, knowing he won’t like this either. 

He sighs deeply. “First ya won’t let me sing ya ta sleep, now ya want me on the couch.”

“I’m sorry. But you won’t sleep well with me here either.”

He curls a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. “This’d be a damned sight easier if we were at Graceland.”

“But I like my apartment. And you like my apartment. Don’t you?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. But not when I have ta sleep on the couch. I’m an old man, my back can’t take it.”

Tegan doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she can’t see how she’s going to sleep at all with him in the bed. 

He shakes his head and sits up. “But I’ll go. I’ll see ya in the mornin’ baby.”

***

When Tegan doesn’t appear at the usual time, Elvis picks up the phone and calls her work. He causes quite a kerfuffle, being Elvis Presley and everything, but it does mean that they believe him when he says he’s not sure if she’ll be in for the rest of the week. He pads around the kitchen making coffee and rummaging around in the cupboards for anything else she might want. When he’s finished he puts it all on a tray and then sets it down on the side, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering inside. 

“Honey?” He says softly, into the semi-darkness. 

Tegan grumbles. She’d woken up a while ago, but she didn’t really want to move. She still doesn’t want to move now, so she burrows further into the bedding. Elvis walks around the bed and gets in next to her, gently putting an arm over her. She grumbles again. 

“I made ya coffee,” he murmurs into her hair. 

“Thanks. I feel like my throat’s full of broken glass.”

Elvis pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. “Ya want it now?”

“Please.”

He gives her another kiss and then gets up again, fetching the tray and bringing it in. She sits up slowly, pulling pillows behind her to prop her up and looking with some interest at the contents of the tray. 

“I thought you were just bringing coffee?”

Elvis puts it down on her lap. “Well I thought these might help.”

Tegan looks at the rest of the contents of the tray in bewilderment. There’s painkillers, which make sense, next to two cups of steaming coffee. So far, so good. But then there’s a box of crackers, a bottle of gatorade (which she’s quite sure she didn’t buy, so she’s confused as to what it’s doing in her apartment) three or four candy bars (which, again, she didn’t buy) and a packet of lemsip. Just, on its own. Without hot water or a cup. She rubs her forehead in confusion and then just giggles. 

“What?”

She hands him his coffee and takes hers, setting the tray down on the bed between them. Coughing a little, she takes a few sips of her drink to try and make her throat feel a bit better before replying. 

“I bought a load of cough drops and things at the shops yesterday,” she explains. “They’re in the cupboard over the sink.” 

“Oh,” he sighs. He didn’t sleep well on the couch at all, and he’s starting to feel a little like everything he does at the moment is wrong. “Ya want those?”

She takes another sip of coffee. “In a bit.”

He huffs again. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Everythin’ I do fer ya, ya don’t like.”

Tegan sighs, and then she puts her head on his shoulder. “That’s not true. This coffee is actually alright.”

She means to make him laugh but he just groans, moving her off him and getting up again. 

“I’m no good at this.” 

She watches in disbelief as he walks back out of the room again. “Elvis!” She calls after him, then bursts into a fresh round of coughing. “‘Raur?” 

When she sees he’s not coming back, she decides to get up, slowly pulling on panties and an old Elvis sweater she found the other day in the back of her closet. She pushes on slippers and then pads out of the room, carrying her coffee. He’s always telling her off for wandering about the place naked, so she hopes this will do. She coughs a bit more and sniffs, finding him sat on the couch watching MTV. Wandering over to the cupboard she grabs a handful of cough drops, Vicks and tissues, and then walks over to the couch. Looking away from the TV for a moment, he’s greeted by the sight of his girlfriend walking around in a sweater with his name on it and a pair of boxer-style panties. It’s hard to stay mad. 

“Where’d this come from?” He asks, tugging at her sleeve as she sits down next to him. 

“Found it in my closet. I think I must’ve bought it when I was a teenager. I’m amazed it still fits, but it was pretty baggy on me back then.”

“I like it,” he announces, because he really does. “No panties with my name on?”

She smirks. “I bet I could find some.”

He pats his thigh. “C’mon. Lap.”

Elvis has got in the habit of telling her to get onto his lap if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, and although it makes her feel a little bit like a pet dog, she does kind of like it. And she likes cuddling up with him like this anyway. So she sits sideways on his lap so she can still watch the TV, his arm firmly around her. She sneezes. 

“I’m gonna give you this, if you keep cuddling up to me all the time.”

Elvis huffs again. “Ya want me ta go? I’ll just go.” He lets go of her so she can get up if she wants. 

“I didn’t say that, ‘raur.” She cuddles into him more, her fingers playing with the buttons on his pyjama top. “I just don’t want you to get sick too. I like you being here. I’d be lonely without you.” 

“Hmmm. Wouldn’t want ya ta be lonely.”

His arm returns to its previous position, but he still feels uncomfortable. He’s a protector, but he’s not much of a caregiver, and he feels like he ought to be. After having a child, he thinks he should be better at knowing what to do when someone is sick, but he and Cilla had always sort of farmed that out to other people. 

“I was only teasing, earlier, you know?” She says after they’ve been sitting there quietly for a while, watching music videos. 

“Should’ve known,” Elvis mutters. “Should be good at looking after sick people by now.”

Tegan shifts to look into his eyes, which stare back, full of sadness. “You couldn’t know what was in my cupboards, I didn’t tell you. But you could’ve just asked what I wanted. That might’ve been easier.”

“Oh. I suppose so.”

“It’s cute though. How much you try.”

He huffs. “Don’t wanna be cute.”

“That’s tough really, isn’t it? Because you are so cute,” she teases, rubbing her nose against his. 

“Ya do really emasculate me sometimes, honey. Callin’ me pretty an’ cute. Next thing I know you’ll be plaiting my hair an’ puttin’ on make-up.”

Tegan giggles. “You put make-up on yourself in the 50s, didn’t you? Come to think of it, in the 60s and 70s too, blodyn.”

“What are ya callin’ me now?”

She bites her lip. “Blodyn. It’s a term of endearment, but literally it means flower.”

“Flower?!” He rages for a second, and then laughs. “Yer really callin’ me flower. Aha. I see.”

“Yeah I am. My little blodyn, fy blodyn bach, taking care of me while I’m sick.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If ya weren’t sick, ya’d be gettin’ a spankin’ for this…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He gives her a quick hard slap to the side of her thigh, making her yelp, and then kisses her gently on the lips. “I’ll put it on the list of things ta do when you’re well again. Sing ta ya and then spank the livin’ daylights outta ya.”

***

Tegan gets worse over the next few days, and spends them mainly in bed, with Elvis ferrying hot drinks and soup back and forth. Around day four he starts to get sick too, and although he's grumpy about it he only really gets a sniffle and a bit of a cough for a day or two. Tegan is still exhausted a week later, but she drags herself out of bed to sit on the couch. 

“Feelin’ any better, baby?” Elvis asks, pulling her onto his lap as usual and arranging a blanket around her. 

“Hmmm. Just tired.” Tegan’s head flops against his chest. 

“Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?”

“Yeah, I am actually. Nothing in the apartment worth eating though.”

“Why don't I go out and get us a little breakfast, baby?”

She sits up and strokes his cheek lovingly. “That would be great if you feel OK?” She puts her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, worrying that he's more ill than he's letting on. 

“I feel fine, baby. Jus’ sniffin’ a bit s���all.”

“Don't know how you've got away with that but I shouldn't complain. Don't want to lose my nursemaid.”

Elvis shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What have I told ya about that? ‘M not a nursemaid.”

Tegan giggles. “Sorry. You're doing such a good job of taking care of me, though.”

He puffs up with pride. “I am?”

“Yes!” She kisses him on the lips. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”

He grins, pleased to feel useful for a change. “Alright then. You stay there and keep warm and I’ll go and get us some breakfast.”

Tegan chuckles to herself about staying warm in the middle of September in Memphis, but she doesn't say anything. It's sweet of him to worry. As she waits for him to come back, she thinks about how sweet he's been this whole week. It was obvious not being able to take care of her instinctively bothered him, but he'd taken her advice and actually asked what she wanted and by now he was pretty good at feeding her and bringing her medicine. He'd even got in the shower with her a couple of times and helped her wash when she'd been too tired to want to do it on her own. 

***

After breakfast, Elvis watches Tegan take the plates from the couch into the kitchen. She’s still only wearing panties and that old sweater, and he feels his body react to the sight of her ass jiggling a little as it makes its way around the apartment. It’s happened the past couple of mornings, but he’s done his best to ignore Little Elvis and concentrate on looking after Tegan. This morning, though, he’s really making himself known and Elvis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to ignore him. 

Tegan’s too tired to notice the look on his face, flopping back down next to him and putting her legs up on his lap.

“Honey, ya can’t keep wanderin’ about the place like this,” he tells her. 

“Hmmm? Why?” 

He takes her hand and puts it on his now fully-hard dick. She moves her head and her eyes go wide. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him to sort himself out, but she’s not sure she has the energy to do anything for him either. Plus she’s not exactly feeling that sexy right now.  

“I-it’s okay,” he stutters. “I…uh… I can sort myself out.”

Tegan shakes her head and squeezes him. “No, I wanna help.”

“Honey, you’re still sick.”

She sighs, her head back on his shoulder. “Well, at least let me watch then.”

She hears him cough awkwardly, as if he’s trying to swallow down something particularly difficult. 

“W-watch?”

“Mmmm. Y’know. You jerk yourself and I’ll… watch.”

“I think I might feel a bit self-conscious, baby.”

“Why? I’ve seen your dick before. And, spoiler alert, I know what happens at the end.”

She hears a grumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve never… done that before. In front of someone.”

“Oh. Well I promise I’d enjoy it.”

He moves his head and shoulder so that she has to look at him. “Would ya?”

She nods. “Here. Why don’t I help you?” 

Reaching down to undo the garish belt he’s wearing, she unzips his pants. He shuffles around to make it easier for her to release Little Elvis from his boxers, then moans softly as she pumps him up and down a couple of times. Letting go, she takes his hand from where it’s resting on his thigh and guides it towards his dick. He takes over stroking himself, enjoying the feeling of the kisses she starts to press to his neck and ear. His other hand reaches around to her ass, grabbing a handful and sighing softly to himself. She bites her lip, thinking about how else she can help him.

“You want me to do this?” She asks, slipping her hand in his boxers to massage his balls. 

He groans. “Yes please.”

She squeezes them gently a few times, and then starts to get other ideas. One of her fingers rubs the skin just below them, and he almost jumps. 

“Honey!”

She giggles. “No?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I swear you’re supposed ta be sick.”

She goes back to massaging, her lips pressing against his. “I am. I just thought you might like a little assistance.”

He kisses her and then pulls back again. “I don’t need yer finger up my asshole.”

Tegan can’t help herself, bursting out laughing, pulling her hand away from him to slap her thigh in amusement. 

“It wasn’t your arsehole, cariad. It was your taint.”

Elvis tilts his head to one side and huffs out a sigh. “Yer on very thin ice, y’know that? Even sick girls can get a spanking.”

She giggles, cuddling into him and kissing his collarbone. “Sorry, ‘raur. Please carry on. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She doesn’t really, they hang around his neck as he kisses her, run over his chest, even wrap around his own hand to help him as he gets closer to release. But she does resist the temptation to put them in his boxers again. At least for now. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he breathes in her ear, his lips and teeth finding the lobe. 

“Let me see,” she replies, looking down as he kisses her neck and makes a mess of his hand and pants. 

“Oh fuck. You do like me wandering around in these panties.”

“Mmmm.”

They sit there for a while longer, until he decides he has to get cleaned up. 

“You enjoy that?” She calls after him, as he walks towards the bathroom. 

He turns and smiles. “More ‘an I thought I would.” He fixes her with an intense stare. “But not as much as I’d enjoy fucking that pussy a mine, baby. Hurry up and get well.”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[born-to-lose-writing]

How Christmas Is Supposed to Be

Pairing: old!Slash x reader

Requested by @being-worthy

Summary: When Slash finds out Christmas used to be your favorite holiday until it became just another day, he goes all out to make your first Christmas together special.

Tags: fluff, Christmas

Words: 923

A/N: Two years after it was requested, I finally wrote it 🙏🏻 I was planning to write more Christmas fics this time, but I'm so happy I finished this at least

Tag list: @warriorteam1924 @slashscowboyboots @losers-yurio @lost-in-the-80s @jennyggggrrr @tuffduff @jonesyownsmyheart @smells-like-perfect-senses @whered0wego @rumoured-whispers @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker @gloomy-blonde @cherry-jams (let me know if you want to be taken off the list)

For once before the holidays, you had a weekend with a chance to relax, so you and Slash decided to look through some old photo albums. If you weren't going to celebrate Christmas as much as Slash used to when his children were younger, you were still going to experience some nostalgia.

You were familiar with many of Slash's photos starting from his late teenage years, partially because you had seen them back when all he was to you was one of the best guitarists around and not your boyfriend, partially because he had shown them to you before.

Still, there were quite a few that were new to you, such as the ones in his childhood albums. Obviously, there were pictures together with some celebrities his mother had been friends or worked with, and while you were a little jealous he had gotten to meet so many icons as a kid, what caught your attention even more were his baby photos.

“Aww,” you cooed, pouting and pointing at an especially adorable photo of him at the tender age of 10 months. “You were so cute! What happened?”

He knew you were only teasing him and laughed. “58 years passing, that's what happened. You don't find me cute anymore?” he feigned hurt.

“I’d say you're sexy now,” you replied, giving him a kiss on the jaw. “But still cute.”

You pinched his cheek before returning to the photo album on your lap, turning the page to some more baby pictures of him. It was truly heartwarming.

In the meantime, Slash picked up one of your photo albums. He laid the one on top to the side when he read the words 'Christmas Part 1’ on the next album and ‘Christmas Part 2’ written on the cover underneath.

“You really loved Christmas, huh?” Slash smirked, opening the first one to see a picture of you as a toddler sitting under an icy blue and silver decorated tree. You were having a present in front of you, looking up at the camera as if you had been interrupted while tearing open the wrapping.

“Yeah,” you admitted, a melancholic smile on your face as you looked at the pictures together. “It was the thing I looked forward to the most as a kid, but over time it became just another day, you know? When I started studying and working, things got more stressful and I couldn't get into the Christmas spirit anymore.”

Slash wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “I’ll help you get in the holiday mood again, that's a promise.”

As usual, he kept his promise and when you came home from a long day of work on Monday, the wreath on the front door was the first hint at what you could expect inside.

You opened the door and spotted fairy lights along the door frames, green and red garlands leading up the railings of the staircase, candle arches in the windows, a life-sized nutcracker next to the backyard door, a snow globe on the coffee table in the entrance hall, mistletoe above every door and many more decorations you had almost forgotten about but reminded you of what your family used to put up years ago.

As you set foot in the living room, the scent of pine filled the air before you could even see the tree itself, bringing back memories from when you had gotten home from school and immediately felt cheered up by the scent of Christmas, no matter how your day had been. It was large and almost reached the ceiling, though just short enough to put a tree topper on, but it was not yet decorated.

Suddenly, Slash appeared from behind the tree, grinning when he saw you. “Oh, hello! Do you want to help me? I just bought some decorations, I hope you like them.”

You walked over to him and saw the boxes of ornaments, candles and tinsel on the floor. You genuinely liked them, but even if they hadn't been your style, you would have loved them for his effort alone.

“I went a bit overboard as you probably noticed already,” he chuckled. “And there’s still more waiting to be put up in the next couple of days. I got colored fairy lights for outside the house too.”

Smiling, you turned around and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Slash said and kissed you. “I thought I'd leave some for you because having other people decorate everything is boring.”

You nodded and took a bauble out of the bubble wrap, hanging it on a branch. Then, Slash joined in but took enough time to let you choose the placements of most ornaments, which you appreciated. He had already succeeded in getting you into the Christmas mood when you had come home to a fully decorated house, but it only now started to feel like the holidays you had loved so much when you had been younger. It felt simply magical, the only thing missing was baking gingerbread—and being lifted up to put the last piece on top.

Slash seemed to read your mind as once you were finished with the ornaments and the tinsel, he handed you the big gold angel and grabbed you by the waist, lifting you high enough to place it on top of the tree. When he put you back down, he spun you around once, making you giggle. “Let’s put on some Christmas music, shall we?”

[fanfictionstuff]

Gingerbread Houses

Amaimon x Reader

I promise I'm working on the Rin and Mephisto fics.

SFW but NSFW is implied a couple times.

This is going to be 1/? I wanted to write something cute with Amaimon and Reader for Christmas. So, I have a couple ideas, and if you want to suggest something, feel free.

I don't know if you've seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964), but it is mentioned. If you haven't seen it, a quick Google search of the name and add the year you can see the animation style.

I can't wait for Sunday! He was so cute last week; I just wanted to hug him. This is the wallpaper for my computer and phone lmao

Sitting in class, you can hardly contain your excitement as you eagerly await your boyfriend's arrival. Just last night, the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: Christmas is just a week away! After a quick moment of panic about finding the perfect gift for Amaimon, you remembered one crucial thing—he’s never truly experienced a modern Christmas here in Assiah.

The door swings open, and in strides the demon king himself. Your excitement bubbles over as you leap to your feet, rushing towards him with outstretched arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, your heart racing with joy. "Do you know what next week is?” you exclaim, a wide grin spreading across your face, unable to contain your thrill any longer.

“Winter break?”

“No, well, yes, next week is Christmas!”

Amaimon nods as he places his hands on your hips. Christmas decorations have been popping up all over town for the past few weeks, making them hard to overlook. Mephisto also mentioned that Amaimon needed to find a gift for you earlier this morning.

“So, do you have plans?” You question him.

“My plans always revolve around you," he replies flatly. Ever since Mephisto granted Amaimon a taste of freedom, you’ve somehow woven a spell that ensnares the demon king. But oddly enough, he doesn't seem bothered by it at all.

You nod enthusiastically, a smile spreading across your face. “I was thinking we could make gingerbread men and houses tonight?” As the words spill out, you reach into your pocket with your right hand, your left arm comfortably wrapping around Amaimon. “Look,” you eagerly turn your phone toward Amaimon, showcasing a vibrant Google image search filled with enchanting gingerbread houses is displayed. “I found a recipe that’s perfect for making gingerbread houses!"

Amaimon stares silently at the screen, absorbing the assortment of miniature, edible homes before him. A slight crease forms on his forehead, revealing that he's lost in thought, perhaps even a bit perplexed. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulls out a piece of candy, and pops it into his mouth. His sharp gaze shifts from the phone back to you before he ultimately decides to speak. 

"Why? It seems pointless," he asks, tilting his head curiously to the side. His tone is not mocking or dismissive; instead, it conveys genuine curiosity. 

You respond with an amused glance before quickly explaining, "It's a tradition for some people during Christmas to create and decorate gingerbread houses. They're fun to build, and you get to eat them afterward." You gesture toward the images on your phone again, smiling at the thought of making one with Amaimon. 

He hums in response, seeming content with your explanation yet still looking a bit baffled. "I saw that in a shop; we could just buy one," he drawls lazily, searching for loopholes in this tradition you've drawn him into. 

"Yes, but making it ourselves is part of the fun," you counter, firmly tightening your hold on him. Now that the idea of making gingerbread houses together is on the table, you can't imagine spending the weekend any other way. Seeing your unwavering resolve, he simply shrugs and presses his lips to yours. “Okay.”

As soon as school lets out, you nearly drag Amaimon off the school grounds, your excitement bubbling over, making it difficult to contain yourself. Realizing that you don’t have most of the ingredients you need, you lead Amaimon to a grocery store not far from your apartment. His curiosity, combined with a hint of skepticism, causes you to chuckle every now and then.

Although Amaimon may not fully understand your excitement, he can’t help but enjoy observing your enthusiasm. He often wonders how humans find joy in such ordinary activities.

As you begin shopping for the ingredients, Amaimon wanders around the store, casually holding the basket. He occasionally adds snacks that catch his eye, mostly sweets and junk food. It seems he is more interested in the edible aspect of the project than in the building process itself. 

After gathering all the necessary ingredients—flour, baking powder, ginger, cinnamon, molasses, brown sugar, butter, and eggs—you lead Amaimon to the checkout counter. As you wait in line, he curiously examines the vibrant Christmas decorations near the register and, without much thought, adds a box of candy canes to the basket. 

"Are we going to use these also?" He asks, sounding perhaps just a smidgen interested. 

"Well," you say, glancing at the candy canes before redirecting your gaze back to Amaimon with a slight smile. "They’re often used to decorate gingerbread houses. We could insert them like little poles or something similar." 

Amaimon raises an eyebrow, contemplating this new information briefly before dismissing it with a casual shrug. He doesn't understand why people invest so much effort into such a fleeting celebration, but if it makes you happy, he supposes he could tolerate this strange human tradition. 

As you finish paying for the groceries and step outside, Amaimon casually slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers idly play with your hair as he considers what you’ve persuaded him to join in on. He pops a lollipop into his mouth, then grabs the bag of groceries. You raise an eyebrow at him, but seeing him enjoy the candy makes you smile. “Amaimon?” 

“Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

Amaimon hums softly in response, his lips curling into a subtle smirk as his burgundy nails playfully tug at your hair. 

"Me too," he mumbles, the words muffled by the stick of candy he's lazily rolling in his mouth. There's an unmistakable ease in his voice as he speaks. No blushing, no stuttering, no overly dramatic declarations—just a simple, nonchalant confession that feels entirely natural coming from him, as though he were merely sharing an everyday fact rather than unveiling an emotion that poets have written sonnets about.

As soon as you stepped into the apartment, Amaimon set the bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter with a satisfied thud. You stepped into the kitchen, excitement bubbling up as you skillfully gathered the bowls needed for the task ahead. “This recipe says the dough needs to chill,” you explain with a grin. “Since tomorrow is Saturday, we can make the dough tonight, and then tomorrow, we can bake and assemble the houses. You’re spending the night, right?”

With these words, you cast a sideways glance at Amaimon, eyebrow raised in anticipation of his response. Amaimon made a show of considering your question before answering. “Yeah, but I wasn’t planning on us getting much sleep.” He gives you a knowing look. 

With a playful smack on his arm, you chuckle at his less than innocent implications. "You should learn to control yourself, demon king," you tease. 

"It’s difficult when my queen is present," Amaimon replies with evident amusement, popping another candy into his mouth. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he attentively reviews the recipe on your phone. As he glances through its contents, a contemplative expression crosses his face, as if he’s genuinely contemplating the instructions. 

You gently pull away from his hold to gather the ingredients. You direct Amaimon throughout the process though he rather quickly gets the gist of it. 

“Here, you mix the dry ingredients while I prepare the wet ones.” You slide the dry ingredients to the end of the bar, gently guiding your touchy demon king towards the ingredients. 

With his eyes still fixed on the recipe, Amaimon casually reaches for the bowl of dry ingredients and starts to stir. In line with your earlier instruction, he maintains a careful watch over his work, breaking from his usual carefree approach to most activities. Watching this unfold causes your heart to swell—you're certain this is a moment you'll cherish for years to come. 

You carefully measure out your wet ingredients, ensuring you have just enough for a large batch of cookies. However, as you go to set the jar of molasses down on the counter, your grip falters, and it slips from your hands, shattering on impact. Molasses and shards of glass scatter across the kitchen floor. You glance at your hands, then at the broken glass, and finally at Amaimon. You want to avoid cutting yourself on the sharp fragments, but the sticky mess makes it difficult to see clearly. 

Without missing a beat or uttering a word, Amaimon kneels down on one knee, carefully picking up the shards of glass. He’s fast, unfazed by the potential danger of the shards cutting into his skin. 

“Did it break into a lot of tiny pieces?” It’s nearly impossible for you to tell from your position. 

Amaimon shakes his head as he stands with a handful of broken glass, “No, it’s fine now.”

You nod and quickly dampen a cloth before bending down to try to clean up the molasses. It’s not easy; it’s thick and sticky. Clean-up takes a lot longer than you would’ve liked. “Well, this will make for a fun story to share with our future kids about our first Christmas together, spending half an hour cleaning up molasses," you joke.

“Tell our future kids how clumsy you are?” Amaimon questions, a memory of you dropping another item a few days ago crosses his mind. You claim you’re not clumsy but just a month with you has hinted otherwise. 

“It has only happened twice before; the second time was because you were making me laugh.” You had been holding something fragile when Amaimon discovered that you were ticklish and found your reaction interesting. 

Amaimon raises an eyebrow and pointedly glances at your knees, aware of the bruise on your left knee, but you didn’t see the ice when you were walking up the steps. “Whatever, just mix everything now. Let’s get it done and wrapped up. We can roll it out tomorrow morning.” With the demon king and his annoying sleep schedule, sleeping in on weekends is no longer an option for you. He wakes you up in the mornings when he starts to get bored. You’ve established a rule that he has to wait until sunrise. 

Once the cookie dough is put away, you try to think about what to do next. “Next year, I’ll have to get a Christmas tree.” You sigh, feeling a bit disappointed in yourself for not considering getting one this year. “Let’s watch Christmas movies.” 

Amaimon winces at the high-pitched sound coming from the TV. You’re watching the 1964 classic, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and, for some reason, when Rudolph's nose lights up, a jarring noise disrupts the scene. He turns to you with an unimpressed expression, clearly not a fan. The movie not only seems strange to him, but the animation is awful. “You like this?” 

Do you like it? Who knows—it’s a classic, and not watching it just seems strange. However, considering how Amaimon is looking at you, you feel he won’t agree with the other older movies. “It’s nostalgic..." 

The demon king shows no interest, but fortunately for him, he knows how to draw your focus to him and him alone. That’s how you find yourself pressed against the sofa, his warm lips on yours.

As always, his kisses are full of a boldness that sends warmth curling down to your toes. And, as always, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

Amaimon pulls away first, just enough for you to catch your breath. His golden eyes shine intensely in the dim light of the room, still holding that same playful spark. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear—words woven with tender adoration and veiled promises. The sensation of his voice dancing across your skin sends shivers down your spine, leaving you yearning for more.

"Let's call it a night," Amaimon purrs, yet there’s an invitation in those simple words that implies sleep isn’t his intention at all.

“______, wake up.” You groan as Amaimon softly nibbles on your ear, coaxing you to rise. His arms encircle your waist, and his tail lightly caresses your thigh. “What time is it?” 

“Does it really matter?” he whispers, planting gentle kisses over the bite marks he left the night before. “We’re supposed to bake the cookies today.” 

“Amaimon, what time is it.”

“Just after six.”

You groan in annoyance at being awoken so early. "Couldn’t you wait at least another hour before waking me up?” Feeling Amaimon shake his head in disagreement, he replies, "I’ve been watching you sleep for hours now." You can’t help but comment, "You know that’s a bit creepy, right?”

He shrugs. “I took some pictures, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had to remove the blankets, but that’s okay, right?”

You jump up at that, holding the blanket to your chest, and glare down at him. “I’m naked.”

“I know.”

“Amaimon, did you really take photos.”

“No, but you’re awake now.”

Amaimon reaches out to tug the blanket away from you. You let out a startled yelp, yanking it back protectively. “You can be such an asshole sometimes.” However, your indignant tone only seems to amuse him further.

Your scowl deepens as you glare at the demon king lounging lazily across the bed, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. The urge to punch him is overwhelming, but you know better than to provoke Amaimon. Engaging him would be a battle you’re destined to lose before it even begins.

With a defeated sigh, you slump back on the bed, pulling the blankets snugly up to your chin. "Fine," you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You grumble under your breath as you roll out of bed and reach for a nearby robe. It's far too early for this level of mischief from Amaimon, but fortunately for him, you’re also easily tempted by sweet treats. “You’re lucky I love you.” From the corner of your eye, you can see Amaimon nodding in agreement,

“Let’s get started then; grab the baking sheets, and I’ll get the cookie cutters and dough.” Once everything is set up, you stare at the dough; you know how to make gingerbread men and women. That’s what the cookie cutters are for. But what about the houses? Do you simply cook a sheet pan of cookie dough and then cut it out? Or should you cut out the houses first and then bake them? After contemplating for a moment, you decide to do both. 

The process is quick and seamless, and you can't help but feel impressed by how swiftly everything gets done. However, as you place the cookies on the rack to cool, something catches your attention. “What are you doing?!" You notice that Amaimon, who was supposed to be placing the cookies meant for the house on the rack, has instead managed to make half of them disappear. "Eating cookies," he replies casually.

“How are we supposed to make gingerbread houses when you are eating the cookies that build the houses?”

“Oh.” 

You narrow your eyes and walk toward the cabinets holding the ingredients to make more cookie dough. “While these cool, you can prepare another batch of dough.” As soon as all the necessary ingredients are laid out in front of him, you hand him the phone with the recipe.

As he concentrates on his task, you seize his phone from the counter and unlock it, checking to ensure that the idiot didn’t take a photo of you. Your eyebrows lift in surprise as you discover his gallery filled with pictures of you luckily, you’re fully clothed in all of them. “Did you seriously have to use this photo of me as your wallpaper?” 

“I like it.” 

It’s a photo of you, eyes wide and looking embarrassed. He had whispered something to you just before taking the picture. 

“It’s the face you make before we-“ 

“Focus on the cookie dough!” You snap, cutting him off. “Wait, are you seriously eating the cookie dough now? Amaimon, why don’t you eat some candy?” 

Instead of answering, Amaimon retrieves the wrap to cover the cookie dough and places it in the fridge. “Amaimon, why aren’t you eating the candy we bought?” You question, stepping closer to the demon king.

“It’s gone.” 

“…all of it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Some of that was for the gingerbread men and houses!” 

“Sorry.” 

[ryuki-draws]

Grease is having a bit of Opportunity Mars rover birthday this year (stuck at the old moon base with no hopes of ever returning home, or Earth for that matter). Happy 2nd, bud! ✨💔

[icewindandboringhorror]

Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

[pallases]

IM FREEEEEE

[breadboylovin]

feeling a profound sense of dread tonight unrelated to the ghouls and goblins of the season

[ann-chovi]

It's always when I decide to take a break from posting comic updates so that I can slow down and breathe when inspiration hits and suddenly the next three pages are scripted and planned

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[roaringroa]

they should make a life where you don't have appointments, work, school and scheduled events every single day for months on end

[skrunksthatwunk]

household enemy to the yyh watchthrough number one is the olympics. it's taken us a week to get two episodes into the gamemaster fight

[prentissluvr]

*eye twitches* objectively i know this fic is not bad but the urge to rewrite it is... it's there......

[no-truth-left]

I wanna say that like. I'm having a really fun time writing this and I love the options yall are picking and the way the story is progressing.

Thank yall for playing with me and I hope I am meeting expectations storywise. <333

[youcanthandelthetruth]

Texas 💖

[chuluoyi]

hiiii, i just wanna say don’t apologize for being inactive!!! it’s totally understandable, life happens and writing isn’t easy.

i hope you have a wonderful day, and please take all the time you need. thank you for sharing your wonderful work with us, it’s a pleasure. <333333

sending you lots of loveeeeeeee

nonnie, thank you for your consideration 🩵 honestly even next week i’m swamped again bc i’m sent on a sudden business trip until wednesday, so reading this means a lot :’)

sending much love your way too nonnie!! thank you for always stopping by just to be kind to me🫶🏻✨ tbh i’ve wanted to give writing up several times due to many childish discourse here… but seeing many nice messages here and interacting with you all always remind me why i enjoy it so much🫶🏻