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leejihoonownsmyheart · 1 year

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Love the Way You Lie (M)

This is the real part five to the Pathetic series

Summary:

After finding out that Jeonghan has been lying y/n is thrown into a state of emotional turmoil. All the while, Jeonghan's actions leave her more and more confused by the day.

Warning: Y/n is objectified a bit in a not-so-cute way by two people who aren't Jeonghan. Nothing really happens but just be warned.

Tags: 15k words, dub con for safety reasons, Porn with Plot, frat boy!Jeonghan, college student!y/n, best friend!Jeongyeon, soft!dom to hard!dom Jeonghan, mean!Jeonghan (and y/n loves it), submissive!y/n, female!y/n (sorry gender-neutral friends), heavy degradation, a lot of impact play in this one, masochist!y/n, sadist!Jeonghan, skull fucking, creampie, little bit of exhibitionism, little bit of cumplay, Jeonghan regains his aftercare crown

Part Five:

It turned out you were right. Thirteen boys couldn’t lie to you. Just one. You went to each and every boy in Alpha Mu. Random questions about random nights, and you realized that there was no reason for them to lie to you about this. They knew Jeonghan better than anyone other than you assumed his own family.

If Jeonghan was sleeping with other people and was willing to tell you about it than the others would know that. What they wouldn’t know was that Jeonghan would lie to you about sleeping with other people because that would be crazy.

You didn’t get it.

Why did he think that you would care about him sleeping with other people? You two weren’t exclusive. He had made that abundantly clear, and you had made it abundantly clear that you didn’t mind your arrangement.

You stared at your black television screen; your legs crossed on your couch. Your lips were pursed in thought but no matter how long you sat there it didn’t make any sense. Who the fuck would lie about that?

Thirty minutes into your silent pondering the front door opened. You didn’t look over, but you didn’t have to. Moments after the door closed you felt someone join you on the couch.

You and Jeongyeon were silent for a while.

“I...” Jeongyeon finally broke the silence. “I talked to Jimin.”

Your eyes widened and you looked over at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jeongyeon replied. For a scary moment she was silent, just staring at the television like you had before. Then the smallest hint of a smile crossed her lips. “We’re going on a date. A proper date!”

Jeongyeon squealed, covering her face with her hand.

“I literally can’t believe it!” She exclaimed. “I mean... After all these years, I never thought...”

She trailed off shaking her head.

“You know, it was killing me not to tell you about how I was beginning to feel about Jimin. When I realized that I was looking forward to waking up next to him-”

“I could tell you wanted a relationship,” you agreed softly. “But with Jimin? I’d never imagined it.”

“He’s so nice y/n. It started off slowly, at first it was disgruntled kicking me out, both of us completely disgusted by what we had just done but as it kept happening... I looked forward to it. He started being nicer, gentler... I was happy to wake up next to him.”

You were happy for Jeongyeon- You really were, but as she was talking you were beginning to realize something. Your eyebrows furrowed uncertainly, and Jeongyeon seemed to notice. She frowned.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Your eyes trailed down to your lap.

“I’m just... Confused.”

Jeongyeon reached forward, her hands taking yours.

“What about?” She prodded.

“Jeonghan.... Lied to me about sleeping with other girls.”

Pity crossed Jeongyeon’s eyes, and she squeezed your hands.

“Hey, look he isn’t worth shit if he’s going to cheat on you.”

“That’s the thing!” You emphasized. “We agreed that he could sleep with other people, remember? That never changed between us. I don’t care if he sleeps with other people. We’re fuck buddies! That’s what fuck buddies do when they aren’t exclusive.”

“Then why did he feel the need to lie to you?” Jeongyeon asked, her confusion matching your own.

“You don’t even understand yet- He didn’t lie telling me he wasn’t sleeping with other girls. He lied telling me he was sleeping with other girls.”

Jeongyeon pulled her hands away from yours, her mouth slightly ajar and her eyebrows scrunched together.

“What?” She blurted out.

“See, Yeongtae and I were talking, and he pointed out that Jeonghan is really possessive of me. Which I had noticed, and you know...”

“Hot,” Jeongyeon agreed. “That’s part of why I fell for Jimin. Another guy was flirting with me at a party and... Well...”

You nodded.

“Right, so he pointed out that he’s possessive but I kinda just thought it was a bit. Foreplay.” You paused. “And hatred for Yeongtae, of course.”

“Of course,” Jeongyeon agreed.

“But the longer I think about it. We don’t really act like fuck buddies.”

“How do you mean?” Jeongyeon asked.

“Like... I stay and eat breakfast with him, and the other Alpha Mu boys and he always makes sure I stay the night. Gives me better aftercare than anyone I’ve ever been with before. I helped him build a lego set the other day. That’s just. Friend behavior.”

“Friends with benefits behavior,” Jeongyeon pipped up. “But non-exclusive friends with benefits.”

“Right. Except that now I come to find out we are exclusive.”

You shook your head.

“Soonyoung told me that Jeonghan hasn’t slept with anyone since the second time that we fucked.”

“You don’t think... That he has feelings for you, do you?”

“I didn’t!” You insisted. “But now...?”

“The man who doesn’t sleep with anyone twice,” Jeongyeon said, her voice airy. “I mean if he actually is into you. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know!” You replied. “I mean... He’s Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Yeah...” Jeongyeon agreed, a small cocky smile crossing her lips. “But he’s Yoon Jeonghan. Everyone is practically begging to date him. And if he’s willing to settle down for you? You’d be dumb not too.”

“You think?” You asked, your eyes looking away from her.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And he’s really nice to you. He clearly cares for you in a way. Even if it isn’t actually those feelings yet.”

“This is stupid,” you said, immediately waving away the thought. “Now, I can’t explain Jeonghan’s behavior but there’s no way that he actually likes me.” You needed a conversation change. “Let’s focus on what we do know. You and Jimin!”

The smile grew back on Jeongyeon’s face.

“I hope that you can skip your morning class tomorrow because I could talk about this all night!” She exclaimed excitedly.

A smile cracked across your face.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“No y/n today?”

Jeonghan glanced up from his phone while he walked into the kitchen, finding only Seungcheol standing there, leaning against the counter.

“Hm? No.”

“Weird. She hasn’t been over in a few days. Have you been seeing her?”

“She’s busy,” Jeonghan replied. “Studying with Yeongtae.”

A small crack echoed through the small room. Both Jeonghan and Seungcheol looked at the now broken wooden chopstick in Jeonghan’s hand. He cleared his throat, setting the pieces on the table.

“Besides, we don’t need to hang out all the time. That’s not really what our relationship is.”

“Right,” Seungcheol said. He let silence fall between the two for a little bit and then: “You know, y/n called me the other night.”

Jeonghan perked up at the information, but it wasn’t in excitement.

“What? Why?”

“She asked me about what girls you were sleeping with.”

Jeonghan looked away from Seungcheol, cursing under his breath and burying his face in his hands.

“Fuck, why would she-” He groaned loudly. “And let me guess-”

“Why does she think that you are fucking other people? Aren’t you exclusive?”

“Technically, it’s one-sided. She’s made it very clear that she had agreed to not sleep with other people, but I was free to.”

Seungcheol’s confusion didn’t have to be outwardly expressed. Jeonghan could feel it.

“Who would-” He shook his head. “I’ve got to stop questioning the things that y/n lets you do to her. Just... So why would she care if you were sleeping with other people if she agreed to those terms?”

“Maybe because...” Jeonghan cleared his throat uncertainly, risking a look at his friend. “Perhaps I told her I was sleeping with other people.”

Seungcheol gave Jeonghan a blank stare.

“But you’re not.”

Jeonghan nodded.

“But I’m not.”

Seungcheol stared at Jeonghan silently, and then, after a few moments turned away from him, placing both of his hands on the kitchen counter and sighing heavily.

He began to mutter under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for Jeonghan not to make out the: “How am I the one that is single in this house? I’m the only one with fucking-”

Seungcheol turned back around, forcing a smile on his lips.

“Why would you lie to y/n and tell her that you are sleeping with other people?”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why does it matter?” Jeonghan demanded. “I’m allowed to lie to her if I want to. It’s a harmless lie.”

“It’s still a lie.”

Jeonghan exhaled loudly out of his nose.

“What does it matter?”

“Jeonghan, where do you see this thing with y/n going?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Jeonghan said.

Seungcheol walked over to the table, pulling out the chair next to Jeonghan and sitting in it. He fixed Jeonghan under a stern gaze.

“Do you like y/n?”

Jeonghan scoffed at first, his eyes turning away from Seungcheol.

“Do I like y/n? Jesus Seungcheol, do you know me at all?” He looked back at Seungcheol. “I’m Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol agreed. “Yoon Jeonghan who fucks everything that walks and unabashedly kicks them out every morning. Yoon Jeonghan who does not fuck anyone twice- Hell you barely interact with the people you’ve fucked before.”

Before Jeonghan could say anything Seungcheol continued:

“And then you sleep with y/n. You sleep with... What? Two girls after her and then it’s back to her. You’re so bipolar about this! The first night you slept with her you were definitely open to fucking her again, and then you got all aloof and then you slept with her a second time and all of a sudden you are saying we should get used to her-”

“That’s-”

“I’m not finished,” Seungcheol interrupted. “Don’t even get me started on your borderline obsession with Yeongtae. You think I don’t notice you asking about him to anyone who will listen? Your phone is open to his instragram page right now!”

“He’s a weird guy!” Jeonghan protested.

“You are jealous,” Seungcheol said. “You are jealous, and you miss her when she doesn’t come to parties, and you even let her mess with legos with you. You practically beg her to stay every morning.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jeonghan asked angrily, not afraid to express that this conversation was not one he wanted to be a part of. Seungcheol, however, was not fazed by his murderous tone.

“Just admit it!” Seungcheol replied. “I don’t have to tell you your feelings. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“I have nothing to admit.” The two of them were screaming at one another now. The top of their lungs, neither of them backing down.

“If y/n were to call you right now and tell you she was dating Yeongtae and wanted to cut things off, what would you do?”

“Nothing! We aren’t dating. She’s allowed to do what she wants. If she wants to date Yeongtae she can.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You love y/n,” Seungcheol accused. “You love her and that’s why you hate when she hangs out with Yeongtae because while you two connect on a sexual level you are worried that you two won’t connect on a personal level, and Yeongtae and her do and you think that she’s going to leave you for him.”

“Shut up.”

“And if you keep this up? She will leave you,” Seungcheol said. “Are you really going to just let her slip away?”

“She’s not going to slip away!” Jeonghan hissed, slamming his hands down on the table. “You want the truth? Yes, I fucking love her. And I am jealous of her and Yeongtae. Why doesn’t she spend that time with me? I practically have to force her to have breakfast with us every day! She always has something else to do. I’m fucking Yoon Jeonghan why doesn’t she want me?”

Silence fell between the two, both of their chests heaving. They both stared at each other. Seungcheol looking pleased but also distressed for Jeonghan. As the two stood there, someone cleared their throat. Both boys turned to see that Seokmin was walking into the kitchen.

“What was that?” Seokmin asked. “Oh, yeah, my favorite way to wake up in the morning is to you two screaming about Jeonghan’s obvious feelings for y/n.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, and briskly scooted back his chair back, the sound screeching throughout the house.

“Fuck off.”

Jeonghan stormed out of the kitchen, brushing past Minghao as he walked.

“Good morning to you too,” he said softly.

Jeonghan completely ignored him.

“I’m going to get some air.”

And just like that, he stormed out of the house.

You were startled away from your homework by a sudden knock at your door. Your eyebrows furrowed and you glanced at your phone. It was early. Jeongyeon was at class. You weren’t expecting Yeongtae today.

You cracked open your door, and standing in the hall, red in the face and breathless was Jeonghan. Your eyes widened.

“Jeonghan-”

“Did you even check before opening the door? Anyone could have been out here.”

“I-”

Jeonghan raised his hand in front of your face.

“I’m not going to lie to you right now: I am fucking furious,” Jeonghan said. “I know it’s early, and we haven’t seen each other in a few days but this is your first chance to back out. What is our safe word?”

You were surprised but... Always down to be fucked by Jeonghan. You were quick to say your safe word, taking a step back into the room and pushing the door slightly open for Jeonghan. His jaw clenched at the clear invitation.

“If I come into that apartment-”

“Do whatever you want to,” you replied. You pushed aside the uncertainty in the pit of your stomach, completely ignoring the part of you that was desperate to know why Jeonghan had lied to you about sleeping with other girls. “I’m yours.”

Jeonghan was in the room with the door closed behind him in a blink of an eye. He locked the door and began to rip his shirt off of his body. You were momentarily distracted... God, Jeonghan was like a walking fucking Adonis but you were snapped back to reality by Jeonghan saying: “Don’t just fucking stand there. Get your clothes off.”

You quickly locked the door behind you and began to strip yourself of your clothes but you weren’t fast enough. Jeonghan pushed you roughly against the wall and dragged your shirt off of you. As soon as it was tossed aside his lips were pressed to yours.

Jeonghan’s hands were quick to unfasten your bra, and you let it fall off of your shoulders and onto the ground between you two. Jeonghan pulled away from you, narrowing his eyes at you.

“You remembered what I told you? That day in the bathroom?” He asked. You didn’t need him to elaborate.

“You said you’d remind me of how depraved I was,” you replied breathlessly. Jeonghan’s lips flickered into a smile.

“That’s one thing about you,” he murmured. “You are a good listener.”

He stepped away from you and as he walked back his eyes trailed over your body. You swallowed hard.

“Crawl,” Jeonghan said. It snapped your attention back to Jeonghan, your eyelids fluttering.

“What?”

“I said to crawl,” Jeonghan repeated. Your mouth fell open and you quickly dropped down to your hands and knees. Your face blazed in embarrassment as you began to crawl towards Jeonghan but it just made Jeonghan laugh, his head tilting to the side in what seemed to be adoration. “So good for me.”

When you got to his feet, he kneeled down in front of you, placing a single finger to your forehead.

“Have you been good recently?” He asked you. It felt like a trick question, and you had no clue what the answer was.

“… Yes?”

He slapped you, making you gasp in surprise. He stood up and began to walk backwards again.

“Crawl.”

You did as you were told, and as you followed him, he started to talk again.

“You haven’t been good recently. You know why?”

You shook your head quickly. He scoffed.

“Because I had to fuck you twice in two separate bathrooms,” Jeonghan replied, his voice sharp. “You haven’t been over, you haven’t invited me over and I had to settle for fucking you in bathrooms.”

He turned around.

“Where’s your room?” He asked. You cleared your throat.

“It’s uh, the last door on the right.”

Without another word Jeonghan walked down the hallway, disappearing into your room. You stayed there for a second, on your hands and knees, wondering what he wanted you to do. You decided to just keep crawling.

That ended up being the right decision. When you got to your room Jeonghan was sitting on your bed, his legs spread and his head rested on his arm. He looked annoyed.

“Taking your fucking time, aren’t you?” He mumbled.

“Sorry,” you murmured. You crawled all the way up to him, settling yourself between his legs. Once you had sat back on your feet Jeonghan’s hand was on your chin.

“Open your mouth,” he said. You opened it and he suddenly stuck two of his fingers in your mouth. Surprised by the action you gagged, your head dropping forward. Jeonghan chided you softly.

“If you can’t even handle my fingers, how could you possibly handle my cock?” he asked you, his voice high and mocking. Your eyes widened at the tone, his words going straight to your core.

“I can handle-“ You were interrupted by a slap, and this time Jeonghan grabbed your chin with it. He looked at you with hooded eyes.

“I didn’t say you could talk now did I?” He asked. You shook your head obediently. His lips curled up into a smile. “There’s my good girl.”

He turned his eyes away from yours as he went to rummage through his things. You frowned, unsure of what he was doing, but you were glad he looked away because your face was burning red at the compliment.

It was ridiculous how much a tiny bit of praise could really send you over the top when it came from Jeonghan.

“I want to propose something,” Jeonghan said. Your eyes darted to where he had just grabbed something. He flashed a camera at you.

“How do you feel about being a star?”

Realization flooded your body as you realized what he was asking. Your mind raced to come up with an answer. This wouldn’t be the most public thing that you would be letting Jeonghan do, but it would be the most permanent thing you let him do.

You had never before let a fling take a video of you or a picture of you in any intimate way. At least, not since you were able to make rational decisions and remembered that you really had to trust someone before sending them those kinds of pictures of yourself.

Your hesitance wasn’t missed in Jeonghan. He nodded and started to put his phone away.

“That’s okay you don’t need to-” You reached out suddenly, grabbing his wrist. His eyes widened slightly at the sudden touch. You quickly searched his eyes, your mind running fast to figure out what you wanted to say.

“No, I just had to think about it for a second,” you replied. “I trust you. Go ahead.”

You let go of his wrist.

“Why do you want it anyway?” You asked, your tone lightly. He searched your eyes for a second, and then tilted his head, raising the phone camera to his face.

“I want you to see what you look like when you’re groveling at my feet,” Jeonghan replied, his voice low. “You’ll see what a good little slut you are.”

As Jeonghan spoke one of his hands left his phone and he buried his fingers in your hair.

“What do you do when you want me to stop?” Your eyes had drifted to Jeonghan’s dick, your mouth, embarrassingly enough drooling at the sight of it. It had been such a long time since he had decided to use your mouth. “Y/n.”

He tugged your head up sharply, and your eyes darted up. You quickly thought back on his words while you had been distracted and raised your hand to his thigh, tapping it twice. You gave him an apologetic expression, but his expression didn’t change.

“You’ve been bad about listening to me recently,” he commented lightly. “You’re so used to reward, and so spoiled that you think you can act up.”

You wanted to argue with him but as soon as your eyes fluttered back down he was tugging your head up more.

“Keep your eyes on the camera,” he said sternly. “Now tell the camera: Have you been spoiled recently?”

Your eyes peered into the camera lens, your face surely dark from a combination of anticipation, lust, and slight embarrassment.

“I’ve been spoiled,” you agreed. Jeonghan hummed.

“You started taking my dick for granted, didn’t you?” You nodded your agreement, fighting the urge to look at Jeonghan. “You’re going to have to earn your orgasm today.”

You couldn’t help it, your eyes shot to Jeonghan in surprise, and as soon as they did you felt yourself get hit in the face. This time it wasn’t by his hands. Your eyes widened further when you realized that his hand had left your hair and was now wrapped around the base of his cock.

Heat rushed through your body when you realized that he had hit you with his cock.

Your eyes darted back to the camera.

“I’m sorry,” you said, you glanced back at Jeonghan. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be good.” And then your eyes returned to the camera.

A hum left Jeonghan’s mouth, but he didn’t dwell too much on the fact that you were having trouble listening. Deep in the back of your mind you thought that Jeonghan couldn’t blame you for being so distracted. You wanted to be good but how could you be good when it had been so long since Jeonghan had touched you like this?

As these thoughts ran through your mind, Jeonghan’s hand returned back to your hair.

“Mouth open,” he commanded. Your mouth dropped open and Jeonghan quickly pushed your head down on his cock. You choked a little at the sudden intrusion, feeling your gag reflex go off even as you tried to push away the feeling. Jeonghan scoffed.

“You can’t even take my dick the way you usually can,” he chided. “You are usually so good at not choking, is it too big for you love?”

Your face burned as you focused hard on breathing through your nose. You made sure to keep your eyes on the camera, feeling ease fall over you when you stopped feeling the need to gag after each and every thrust.

The longer Jeonghan forced your head up and down the length of his cock, the more his taunting tone turned airy. He stopped talking in favor of moans tumbling from his mouth, but his relentlessness did not end. He began to essentially fuck your face faster and faster the longer that he went.

“Your mouth is so wet and hot,” Jeonghan said gruffly. Your eyes flitted towards him only to find that his eyes were shut in pleasure. “It’s almost as good as your pussy.”

He moaned at the mere mention of your pussy.

“I’m not interested in foreplay today; I need to fucking destroy you. You better get yourself ready.”

Your eyes shot back to the camera, realizing that you probably did not have much time to get yourself ready. Your hand lowered to your pussy, which was, of course, dripping wet. You pushed two of your fingers right into yourself with ease, wasting no time in matching Jeonghan’s pace.

It was getting a lot harder to keep your focus on the camera as Jeonghan started to move your head up and down faster on his cock. You could feel his cock twitch inside of your mouth, and by the way that his fingers were tightening their grip in your hair you knew that Jeonghan was getting close to having his first orgasm of the night. You pushed a third finger into yourself quickly, ignoring the burn as you began to also suck on his cock more, hoping to bring him closer, faster, like you thought he wanted.

“I’m going to cum in your perfect little mouth, and I want you to capture all of the cum. I better not see a single drop spilled.”

You moaned around Jeonghan’s cock, excitement buzzing through your body as Jeonghan got closer to his orgasm. You only had to wait a few more pumps before Jeonghan’s cum started to fill your mouth. He pulled his cock out enough so that it was really just his tip in your mouth as he began to come.

“Don’t swallow it either.”

His hand left your hair, and then suddenly he pulled himself out of your mouth. You opened your mouth to protest but then a little bit of cum dripped from your mouth and you slammed it shut. Jeonghan didn’t seem to be bothered. He instead gave his cock a few pumps as he painted your face with the rest of his cum, and once he had finally stopped you got slapped hard.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get any cum on your face?” He snapped. Your eyes shot to his in apology but that apparently wasn’t the right move either. “And you’re not even looking at the camera.”

Your eyes shot back to the camera just in time for Jeonghan’s fingers to bury in your hair again and he forced your head back.

“Say thank you for the cum with it still in your mouth,” he commanded. You were quick to comply.

“Thank you for the cum,” you said.

“Louder.”

“Thank you for the cum,” you repeated, much louder this time. Jeonghan hummed, looking at you from behind the camera screen. After a few seconds of just staring at you he set the phone aside and pulled you up by the strands of your hair. He pushed you onto the bed, your ass sticking out over the edge and grabbed you by the hips to pull you up against his pelvis, pushing his cock into you without warning.

You cried out in surprise and more cum dripped out of your mouth, so you slammed your hand over it, feeling your already wet fingers smear his cum over your cheeks.

Jeonghan snickered.

“Trying so hard to be good now aren’t you?” He asked. “You scared you’re going to lose your orgasm?”

Jeonghan pushed deep into you, hard again without warning, jostling your whole body and making you fall awkwardly on your face. You quickly tried to steady yourself but then he pushed into you hard again and you found yourself back in the same position.

Jeonghan seemed to be annoyed by how you were jostling because he made a sound that resembled that of a growl and pushed your head down into the comforter.

“Stop moving.”

Now that you were steady under Jeonghan he began to really lose control. You hadn’t thought it was possible for Jeonghan to fuck you any harder than he had in the past but you had been ridiculously wrong. With each thrust you were fighting screaming, the only thing keeping you any semblance of quiet being the fact that he hadn’t told you yet that you could swallow the cum you were still holding in your mouth.

Jeonghan was bouncing your entire body with his thrust, your bed creaking with each movement. After a while of literally pounding you his hand left your head, and he grabbed you by your forearms. You were lifted off of the bed, your back arched as Jeonghan fucked himself even deeper inside of you.

“I want to hear you,” he snapped gruffly. You didn’t have to be told more than once. You opened your mouth, both loud moans and cum coming out of it as you did so. You ignored as the cum and spit soaked your chin, dripping down your body and onto the bed.

Jeonghan didn’t pay much mind to it at all either. In fact, his hands quickly switched their position so that he was holding you up by your throat.

His hands were cutting off your air circulation just enough that it was making pleasure swirl even more aggressively in your head.

Without any warning at all, you suddenly felt Jeonghan begin to come deep inside of you, his hips stuttering a little as he began to unload himself in you.

“Fuck, thank you Jeonghan. Thank you,” you cried out, earning yourself a slap.

“Shut up,” Jeonghan mumbled, but you could hear the smile in his voice as he said it.

You felt your own orgasm starting to come up but you desperately fought against it, recognizing that Jeonghan had not told you that you could cum yet.

Jeonghan didn’t stop fucking you even after he had finished coming inside of you. Instead, he briefly pulled out of you to flip you onto your back, and pushed right back into you. His cock somehow already hard again as he began to drill into you from there.

“Do you want to cum?” He asked you. You pressed your lips together and nodded eagerly. He hummed, his thumb running over your cum and spit-soaked chin. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

Your body was burning, and him talking to you like this wasn’t making it any easier to hold off your orgasm, but regardless you had to be honest.

“No,” you admitted. “But I’ve been better than others haven’t I? I always take your cock just the way you want it, and I’m so good at taking your cum.”

Jeonghan nodded, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

“You like being my little cum dumpster? You like it when I fuck my cum deep inside of you?”

“Yes Jeonghan, fuck yes. I need it, I need your cum so badly,” you agreed, your tone getting lighter, more desperate. “I need you so badly Jeonghan, all the time. I want you to use me more.”

“Yeah? You like this way too much for the average person,” he chided. His fingers pinched at the corners of your mouth, forcing your jaw open. He spit in your mouth and then let go. You swallowed it without a second thought.

“Thank you,” you blurted out. Jeonghan’s head fell to the side.

“For what?” He asked, but as he did he lowered his hands to your waist, forcing himself into you faster.

“For everything,” you cried out. “For fucking me, for coming in me, for coming on me. For all of it. For your spit. Thank you.”

Jeonghan’s hips stuttered against you.

“Fuck, y/n,” he said, sounding absolutely wrecked. Suddenly he wrapped one of his arms around you, lifting you off the bed a bit so that he could bury his face in your neck while he fucked you. You felt him bite down on your neck, sucking a hickey into it just as his other hand pressed down on your clit.

“You can come you little slut. Come on my cock like a good girl.”

You didn’t have to be told more. You felt tears of relief began to roll down your cheeks as you finally let yourself come, your thighs shaking as Jeonghan came right after you. His thrusts not stopping until you felt so full that you thought you might explode.

Jeonghan held you in that position for a little while, his cock buried deep inside you as he busied himself marking up your neck again, but after a few minutes he flipped you both over, sliding his cock out of you.

Your chest heaved against Jeonghan’s and you buried your face in his chest in pure exhaustion. You heard him sigh, his fingers making their way into your hair. He combed through it gently.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet you almost couldn’t hear him. You looked up at him, confusion riddled over your clearly messy and red face. A flicker of a smile crossed Jeonghan’s lips at his handiwork, but it was replaced quickly by a solemn look that matched his apology.

“For what?” You asked. “You heard me thank you for everything earlier.”

You laughed softly and pressed your head back against his hand.

“You know I like it just as much as you do.”

“It’s not that,” Jeonghan replied. He looked troubled, and serious. “I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you... I shouldn’t do that. I won’t make a habit of it.”

“I don’t personally mind,” you commented with a shrug. “Take your anger out on me all you want if it makes you feel better.”

Jeonghan was still staring at you.

“Did it make you feel better?”

Jeonghan sighed, finally his eyes flickering away from you.

“I think it made it worse.”

You wanted to scream at Jeonghan. Mostly for being confusing. You were thinking of how to bring up the fact you knew he was lying about sleeping with other girls but every communication technique that you could use just fell flat in your mind. Start, stop, continue... NVC?

I feel confused because you told me you were sleeping with other people when you weren’t and I would like to talk to you about why you felt like you had to do that.

Not only were you not sure if that was formed right, but it would also be stupid to bring up in any normal context.

… Stupid Micah Salaberrios...

So instead of using your engrained knowledge of healthy proper communication you fell back on the easier option.

“You’ve never been in my place before. Do you like it?”

Jeonghan hummed and pulled away from you, sitting up. You whined as you fell into your comforter which made Jeonghan laugh. His fingers tightened in your hair again and he dragged you up with him.

“Dick...” You mumbled. Jeonghan snorted and you propped yourself up in your bed.

“You certainly have a lot of posters of men on your walls,” he observed, gesturing to the kpop posters you had scattered across your room. It just amused you.

“Jealous?”

“Hardly. I doubt you would be groveling on your knees for them, begging to be hit and used like a pretty little fuck toy.”

Your face reddened a bit.

“You would be surprised. I don’t know if I would be able to choose if my choices lied between you and Taeyoung.”

Jeonghan clearly didn’t like where the conversation was going as he gave you a stern look.

“You really want me to put you in your place all over again? Remind you what your only real use is?” He demanded.

You swallowed, surprised (and disappointed) by his lack of physical touch to match the threat. You kind of did want him to put you in your place all over again.

“No,” you mumbled. It was small. You clearly wanted more but Jeonghan played dumb. He patted your head.

“Where’s your shower?”

There he was again. That gentle Jeonghan that came after being railed and treated like you were nothing at all.

“Down the hall. On the left.”

Jeonghan stood up, stretch as soon as he was out of your bed and then scooped down to pick you up. You yelped in surprise but were in zero shape to fight back.

“I don’t always have to shower right after we fuck,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck. You couldn’t help an intrusive thought from escaping as well: “Why do you care so much about after care anyways?”

Jeonghan scoffed, and it vibrated through his body.

“What kind of emotional damage would I be leaving on you if I called you worthless and hit you and then just… left?”

You shrugged.

“What does it matter?” You asked. “I’m just a fuck toy.”

Jeonghan paused at the statement, his face scrunching in concentration for a moment. He looked like he really wanted to address your words but for some reason couldn’t figure out a way to. You didn’t understand why those choice words were bothering him. Even if he wasn’t sleeping with other people, they were objectively true.

“You’re not just a fuck toy,” Jeonghan finally said. “You are my fuck toy, but that’s not all you are.”

You opened your mouth to negate Jeonghan’s statement but before you could he was talking again.

“I’m going to start your shower.”

If his purpose was to derail the conversation by causing you additional frustration he had done the perfect job. You groaned, successfully rolling out of Jeonghan’s arms and back on your bed. You buried your face in your bed sheets. He didn’t seem put off by your show.

“I’ll shower first but you have to shower too,” he stated. “I don’t know why you are such a brat about showers. You’re so obedient for me otherwise.”

You waited for him to say more but when he didn’t you sat up and found that he wasn’t there anymore. You sighed. How unproductive.

Your mind turned to Jeonghan in the shower, and you realized that you didn’t actually have anything for him to wear. You knew that your clothes wouldn’t fit him so you raced to come up with anything else and then remembered that you had some clothes that one of your old flings had left once before.

You got out of bed and walked over to your closet, getting on top of a chair so that you could grab them from the top corner.

You gave them a test sniff, and found that they just smelled like your laundry detergent.

Along with those, you walked over to the hallway closet grabbing a fresh towel.

True to his word Jeonghan was still in the shower when you pushed into the bathroom.

“I brought you a towel,” you mumbled. “And some clothes.”

Jeonghan peeked around the shower curtain, frowning.

“I don’t think I’ll fit into your clothes love,” he stated. Your heart fluttered at his words. Love.

“They’re men’s clothes,” you replied. “I think they’ll fit you. You’re about the same height as…” Suddenly your thoughts turned to the other day at the library. Your lips pressed together. “Uh-”

At first Jeonghan just looked confused, but that confusion faded into understanding when he realized what you had been about to say. His head tilted and his expression became harder.

“About the same height as who?” He pressed. You kept your lips pressed together, unwilling to say a word. You just shook your head. He pushed aside the shower curtain and took the clothes from your hands tossing them on the floor.

Before you had come in here you had put a shirt on so that you weren’t walking around completely naked, but Jeonghan wrapped his arm around you, dipping under the shirt and coming down hard on your ass. You yelped and he pulled you close to him, the water from the shower coming off of him and onto your shirt.

“Whose clothes are on the floor of your bathroom y/n?” Jeonghan asked you. Your lips pressed together and again just shook your head. He slapped your ass again: “It’s not like you to be bad. You must be really scared.”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice. You cleared your throat.

“They’re just a friends-” Jeonghan hit your ass again. “Okay, it was a flings’. But it’s been months since I’ve even talked to him.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrow rose slightly.

“Then why are you so nervous?” He mumbled. Your eyes flickered to his.

“You have a bit of a jealous streak.”

Jeonghan laughed and looked like he wanted to negate what you said but before he could you flicked your head in the direction of the discarded clothes. He pressed his lips together.

“Okay… Maybe you have a point,” he relinquished. He looked back at you and shrugged. “Thanks for the clothes. Your turn.”

When you got out of the shower, you found Jeonghan in your kitchen in the clothes you had left for him. He looked annoyed and you didn’t have to look at him long to figure out why. He looked at you.

“Why do you even still have these?” He asked you. He pulled at the collar of his shirt in aggravation.

“I thought maybe Yujun would want them back.”

Jeonghan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Does it still smell like him?” He asked. “Don’t men’s clothes smell like them for a really long time?”

“Jeonghan don’t be stupid-”

“You can keep the clothes I wore over here,” he interrupted you. He gestured to what he was currently wearing. “I’m burning this.”

You rolled your eyes, but honestly, you thought it was a little cute. Even if this just made you even more confused on what Jeonghan saw you as. You wandered over to the kitchen island, taking a seat at one of the chairs. You rested your head on your hand.

“What are you doing in my kitchen anyways?” You asked. Jeonghan hummed.

“I thought it was about time you tried my cooking.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise.

“What?” You asked. Jeonghan walked over to your pantry, pulling out a box of pasta. He looked at the box.

“I love pasta,” he mumbled, but it seemed like it was mostly to himself. He set the box on the counter and then looked in your fridge. He paused for a second as he looked at the contents. He then reached in and grabbed out a few things. Spinach, heavy cream, milk, cheese. You were surprised you had so many fresh ingredients.

He closed the fridge door behind him. You frowned slightly.

“Have you ever made pasta before?” You asked, your mind flickering to the fact that Jeonghan had evaded answering if he was a good cook or not. You thought that if someone were good as cooking they would brag about it. Like Mingyu did everytime you were over.

“I’ve seen Mingyu make pasta before,” Jeonghan replied, focused on getting out the things he needed for the dish. “How hard can it be?”

You had never seen anyone mess up anything as bad as Jeonghan messed up cooking pasta. You watched as he didn’t stir the pasta as it boiled, he burned the milk by turning the heat up too high, and on top of all that he set one of your kitchen towels on fire.

To be completely fair, you were pretty sure that the Alpha Mu house had electric stoves, not gas ones but regardless, it wasn’t what you had expected at all when he first started measuring out the ingredients to make the pasta sauce.

“When you said that I would find out if you were good at cooking or not-”

Jeonghan shut you up by lightly putting his hand in your face and pushing you to the side. You stumbled a little and shot him a glare.

“Hey! You about burned my apartment down!” You protested. Jeonghan had taken a seat at your kitchen island while you started to clean up after him. He had the audacity to be sitting there with a sad look on his face. As if something you had done was the reason that he couldn’t eat.

“I just wanted pasta,” he replied, his head rested on his arms that were on the counter.

“If you were that bad at cooking why didn’t you just ask me to make you something?” You demanded. Jeonghan still held that pathetic look on his face, as if he was a child being scolded.

“Do you know how to make pasta?” He asked you. You huffed loudly out of your mouth.

“You’re so weird Jeonghan,” you mumbled. “Of course, I know how to make pasta. All you have to do is boil some water and heat some milk and heavy whipping cream.”

You put the lid on your pot as you dumped the water out of the overcooked pasta.

“It’s not really aftercare if you do the cooking,” Jeonghan continued, that whine still in his voice. You rolled your eyes.

“That’s not true. Maybe it’s aftercare from me to you,” you replied. “You make me shower. I’ll cook you food.”

Jeonghan was silent for so long that it worried you. You dumped the pasta out into your trash can and then looked up at him. He was watching you closely, the pout that had been on his face was gone now. When he realized that you were looking at him, he let his eyes flutter closed.

“Okay, cook for me then,” he said. There was something weird in his voice, your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to figure out what it was. You stood there for only a few seconds before you gave up.

How could you expect yourself to understand the tone of his voice when you didn’t even understand why he had lied to you about sleeping with other girls?

You turned your attention back to the stove, cleaning the pots as you needed them. The silence between you and Jeonghan was weird, so you found yourself glancing back at him a lot to see if he was asleep or not. Each time you looked back at him you found his eyes were fluttering shut.

It was like he was a child. He was quite literally pretending to be asleep when in reality he was watching you cook.

You couldn’t help but feel a little irritated.

“What have you been doing the last few days anyways?” You mumbled as you mixed some cheese into the sauce you were making. “Or I guess the question is who have you been doing?”

It was a trap really. Was it fair for you to trap a boy in a lie who didn’t even know you knew he was lying?

“I thought you didn’t get jealous unless it was Chaedom?” Jeonghan asked. You rolled your eyes and looked back at him. Again, his eyes fluttered shut as if he hadn’t been watching you at all.

“I’m not jealous,” you replied, but the bite in your voice said otherwise. “I’m just wondering that’s all.”

“I don’t need to tell you about that kind of stuff,” Jeonghan responded. “Why do you even care?”

You couldn’t answer that.

“I don’t,” you replied. “It’s just interesting to be fucking around with someone who is so openly fucking other people.”

You heard Jeonghan moving, but you kept your focus on the stove. You sort of expected him to have left the room but then all of a sudden his arms wrapped around your chest and Jeonghan buried his face into the back of your neck. You made a small noise in protest to the sudden affection.

“I’m tired,” Jeonghan complained. “You’re taking too long to cook.”

You wanted to be annoyed but having Jeonghan at such a close proximity made your heart flutter. Against your better judgement you let your head loll back against his a little.

“Cooking takes time,” you mumbled back. Jeonghan made a soft noise of complaint, but he didn’t say more.

God, you really didn’t get Jeonghan sometimes and it was almost as if the more you got to know him the more confusing he got. The way that he was holding you it was almost as if...

God, you didn’t want to think those things. You couldn’t stand to be any more delusional than you already were being.

Why was Jeonghan lying to you? It had to be a manipulation tactic. Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he had tired of fucking other people but he wanted to keep you at a distance.

Or maybe he just thrived on your confusion. Maybe he just wanted to see how far you would let him go with things. Maybe he wanted to hurt you, and this was the way he was going about it.

“Your thoughts are loud.”

Your eyes widened at Jeonghan’s words.

“Huh? What thoughts?” You asked. Jeonghan shifted his body.

“You’re overthinking us again, aren’t you?” He replied.

“I’m not-” You huffed out in aggravation. “What is there to overthink?”

Jeonghan turned so that his face was in yours.

“It’s natural to want to be close to someone in a relationship like ours,” Jeonghan said.

You stared at Jeonghan, a little lost for words with how close he was to you.

“A relationship like ours...?”

“We’re practically in a dom/sub relationship,” Jeonghan defined. “Just without a contract.”

Luckily the addition at the end seemed to remind yourself that this was Jeonghan you were talking to. He probably categorized dreams that he had about being in a real relationship with someone as a nightmare. You were being delusional getting stuck on things like him being clingy after sex and referring to you two as having a relationship.

He was right after all. You two did have a relationship. It just wasn’t a romantic one.

“What? Like in 50 Shades of Grey?” You asked, rolling your eyes. You batted Jeonghan away from you and took the pot off the stove to drain the noodles.

“I’m just saying, it’s not weird that I would want to hold you while you’re cooking. Or that you would want me close when we’re sleeping,” Jeonghan continued. You tried to come off as indifferent towards the conversation, honestly feeling a bit annoyed that he had been so easily able to tell that your mind was racing. “It’s better if I give you reassurance afterwards, whether it be physical or just emotional.”

Still ignoring Jeonghan you poured the pasta into your finished sauce, tossing the noodles around in it.

“And what about you?” You pondered, turning to look at Jeonghan. He was now leaning against your counter, just looking at you. “Don’t you need reassurance?”

“I am always getting reassurance from you,” Jeonghan replied bluntly. “Your confirmation that you know our safe word, the way that you let me tell you to do things even outside of the bedroom, even when you’re being a brat about after care-”

You looked away from him with an annoyed grunt as you went to get some bowls out of the pantry. You opened up a cabinet and got on your tip toes a little bit so that you could grab the bowls. Jeonghan stopped you, putting a hand over yours. You felt like you had to look at him.

“Your trust is reassurance to me. You have every chance to tell me no. You have every chance to tell me something is too much. You don’t have to put up with anything I do if you don’t want to,” Jeonghan said. He grabbed down two bowls, holding them out for you. “That’s my reassurance. It’s in your words and actions. You need the same reassurance from me.”

You pressed your lips together and took the bowls from Jeonghan. You looked away from him and started to scoop the pasta into the bowls. You cleared your throat, trying to shake the heavy feeling off of your shoulders.

“Why are you talking to me as if I’m not a Psych major?” You asked. “I understand the importance of reassurance.”

You turned around and pointed for Jeonghan to sit down. He did as he was told and you set the bowl of pasta in front of him, giving him a fork and a glass of water before sitting down next to him.

“Then why are you acting like it’s weird when I take steps to make sure you are reassured?” Jeonghan asked. Your eyes fluttered down to your food.

“We’re just fuck buddies Jeonghan,” you replied as if it was obvious. You risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it. Even though he had said early he was hungry, even though he had complained about being tired the only thing he was focused on was you. “I’ve had boyfriends who were less affectionate than you are.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened a little at your words.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked. You couldn’t keep looking at him, so you looked back at your food, poking at it as you waited for it to cool down.

“It’s just all this aftercare… I’m just not used to it.”

“How could you not be used to aftercare?” Jeonghan practically repeated the same question as before.

“My other partners never gave me aftercare,” you replied. “They would just… Fall asleep, or kick me out, or leave themselves. We didn’t do legos, or breakfast. They definitely didn’t start showers for me.”

Jeonghan was quiet, and honestly? His silence made you feel like your confession was worse than it was.

“It’s not like I need the reassurance. It’s kind of like you said. I find reassurance in other ways.”

“No,” Jeonghan said, his voice sharp. “I find reassurance directly in what you say and do. What you’re describing is the same as if I never even told you how good you are for me.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Jeonghan you assure me that I’m good even in the middle of sex.”

“Yeah, I do,” he agreed. “But did they?”

Your lips pressed together firmly.

“I thought you didn’t like me talking about other men,” you finally said. Jeonghan pressed his hands on either sides of your chair and turned you so that you were facing him. He then raised a hand to your face, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“Y/n, you can’t be so nonchalant about these things,” he said, his voice hushed. “You’re smart, you know better than I do the effect that this kind of relationship could have on you if I didn’t force aftercare down your throat. I know it’s uncomfortable and it’s weird since we aren’t dating and you aren’t used to this but you do need it. You know you need it. I need you to admit that you need it.”

You didn’t want to admit that you needed aftercare. You didn’t want to admit that you needed Jeonghan’s reassurance. This was only more confusing knowing what you knew about Jeonghan. How could he be lying to you about sleeping with other people and in the same breath tell you that he knew how important it was to reassure you that you were good?

Again, his actions just didn’t make sense. If this was a manipulation technique it was a fucking weird one.

But then again, Jeonghan didn’t look like he was manipulating you. Getting to know him you couldn’t really see him as some sort of monster who was just trying to hurt you. Why would someone who was just aiming to see you cry put so much effort into making sure you understood that you were cared for?

It was moments like these where the delusions were so easy to believe. He knew you so well, and he clearly cared so much about you. You could tell in the way that he wasn’t just looking at you. His eyes were darting all over your face like he was reading every single part of you to completely understand you. Maybe Jeonghan not sleeping with other people was actually for you.

Maybe he cared about you so much that he just couldn’t imagine actually sleeping with other people.

But then again, these thoughts were all just that- Delusions.

“I…” You really hated that Jeonghan was right. “I do need it.”

A smile flickered across Jeonghan’s face.

“And there’s my reassurance,” he said softly. His fingers loosened their grip on you, and he raised a hand to your head. He patted you. “Now eat.”

You opened your mouth to say more, but it seemed like Jeonghan was done with the topic. He turned to the pasta and took a scoop of it. As soon as he put it in his mouth, he let out a pleasant hum.

“This is really good,” he commented. That seemed to kick you back into the moment. You turned yourself back towards your food and began to eat as well.

“Of course, it’s good,” you mumbled. “I made it.”

“I should come over more.”

The comment was probably meant to be off handed, but it only took you more by surprise.

“But you should cook before we have sex so that we can just go to sleep right after.”

He glanced at you.

“You don’t seem like your mind is being all that quiet today.”

Of course, your mind wasn’t being quiet. God, you wanted to scream at him. He was lying to you. Lying to you about something stupid. Lying to you about something that no one in their right minds would ever lie about.

And no matter how hard you thought about it, no matter how much you searched for a logical reason you couldn’t find one. It didn’t make sense that Jeonghan would lie to you and say he was sleeping with other people in any way at all.

You tried not to let it show too much how bothered you were, and instead just let his comment sit in the air. You noticed he finished eating a while before you did, but he waited as if he wasn’t done until you had finished yourself. Then- Despite your many protests- He got up and started to clean the dishes.

“Go to sleep y/n,” he said. “You need to rest.”

You did feel tired. Physically, and emotionally. But regardless, you were annoyed at Jeonghan.

“I never do dishes at your place,” you complained. He laughed airily.

“And you also never pull me by the hair and tell me I’m only good at being fucked,” Jeonghan replied. “Our roles aren’t so easily reversed.”

You defiantly stayed where you were, watching Jeonghan clean the dishes.

“And what are you going to do then?” You asked him. He glanced back at you. “Are you going to go home?”

“What do you want me to do?” Jeonghan asked. Your heart skipped a beat but before your mind could complicate the feeling you remembered what Jeonghan had said. It was natural to want a kind of intimacy with Jeonghan within the relationship you two had. You needed reassurance.

You didn’t respond. You just silently screamed at him.

Stay.

Jeonghan hummed, and his eyes flitted back to the dishes.

“I’ll come join you in a minute then.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t say that I wanted you to stay,” you said. Another laugh from Jeonghan.

“Okay, then I’ll leave.”

“No-” Your response came a little faster than you thought a fuck buddies should. “No, I do want you to stay.”

Jeonghan hummed and didn’t respond so after a few moments you sighed.

Why were you trying to pick fights with him right now? You were tired. You should just let things be for the time being. You quietly left the room, putting on some pajamas and climbing into your bed. You laid there for a few minutes, but it felt weird to be in your bed instead of Jeonghan’s after just being railed.

You wondered if your mind was racing so much because you were used to your relationship with Jeonghan being in a finite place.

You worried for a little while that Jeonghan wasn’t actually going to join you, but just as those thoughts appeared in your head, Jeonghan walked into your room. He closed the door shut behind himself and then climbed under the sheets.

Your bed was a queen size, versus his king, so it was a bit smaller than you were used to sharing with him. You tried to lay there and pretend like you were asleep.

A few minutes passed. Had it always been so cold in your room?

“Jeonghan?” You managed to say. Jeonghan hummed a response. “Can you hold me?”

Jeonghan shifted beside you and suddenly his arms were around you. He pulled you up against his chest, putting his face in his favorite spot- On your neck.

“See that? My reassurance,” Jeonghan mumbled. “You’ve been good today.”

You put aside all worries about Jeonghan’s intentions towards you. You did really like the assurance.

“So, how has it gone in paradise?” Yeongtae asked. You groaned, loudly, unafraid to express to Yeongtae that he was treading in territory you didn’t want him in.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumbled. He laughed.

“I’m rooting for you two!” He insisted. “And, admittedly, I’m curious to see how things will play out. Last episode was kind of a cliffhanger.”

“My sex life isn’t a tv show,” you replied. Then after a few minutes. “Besides, I’m also in the dark right now.”

Yeongtae’s eyes widened.

“You haven’t asked him yet?” He blurted.

“No,” you mumbled. “But that’s not a big deal, I mean what’s it even matter that he’s lying to me about sleeping with other people? He’s not. That’s a good thing.”

You tried to come off as nonchalant, but your mind was racing. You wondered what Yeongtae was going to say in response. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to reassure you that it wasn’t as big of a deal as you were making it out to be in your head or if you wanted him to reassure you that you weren’t crazy for obsessing over it so much the last few days.

“He’s still lying,” Yeongtae mumbled back. “What’s the harm in confronting him over it? I’m sure he has answers.”

You frowned, still a little put off by the whole situation. You didn’t want to have to bring it up to Jeonghan yourself. You didn’t really want him to know you knew.

It crossed your mind briefly that maybe one of the boys had told Jeonghan that you had asked them but quickly dismissed it. You were pretty sure that they all liked you a lot, and building off of that you were pretty sure that if Jeonghan did know, he would have brought it up by now.

… Maybe.

“You are way too stressed out over this situation,” Yeongtae said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “You should come to a party with me tonight.”

You scoffed at the invitation.

“Right.”

“No, I’m serious!” Yeongtae insisted. “You never have fun and let loose! We’ll bring Jeongyeon and Jimin and Jun and you can drink for once.”

“There is nothing healthy about going to a party to drink away your problems,” you replied. “It would just be further-”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Yeongtae interrupted. He took a step in front of you, forcing you to stop walking. “Come on! Forget your psych degree. Who cares if it’s unhealthy? It’s just one night. You’ll just stop thinking about him for one night. Nothing wrong with that.”

You had never hung out with Jimin and Jeongyeon voluntarily. That being said, your whole group was weird. To be going to a party that wasn’t an Alpha Mu party, to hang out with Jun, Jimin, Jeongyeon, and Yeongtae?

Well, you had never imagined that there would be a day.

As soon as you got to the party, Yeongtae had peeled away, only to come back a few minutes later with a bunch of drinks in red solo cups in hand. He passed the cups out to everyone, smiling brightly.

“Is everyone ready to have an amazing night?” He asked excitedly.

One of the reasons that you had actually agreed to come out tonight was because of Yeongtae. Namely, because it had occurred to you recently that Yeongtae hadn’t been lying to you when you first met. You were pretty sure that you actually were his only friend in school.

He never talked about meeting with other people, and if he did answer a phone call or anything it was from a friend that was out of town. You felt a bit bad for him, considering all you two spent your time doing was studying.

You looked down at the cup full of amber liquid, squinting at it unsurely. You cleared your throat.

God, it had been such a long time since you had actually gone drinking. You didn’t tend to find solace in getting drunk as normally you were practically babysitting your friends.

“Y/n, don’t worry so much about it.”

You looked up to find that Jun was watching you closely. He gave you a smile.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he assured you. “So don’t worry, nothing bad will happen.”

You gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Okay, thanks.”

You knew you didn’t have to drink if you didn’t want to. Not really.

You tipped the drink into your mouth.

You supposed that you wanted to.

The thing about getting drunk for you was mostly just that you were constantly dizzy. You weren’t necessarily clumsier than usually but the whole world constantly felt like it was spinning. You kept your grip tight on Yeongtae’s forearm as he started to talk to a girl. You laughed as you watched the two interact, glad to see that Yeongtae was actually enjoying someone’s company.

“How long have you and your girlfriend been dating?” The girl asked, her eyes shooting to you. It was a look that you had only seen in this eyes of other girls who wanted to be with Jeonghan. You laughed.

“What? We’re not dating,” you said. You let go of Yeongtae’s forearm and craned your neck, pointing to where you thought some of your fading hickeys might be. “I belong to someone else.”

“Yoon Jeonghan,” Yeongtae filled in. The girl seemed a bit surprised at the mention of Jeonghan but regardless a smile flickered across her face.

“So you won’t mind if I take Yeongtae away?”

Your mouth dropped open in excitement and surprise.

“Oh, be my guest!” Your eyes flitted towards Yeongtae. “I won’t be answering any phone calls though.”

Yeongtae laughed as the girl latched herself onto Yeongtae.

“And here I was hoping to finally get my revenge.”

The girl dragged Yeongtae away through the crowd and you found yourself alone. You wondered where to go next but you vaguely remembered Jimin and Jeongyeon sneaking off to a closet a little while earlier. They were no help.

You thought maybe you would try and go find Jun.

You took a few steps but before you could get far you bumped into someone. You went to apologize but stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Yunjun?”

The tall boy looked to be just as surprised as you were. You thought for a moment that maybe you had the wrong guy, but Yunjun was definitely standing there. Your eyes flickered to his hair. It was long and blonde. You’d never seen it like that before.

“Y/n,” Yunjun replied. His eyes flickered up and down your body, making you feel a bit self-conscious. You weren’t dressed in a lot as per Jeongyeon’s request. You two were wearing matching skirts and crop tops. “You look really good.”

Your lips flickered into a smile.

“Uh, thanks.”

You couldn’t help the way that your mind turned when you were with him. Just being near him reminded you of your time with him. Of all your flings he had probably been the worst one that you were with in terms of reassurance and aftercare. And going on that he had been one of your most intense flings.

Whereas Jeonghan was rough with you in actions and words he still slipped in praise here and there. Yunjun had never done that. It was why you had stopped seeing him. He made you feel small.

“What have you been up to recently?” Yunjun asked. He seemed to think over a few things. “Don’t you still have some of my clothes?”

Your mind flickered back to Jeonghan.

“Uh, something happened to them. I don’t have them anymore.”

Yunjun seemed confused by that statement, but he didn’t dig.

“You know, it’s been a really long time since I had my hands on you,” Yunjun said softly. He stepped closer to you, his hand coming up to your face. He brushed a strand of hair to the side. “It would be fine to have a blast from the past.”

You laughed nervously. Yunjun was someone that you didn’t really feel comfortable around. You went to respond but before you could his eyes flickered to your neck. He frowned and tilted your head up.

“How did…?” “Oh, uh-” You batted Yunjun’s hand away from you. His frown deepened at that. “I actually am seeing someone right now.”

Yunjun’s eyes narrowed at you. You could tell he didn’t like that you had diminished his display of dominance over you.

You were a bit too drunk to handle this situation. If you were sober, you knew that you wouldn’t be so nervous around him. You also knew that you would be able to leave this conversation without a stray thought.

“Who?” Yunjun asked. Now it was your turn to frown.

“It doesn’t matter,” you responded.

“Sure, it does. I just need to know if I should really worry about using someone else’s toy.”

You pressed your lips together. You hated being objectified when it was like this. This wasn’t a turn on. This was a situation you wanted out of.

“You should worry about it because I’m not a toy you’re going to get to use today,” you replied. “Or tomorrow or-”

Yunjun interrupted you with a laugh.

“It’s not like you to get drunk y/n,” he said. “The alcohol is making you forget how much fun we used to have.”

He tilted his head a bit, his eyes still on the hickey’s on your neck.

“You never let me leave hickeys on you.”

“He’s more possessive than you,” you replied pointedly. “I’m done with this conversation. Even if I wasn’t with someone, I’m not interested in sleeping with you again.”

You turned away from Yunjun, your thoughts returning to getting back to Jun but just as you turned around Yunjun’s tight gripe was on your wrist.

“That’s not your safe word,” he warned. Your eyebrows furrowed as you searched your mind to try and remember what your safe word with Yunjun had been, but in your drunk haze all you could remember was your safe word with Jeonghan. You opened your mouth to reassert that you weren’t going to sleep with Yunjun and that you didn’t remember your safe word (not that it should matter) but before you could someone came to a stop in front of you.

Your eyes furrowed and you raised your gaze to meet the persons eyes.

Everything was blurry but you could still make out that it was Jeonghan standing in front of you.

His face was a dark red and after glance at his hands you saw that his fists were clenched. You looked back up at his eyes.

“Jeonghan.”

His eyes flickered away from yours and he looked over your head.

“Let go of her.”

Jeonghan’s voice was deeper than you had ever heard it before. Yunjun let go of you so suddenly that you couldn’t help but fall forward, your head bumping into Jeonghan’s chest.

He wrapped his arms around your body, and pulled you close to him, one hand going protectively over your head. You could feel that he was talking, his body was vibrating with each word, but you couldn’t figure out what he was saying.

You tried to move to look up at him or access the situation but Jeonghan’s grip on you was too tight. He was quite literally shielding you from the conversation. Part of you wanted to fight against it. You wanted to know what he was saying.

But another part of you was tired and felt undeniably felt safer wrapped in Jeonghan’s arms. For the first time in hours, it felt quiet.

Then, Jeonghan started to move. He kept you close to him, still trying to shield you as he started to lead you through the crowd. He stopped somewhere and this time you were able to look up. He was talking to Jun. He covered your ears again quickly.

Then he started to lead you out of the party again.

Once the two of you were out in the cool air, he loosened his grip on you, letting you pull away from his body. He didn’t completely let go of you. His hand slid down, his fingers intertwining with yours.

He was quiet, not saying anything. You could feel that he was upset. But you could also feel that it wasn’t at you.

“Do you know how hard it was to watch that?” Jeonghan asked after a few minutes. When he started speaking, he also started to walk again, dragging you along with him. “I didn’t want to intervene, I know you can handle yourself.”

You didn’t respond to him, so he continued.

“When he touched you? You so clearly didn’t want it and he ignored all of your signs.”

Another brief span of silence.

“Who was that?”

“Just an old fling,” you replied, your voice quiet. You were still so dizzy. “Yunjun.”

Jeonghan’s grip tightened on your hand.

“He’s lucky he’s not dead,” he replied. “He might not see the end of the week.”

“Don’t joke about that Jeonghan,” you said. His eyes fluttered back to you, and the look in his eyes made you realize that his next statement was true.

“I’m not joking.”

You looked to the street.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Jeonghan stopped in his tracks, making you bump right into him. When you looked up, Jeonghan was looking at you with a terrifyingly serious expression on his face.

“Why?” He asked. You just stared at him. “Why are you sorry? Because you decided to have fun for once? Because you got drunk safely around friends? Because you let an old fling touch you even though you told him no?”

His words were hushed in a way that made it very clear to you he was fighting screaming.

“Don’t apologize for that,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you’re upset,” you replied softly. “I’m sorry for making you upset.”

“I’m overly possessive. This isn’t news,” he said. “Of course, I’m upset. Someone else was touching you.”

His eyes briefly flickered away from you, but his gaze was back fast.

“But that’s not your fault. I’m not upset at you,” he said. “And even if you had wanted the touches. Even if you had asked for that attention I still wouldn’t be upset at you. You can do whatever you want.”

You wanted to argue with him further on this. If he wasn’t mad at you then who was he mad at?

It was useless though.

“Do you want me to take you to your place?”

God, he was so frustrating.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to fuck me.”

You didn’t mean to be so blunt, but also you didn’t care. You kind of wanted the validation that came from having sex with Jeonghan. Even if he was confusing. Even if he was lying. You knew that he was serious when he called you good. You knew that he was being truthful when he said that he couldn’t get enough of you.

You liked that at a party with a hundred people you knew that if you were there Jeonghan would end up going home with you.

You wondered if he got jealous over other people he had slept with flirting with people. It didn’t make sense that he would only be jealous over you.

“You’re drunk,” was all Jeonghan said.

“You’d fuck me if I was sober,” you replied. Jeonghan ignored you, but you knew he was right.

“Can I…” You didn’t want to ask. This was stepping over some sort of boundary, right? You couldn’t stay the night at Jeonghan’s if you two weren’t going to have sex. You two were entering a weird territory.

But you were craving validation. Yunjun had left you so unsettled.

“Can I stay at yours?” Your voice was really quiet. “I know that we aren’t really in that sort of-”

“Of course, you can,” Jeonghan replied. “I’d never say no to something like that.”

You two walked for a few more paces in silence but suddenly nausea swept over you. You tugged at Jeonghan’s hand, trying to get him to let you go. Once he did, you felt yourself fall to the ground. You groaned and buried your face in your hands.

You didn’t walk another step.

“Let’s sleep here,” you murmured. “The ground is comfortable.”

You rolled over even further, your back hitting the concrete. You heard Jeonghan sigh, and he knelt down in front of you.

“You can’t sleep here,” he said. “We’re almost back.”

You groaned in protest, keeping your face buried. Jeonghan let you sit there for a few seconds.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

You peeked up at him.

“Carry me?”

He nodded and turned around, crouched with his back towards you. He glanced at you over his shoulder.

“Come on. Get on my back.”

You pressed your lips together. Wasn’t this a little intimate?

But then again, if it were a friend like Yeongtae or Jun you would get on their back without hesitation.

You did as Jeonghan wanted you to. Once you were secure on his back Jeonghan stood up and began to walk. You two were quiet, you were afraid to lay your head too close to Jeonghan but you were also still ridiculously tired. You let your head rest on his shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Jeonghan?”

He hummed.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

When you woke up you were in Jeonghan’s room. Your head hurt a little bit as you turned over to face Jeonghan’s side of the bed, but he wasn’t there. You pressed your lips together. Was this how he felt when he woke up and you weren’t next to him?

You glanced over and noticed a glass of water on the bedside table with a note. You reached over and began to drink the water as you read Jeonghan’s writing.

Call me when you wake up. Mingyu’s making you breakfast.

You weren’t in the same clothes as you had been the night before so Jeonghan must have changed you.

You tried to think back on the night, but you couldn’t remember anything after you fell asleep. Maybe you and Jeonghan had fucked last night? Further evidence that you meant very little to Jeonghan.

You sighed and pulled out your phone to call Jeonghan. You knew Jeonghan wouldn’t fuck you when you were drunk. As much of a player as he was, there were lines you knew he wouldn’t cross.

The phone only rang once.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. I had an exam to go to,” he said. “Are you drinking your water?”

You hummed your confirmation to his question.

“Are you feeling, okay?” There was an air of worry in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied. “I just don’t drink a lot is all.”

Jeonghan was quiet for a little while.

“It’s hard to figure out if you’re telling the truth or not over the phone,” he murmured. “Tonight Alpha Mu is throwing a party. If you’re feeling better, you should come.”

You thought over it.

“Maybe,” you replied. “Hey, why were you at the party last night?”

“Hm? Jun told me about it.”

Your eyebrows rose.

“What? Why?”

“He wanted to make sure you were watched well while you were drinking since you were nervous about it,” Jeonghan replied. “And he knew that I would kill him if something happened to you.”

“I can take of myself,” you murmured into the phone.

“I know,” Jeonghan agreed, and nothing in his words made you think that he was just saying it to make you feel better. “But isn’t it nice to have someone watching out for you?”

It was.

“I should get back to my place,” you said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

Suddenly a thought occurred to you.

“Hey if I don’t come to the party tonight, are you going to sleep with someone else?”

“Why’re you so interested in who I sleep with recently?” Jeonghan asked. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” you replied. “Just… Wondering. Do you use condoms with them?”

“I always use condoms,” Jeonghan replied as if it was obvious.

“But never with me,” you replied. He scoffed.

“Aren’t you the same person who was begging me for a creampie the first time with me?” He asked. You opened your mouth to argue with him, but then your mind flashed the memory of your first time with him.

“Goodbye, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan laughed.

“Goodbye, y/n.”

You walked downstairs after getting changed, giving a drowsy smile to the boys in the kitchen. It was only Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Jun. You took a seat next to Jun, immediately getting a plate of eggs placed in front of you. You smiled at Mingyu.

“Thanks, I feel bad, you’re always feeding me.”

He waved away your concerns.

“It’s nice to feed someone other than the boys,” he assured.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jun asked you. He leaned close to you, peering into your eyes. “Jeonghan and I were watching you talk to that guy last night-”

“Yunjun,” you agreed with a nod. Seungcheol suddenly shifted on the other end of the table.

“Yunjun?” He asked. “How do you know Yunjun?”

You glanced across the table at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“I had a fling with him,” you replied. Seungcheol’s face showed that he was troubled by your response. “How do you know Yunjun?”

“Mutual friends,” he replied. “Did he do anything to you?”

You could feel the gaze of all three boys on you.

“It’s just Yunjun,” you said with a laugh. “He’s harmless.”

“Jeonghan was pissed when he brought you in last night,” Mingyu explained. “We wouldn’t be concerned if it weren’t for just how angry he was.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Angry?”

“He came downstairs after putting you up and sat for an hour building lego sets not saying a word. He didn’t really get anything done. That’s how you could tell he was mad. Then he went back upstairs to be with you,” Seungcheol explained.

“Nothing really happened,” you disregarded. “Jeonghan just gets jealous.”

The boys were silent for a few seconds. They clearly disagreed with something you had said. You weren’t sure what.

“Are you coming to the party tonight?” Jun finally asked. You shrugged.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. “My head hurts from the party.”

Seungcheol wordlessly got up and rummaged through a drawer for a moment before setting a bottle of ibproufen in front of you. You laughed dryly, shaking your head.

“You are a strange group of guys,” you said honestly. “You baby me just as much as Jeonghan does.”

The boys ignored your statement, and brought up something else. Luckily, giving you the chance to eat your eggs in peace.

Despite the weird air the boys gave off initially, being around them made you sure of one thing. Maybe another party was just what you needed. After all, last night your stress had momentarily been gone. What was the worst that could happen?

When you got to the Alpha Mu party your first thought was that you shouldn’t have come. Your head still hurt a little bit from drinking the night before. But, you wanted to see Jeonghan so you had wanted to come to the party either way.

You were sure that you could convince him to spend some time in his room if you found him soon anyways. You walked through the party but didn’t make it far before someone stopped you.

“Hey it’s y/n, right?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you made out the boy standing in front of you. He was only slightly taller than you, his black hair in a bowl cut with wide eyes.

“Yeah…” You replied uncertainly. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know me,” he replied with a hearty laugh. He held out his hand. “Hyeon.”

You dipped your head a little in greeting.

“Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t though. He was giving off a strange air.

“I heard you had a run in with Yunjun last night,” Hyeon said. “I’m his friend. We met a little while after you stopped seeing him.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh.” “And I heard that you like it rough in bed yeah? You like to be owned?”

The way he was speaking was making you a bit angry. The difference between today and last night being now that you weren’t drunk you had clarity over the situation. Hyeon was being a sexist asshole and it was making you angry.

However, before you could respond Jeonghan came up behind you, placing his hand on your shoulder. His grip was tight as he came to a stop beside you. You glanced over at him, noticing a really hard expression on his face.

“Oh, Jeonghan. I heard that you’re the man in the know,” Hyeon said, an even bigger smile crossing his lips. “Is it true that y/n is a pathetic slut in bed?”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“How did you hear about that?” You asked, but you supposed it was from Yunjun if they really were friends.

“Was I talking to you?” Hyeon asked roughly, his eyebrows furrowing. You blinked at the aggressive tone.

“Hey-” Jeonghan started, but before he could get more out you interrupted him by placing your hand on his chest and stepping closer to Hyeon.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” You asked, your voice getting deeper and your words getting curter. Hyeon leaned closer, his eyes narrowing.

“I said I wasn’t talking to you,” Hyeon repeated. “Don’t you know better than to talk without permission?”

Hyeon shot you a cocky expression on his face.

“I guess you forgot Yunjun’s training,” he said. His gaze darted over your shoulder. “And Jeonghan hasn’t done well reminding you of your place.”

Your fist collided with Hyeon’s face before you could think about it further. Hyeon stumbled back, in surprise, you figured, not pain, and readjusted his jaw.

“What the-”

“Don’t talk about me like that. Not in front of me, not when I’m not around, not ever,” you snapped. “Just because I like it when Jeonghan treats me like that doesn’t mean I want to be treated like that by everyone. Especially not an ugly piece of shit like you.”

Hyeon squared his shoulders,

“Sorry Jeonghan I’m going to have to beat some sense into your little side piece-” Hyeon started to approach you again, raising his fist as he approached. You immediately regretted speaking. Your eyes widened and you raised your hands in front of your face, but impact never came.

“Hyeon, you seemed to not have heard what y/n just said.”

You looked up at Jeonghan to find that he had Hyeon’s fist in his hand and he was completely blocking Hyeon’s access to you with his body. You straightened back up, glancing around Jeonghan cautiously. Unlike earlier with you Hyeon actually looked a little scared looking up at Jeonghan who quite literally towered over him.

“J-Jeonghan, I was just joking-”

“Apologize,” Jeonghan said.

“Wh-what?”

“Apologize right now.”

Jeonghan let go of Hyeon’s fist, making him stumble a bit. He took one more glance at Jeonghan’s face and then immediately looked at you.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it.”

Jeonghan grabbed Hyeon’s arm and tilted it behind Hyeon’s back in a way that made him cry out.

“Not good enough,” Jeonghan said sharply.

You thought that this Jeonghan should seem familiar to you. After all, it should on paper be the same Jeonghan that you saw in the bedroom. Rough and stern and not going to leave without getting what he wanted.

But he was different somehow with Hyeon. For once, you were a little scared about what he was going to do.

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

Jeonghan scoffed and knocked Hyeon down to his knees. Once Hyeon was down there, Jeonghan pulled his head up by the roots of his hair.

“Why don’t you beg y/n for forgiveness?”

Hyeon pressed his lips together, clearly hesitating to do so but despite his hesitation: “Please forgive me.”

Jeonghan looked over at you, an amused expression spreading over his face.

“Ever wondered what you like when you’re with me?”

You rolled your eyes, a little flustered by the display in front of you.

“You seem like you’re enjoying this,” you mumbled.

“Not really,” Jeonghan replied. “I’d much rather it be you. It’s not enjoyable in the slightest to put Hyeon in his place.”

He tightened his grip in Hyeon’s hair.

“Well, do you forgive him?” He asked. You sighed and shrugged.

“I guess. I kinda feel bad seeing him like this. He can’t help that he’s a man.”

Jeonghan hummed and released Hyeon’s hair, throwing him forward so that he had to catch himself with his hands. He gasped as if he hadn’t been able to breathe before and looked up at you, this time a look of fear in his eyes.

“You two are crazy.”

And then Hyeon stumbled to his feet and rushed away, disappearing into the crowd of people that you couldn’t believe weren’t paying attention to the two of you.

You glanced at Jeonghan, but he wasn’t looking at you, instead he was squinting in the direction that Hyeon had rushed off in. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you looked at him.

“Why did you react like that?” You asked. Jeonghan hummed in question, merely tilting his head towards you in acknowledgment.

“React like what?”

“Like... That,” you emphasized. “Like... You cared about the fact that he was being a dick to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I care?”

“Because I’m just a fuck toy,” you blurted. This made Jeonghan look at you, his eyebrows raising.

“What?”

“I’m just a fuck toy,” you repeated. Jeonghan frowned deeply.

“You’ve got to stop saying that outside of the bedroom,” he mumbled. “You’re not just a fuck toy. Why would you refer to yourself like that to me?”

Frustration bubbled in your chest. You knew that Micah Salaberrios would be laughing at you right now. If you had used his nonviolent communication techniques earlier your feelings wouldn’t be boiling up like this.

Despite the dumb advice in Micah’s book you knew that there was one piece of advice you shouldn’t overlook. Don’t bring up the conversation right now when your feelings are just going to prevent you from talking rationally. Whatever you do don’t bring up-

“Why did you lie to me and tell me that you were fucking other people?”

Jeonghan’s confusion evaporated from his face almost instantly. His mouth closed and his fingers closed around your wrist.

“Maybe we should talk about this somewhere less public,” he mumbled.

“Why? You don’t want everyone to know? You lied to me about fucking other people.”

You grabbed a random girl.

“Want to fuck Yoon Jeonghan?” You asked. “Well, you can’t! Because he is only sleeping with me and yet is telling me that he is sleeping with someone else regardless.”

Jeonghan sharply tugged your wrist, and the girl gave you a weird look, but walked away with a slight reciprocated bow towards Jeonghan.

“Look we can talk about this,” Jeonghan insisted. “Just… Can’t you just come upstairs?”

You didn’t know why but you were mad. Too mad at Jeonghan to want to be rational. You hit his chest to which he sighed, wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you up over his shoulder.

You yelped, causing a couple of people to glance over at the two of you. Embarrassment filled your body, more so even then when people referenced your sexual relationship with Jeonghan.

You hit Jeonghan on the back.

“Put me down Jeonghan!” You insisted.

“Just let me take you upstairs,” Jeonghan argued back.

It wasn’t that you didn’t feel safe. You always felt safe with Jeonghan. No matter how rough he was being, you knew at the end of the day he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want him to do. A closed door conversation was exactly the thing that you two needed.

But fuck that.

“I think Jennie’s texting me,” you blurted at the top of your lungs. Jeonghan’s entire body froze and he had you steady on the ground so fast that you felt the world spin a little. Your eyes tried to focus on him, but for some reason you were crying.

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan said softly and from what you could see of him (blurry Jeonghan was still stupidly attractive and serious) he did look like a reflection of his words.

“Don’t call me, Jeonghan.”

And with that you turned on your heel and left the party.

Part Six: Attention

#seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan smut #kpop smut #jeonghan fanfic #do i have to tag this #i'm so lazy #sorry for promising a date and then posting it five days later #i.. yeah #ANYWAYS HERE IT IS

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scuddisher · 1 year

Text

FATE UP AGAINST YOUR WILL

Thrown into Michael's room without supervision, he uses you for his desires—and uses more of you to his benefit.

RATING — MATURE & EXPLICIT (18+) PAIRING — rz! michael myers x gender-neutral! reader GENRE(S) — full fic, thriller, smut, sanitarium! au WORD COUNT — 3.3k WARNINGS — dark! & predator! michael (obviously), intense situations, choking, partial language, some objectifying tones SMUT WARNINGS — labeling this as dub-con (although consent is given) bc it can be taken either way, dom/sub tones, oral (michael receiving) turned skullfuck, force is used, gagging, cum-play & swallowing, sweaty michael, drooling, masturbation (reader), michael’s bde is real! RELEASE DATE — JAN 17TH 2023

AUTHOR’S NOTE — not another one of my fucking dreams making me want to write it out as a smut…i did it anyways lmao. this is literally just pure filth with a base-line plot, enjoy <3 i might make this into a series of segments of rz! michael x reader going insane for each other if this is received well, so please share your thoughts about that to me!!! this is roughly edited btw

NAVIGATION | SLASHERS MLIST & RECS

The sudden sound of the door's lock clicking startled you back into your senses. What had occurred that day had only felt like your imagination, words passed back and forth between doctors and guards.

It seemed unbelievable, a program that places yourself into the space of the quietest, most reserved and silently possessive man in the entire block.

"Although the accounted for are considered lesser of outside human beings—" The paper-written words made your ears ache with every syllable spoken. "—it is still within their right to be given time to consult one another. Our program places those most threatening with those of small cases in order to give a natural exchange that those in the common world deal with on a daily basis."

It was all a ruse to please the government—a stamp given to the sanitarium for their lessening care of those they house to grow their long list of experiments and labels.

"In better words: if the patients of Smith's Grove do not want to converse with one another in the open spaces given to them—we will force them to do so in another's space."

As soon as the white door swung on its hinges and opened way to the most notorious killer's room, the man hunched over his desk as usual, reality had set in.

Michael Myers, the most dangerous man locked away in the building for life, was now your partner in a survey-like test that could give you enough credit to appeal your case and perhaps get far away from a place like this. Maybe even back out into the world.

All you had to do was play along and not get killed by him.

"Michael!" The guard's voice was loud in one of your ears, shaking your entire frame. "You have a guest."

The guard's hand placed at the top of your back, one swift push pressing you into Michael's cell with the door closing quickly behind you. There was no time to think, no time to act, and most certainly no time to beg for a different partner.

You had seen his room in flashes, moving fast down the hall from the guard's pace—only enough time for a passerby's glance through the lines of the door's window or in through the door itself when it laid open.

Michael never frequented anything other than the cafeteria, his lonesome stay at the sanitarium nothing more than bitter to anyone who paid him any attention. Instead he sat within the four small corners of his cell, fingers tampering and crafting more masks than you could count—even with all of them before you now.

"You have an hour." With those four words, the door was shut and locked and the guard was gone.

Michael sat in the same chair you had seen him in a few times before, back hunched slightly to give his long arms a better angle at the mask being formed by his fingers. The paper-mache art seemed to reflect him in some ways, each and every one lining the walls various versions of what he made before except only slightly different.

You could feel your body rocking back and forth, eyes shaking from your nerves being shot. It was only a matter of time before the man made a move, got sick of you standing within his walls and decided to do something about it—the only thing you could think about was when.

The man was hushed, silent and deadly as you took two steps forward towards where he sat. He didn't pay you any attention, the mere shivering of your bones in his peripheral only making him blink his blue eyes behind the mask he wore on his face.

You didn't know what to say, or if you could even speak, but it didn't take long for the long-haired man to stand where he once worked.

Something had clicked in his brain. Maybe it was the scent of you in his nostrils, your single-bodied self unaccompanied and stuffed into his room to play house just to get good points on your record, or maybe it was the way his chest huffed in sudden annoyance of your presence—but the man was made well aware that you were where you weren't meant to be.

You felt your world growing smaller, the four walls that he had lived in quickly appearing to be your last demise. All of the times you had seen Michael, he was calm and collected—but as he stood before you know, you had no clue what was playing through his mind.

And it was his shuffle from the front of the chair that made your body stiffen, the long robe he always wore drifting with the blow of air that passed him as he turned and made his way before you. Not a single word had been spoken between you, his dark glare above your head making you wither.

It was four steps towards the big white gate that you could scream through and hopefully be released. It was three steps to his bed where you could cover yourself with his blankets and hopefully give padding to his blows if he wanted to strike. But it was only two steps backwards as your body moved for your back to meet the corner of his room, his towering figure moving you into the small space to make you feel even smaller than you were.

There was something about how he stared, eyes scorching across your exposed skin and mind clearly racing. From the perspective of a killer, you could be seen as cornered prey. But as his hand raised, flattened forward, and found its place on the cold wall above the side of your head—you were only left in a more curious state than before.

And only two sentences could make it past your lips at that moment. "W-Watch your masks."

The man's eyes blinked slowly, processing your words like he had never heard someone be so caring over something that was his. But from your sight, his head leaning down to be at the same level as yours appeared to you like he was going to do something.

"What do you want me to do?" Your words were fast, caught by his ears and held in his mind for just as long as the sentence before was.

The unresponsive man was a mystery to you, his deep eyes running their way up and down your form in response instead of speaking.

Only then did it occur to you of what was on his mind. A man locked behind thick gates and walls had more than just murder on the brain, and he had you all to himself for as long as the clock on his wall clicked to the next big digit.

You could hear his huffs behind his mask, the thickened paper shield only giving you an insight through his eyes and nothing more visually. He sounded like a dog panting over the idea of water, the arm above you moving once he took notice of your eyes trailing his muscles.

You watched his hand move below your chin, his index finger and thumb slowly creating pressure on your windpipe as they clamped down. It wasn't enough to choke you hard, only a warning of knowing your place.

You were in his room, in his space, and it didn't take any knowledge of anything besides natural human nature to know he was telling you that he was in charge right now.

"What do you want me to do?" It was the second time you had asked him that question, and yet your tone lowered to just above a whisper to let him know you genuinely wanted an answer.

You could see his eyes most immersively, the way his pupils dilated at the softness of your voice and even more-so from the message within the question.

You were now both on the same page, his desire for you carnal and your obedience for him an easy read to know that you would do anything for him in this moment just as long as he let you survive the hour.

In a moment's beat, his large hand left your throat and placed atop your head. His fingers curled into your hair to let his nails scrap at your scalp, the lightest push down letting you know the direction he wanted you to move in.

And before you knew it, you were on your knees before him. Breathing as heavy as his own—your shaking hands moved towards his gray sweatpants, pulling at the soft cotton fabric until only his cock was removed. Stiff, larger than you could have ever imagined, and leaking precum just at the slightest touch—your lips pressed into the tip as you grazed him.

The man made no sound except for his steady breathing, your eyes peering up at him for an answer on if you could keep going but the hand on your head seemed to hold you in your place. It didn't take long for you to devise a place, your tongue leaving your hot mouth and flattening to run along the bottom of his length and capture every vein and soft spot he might have.

And finally, he grunted. The hand on your head tightened on your skull, his fingernails digging into your scalp but not breaking the skin. It was clearly the first time he felt anything other than the touch of his own hand, and the man was slowly unfolding on himself.

Your tongue slipped over your bottom teeth to slowly suck him into your mouth, keeping from giving him any discomfort during the act. His body seemed hard, your hands gliding up his calves for one to take hold of the hem of his sweatpants for grip and one on his thick thigh to feel when his muscles clenched from the pleasure.

Your mouth welcomed his large cock, taking it in as much as it could fit before you felt your tongue jolt and his tip hit the back of your throat hard enough to make you gag. You felt his thigh muscle clamp before you heard the noise from his lips, a gurgled moan making you only want to repeat the action to hear it again.

"Mff—" The vibrations of your soft noise around him made him throb in your mouth, more of his precum slipping down your throat and leaving a saltier taste on your tongue as it swirled him.

You wanted to hear the silent man's noises, wanted to hear him fall apart from your mouth and touch, and right as your mouth backed away from his length until you reached his tip and licked at what spilled—you knew you had done even more than that to him.

His grip on the top of your head slid down until he held you by the back of your skull, fingers retaking their secure hold and forcing you back down his shaft. It wasn't the burning sensation from the suddenly used force that made the wetness of your arousal begin staining through your underwear and sweatpants, but the noise that left him in the process.

"Ug—hm" The man seemed to choke on his own breath, enthralled by the way your tongue lapped at him once he was fully back in your mouth.

He was so invested in what little space he gave you to work with once his cock was pressed to the back of your throat. Your tongue pressing at him, catching and memorizing every vein and soft spot that had him fucking deeper into your mouth although he was already too far in. And just when he appeared to reach the thought that he had done enough to you, your compulsion to swallow the amount of saliva and his leaking arousal in your mouth only fed his need more.

The man was delusional, drunk on your mouth as his right hand traded for his left on your head just so the other could slap into the corner wall and hold him upright. You had him almost speaking from the way he garbled his noises, sweat forming on the sides of his face and slowly dripping down to leave a small, wet dot on his clothing, and some even falling onto your own body.

Just as the burn in your neck turned into pain, his left hand began bouncing you on his cock. Your jaw relaxed, tongue keeping with its ability to poke and prod at him before you could fight it no longer and had to swallow around his length. Bobbing, moaning around him, and the slightest bit of saliva that had made it down his length managed to drip from your lips and get splashed onto the base of his cock.

"Fu-Fu—" The man hadn't said words in years, only grunted syllables on his tongue from his own motions. He was using you like a pocket pussy, and it drove him to begin twitching erratically in your mouth. He was seconds away from cumming when he hunched over until his chest was against your head, the thick liquid spurting onto your tongue only driving him into your mouth harder from the extra liquid coating his length.

"Uhmf—" His sounds turned into quiet, low growls as he pumped himself thrice more into your hot mouth. On the third time, he felt your tongue completely drowned by his cum—and your throat urging him to let you swallow it.

You felt like you were on cloud nine having watched a man, so cold and reserved, use you for his desires. His need to feel something warm around him, and he used you.

As you stared up into his glazed eyes, he was watching his cock leave your mouth with a pop. The hand that once held his tall figure up by the strength of the wall now held you by your chin to remind you he is in control. In a moment's time, you felt the rough padding of his thumb connecting with your bottom lip, a gentle rub at the line of your mouth giving you permission to swallow his seed.

The phase of time seemed to end just as soon as it began, Michael's face returning to the blank stare he always showed as his touch left you completely to pull at his pants and cover himself back up. You watched the tall man clamber two steps back to the chair at his desk, his large hand pulling at the old plastic seat just as he sat down and began running his brush back through the glue to work on his mask.

Your thighs trembled below you, quivering with stains of your own body naturally wanting him further from the foreplay displayed in the crotch lines of your sweatpants.

You felt like a whining puppy as you turned your form towards him, scooching closer along the floor towards his sitting frame in the hopes that he would give you some type of attention. Your legs felt weak on the hard tiled flooring, eyes capturing sight of the clock that read plenty of time for him to help you get off, too. But as his head kept forward, eyes meeting every piece of newspaper sliding onto his new mask, his attention completely off you—your hand slipping into your own underwear was nothing on his mind.

Your fingers were ice cold as they pressed past the fabric you wore, capturing some of the extreme wetness the man caused as a reaction within your body and finding all of your sweet spots on the first go. It was only until your fingers curved against yourself that you moaned, watching the man's hand holt in place against the mask he was creating.

You had his attention. Your fingers worked yourself, mind so filled with static and the sensation from the fact that no one had ever gotten you this wound up before—especially when they didn't touch you at all.

You felt pitiful rutting into your own hand for friction. Michael sat away from you, not even a step apart, but he didn't move a muscle. He only listened to your sounds, heard the wetness you used to make yourself even wetter from your own touch—and finally he blinked at your sound when a word slipped from your light-sounding voice.

"M-Michael." He knew, he was well aware of what you were doing. Whether it was touching yourself to get him to touch you again, to maybe raise the same hard finish as he had—or if you were touching yourself with the idea in your mind that your own hand was his—either way, he was intrigued.

The rough pattern you had was nothing of his from before. He had a way of fucking himself with you, not letting you fuck him—and it was driving you to the brink of exhaustion trying to recreate the same cadence he had.

You wanted so badly for him to reach over and grab you, sink his hand into your pants or perhaps toss you over his thigh and let the muscle you felt flexing over and over bring you to your sweet release.

But instead he sat, listening, waiting for you to finish yourself off—no matter if it took the remainder of your time.

Just as your hand grew tired, eagerness turning into lingering touches as you rushed for your own orgasm to overtake you, your knees plowed into the hard flooring. Your hand turned into limited friction as you sat upwards, giving yourself the room to grind your hips back and forth for more force. It was hardly enough on its own, your mind needing more, and a single glance up at Michael gave you just that.

His length had risen again in his sweatpants from just watching you try to get yourself off. His pants turned into deep breaths, you could see his chest rising and falling rapidly as his head turned to watch you fall apart on yourself.

Your hips snapped quickly, one hand trying to keep yourself up and the other trying to apply enough pressure and hold for you to finally cum. And as the white light hit you, Michael's pants almost turned into animalistic noises as you watched his cock throb in the hold of his pants—you finally came.

Thighs clenching, your body fell back onto your folded legs as your eyes shut tight and your mouth cried his name once more. You could almost smell your scent as you rose back into your senses, the smell of sex in the air from the two of you although you didn't have intercourse.

You were minutes away from your time being up when your soaked hand left your pants, cum dripping from your fingers as you panted and tried to think of where to wipe it all off.

You felt so small once more, Michael's quick motion taking you by surprise as he pulled you forward on your knees by your wrist until you were right beside him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the precum staining through his pants again, but nothing was as arousing as what he did next.

The hand that had its fingers covered in glue from him shaping his mask held you by your wrist, his opposite hand moving the mask in closer to you until your cum-soaked fingers were being run along the drying piece. You watched as Michael motioned your hand with his own large touch, your cum beginning to drip and be smoothed onto the paper-mache mask just before he pushed your hand away and began placing more strips of newspaper along your wetness.

And right as the voice in your throat rose to ask questions, beg to know why he wanted a mask that would permanently smell of your love stink—the sound of footsteps and keys jingling halted everything.

Your time with Michael was up.

© scuddisher — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not post my content on other sites, especially claiming them as your own! reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated <3

#rz michael myers #rob zombie michael myers #michael myers smut #rz michael myers smut #rz michael myers imagines #rz michael myers scenarios #slashers #slasher fuckers #slasher smut #slasher imagines #slasher scenarios #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x reader #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher x you

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allfearstofallto · 1 month

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Initiate

Male (Pure) Sydney x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

TW: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, exhibitionism, chastity cage, oral (f. receiving)

An initiate who hasn't been seen in the temple in weeks, Sydney wonders what happened to you. Your visits to the church lessened and lessened, until one day you just stopped showing up. Your presence wasn't forgotten quickly, not just by him, but by all other members of the church. Whispers would flow through the walls, whispers of impurity, of falling into lust.

At school you were the pinnacle of kindness and popularity. Loved by all, and sweet even to those who aren't to you. He finds it hard to believe what the other initiates say. Yet you still never visited the temple.

Sydney knows it's wrong to follow you, he asked the goddess for forgiveness, but curiosity gets the better of him. What would keep someone formally so committed to the church away from it? And what it was, was a strange building. Only a few streets away from the shop his father had purchased, he watched you enter that unmarked place, the filthy metal grey door closing behind you. It was in an awful part of town, and sketchy as well. After hours went by, his worry for you grew.

Grasping at his cross, Sydney followed you inside. He was met with an awful scent, similar to the communion wine, but stronger, loud pounding music, and worst of all, a plethora of people, none of them looking as if they had good intentions. In the middle of the room was a stage, and on the stage was you. In a state of undress, you were only covering your modesty with a pair of underwear. So thin it could barely be called fabric, more like strings on your groin, not leaving much to the imagination.

He flushed beneath his thick glasses, wanting to say something, but also finding himself entranced with the crowd of people. Your dancing was mesmerizing, your body…Sydney gulped and gripped his holy pendant tighter. Your body was heavenly, even as sweat soaked between every crevice of it. Your plush thighs gripping the polr in front of you, your heel clad feet making you twirl, showing off all your assets.

The voice in his head that's telling him to leave is drowned out by the feeling in his shorts. For the first time in his life, his chastity cage holding his cock is uncomfortable, it's too tight, it's painful as his hardening length presses against the confines. He tries to leave, but he can't. Not when you're on the floor of the stage dancing, money cushioning the hard wood as more wads of cash are thrown at you.

The people around the stage are like ravenous animals, hands clawing for just a touch of your skin. Their lips spew such venomous words of what they want to do to you, objectifying your body in ways he's never heard before. Some are even…fondling themselves. It's a sight that makes him gasp in shock, turning his head away before forcing himself to look back. Sure enough it's true, as you dance lewdly across the floor, they're touching themselves. It's disgusting. But he doesn't feel himself growing softer in his pants.

You sit with your legs open, already towards the crowd with a mischievous smile. Your finger dips inside your thong, hooking around the fabric. Slowly, tantalizing, you pull it down your body, down your thighs, down your shins, and last your heels. You hold the thong up with your legs still spread, your pussy dripping as you toss it out into the crowd, where they practically tackle each other to take it.

Up on that stage where you sit naked, body bare for everyone to see, money being tossed at you left and right, you finally lock eyes with him. It's be hard not to notice him, clearly out of place in a grimy area such as this, and still wearing his neat school uniform. A look of shock forms on your face when you see him there, shock and shame, but it's gone before any of your patrons can notice. You're back to being a temptress, an erotic dancer of the night, you curl your finger at him, beckoning him closer. Like his body has no mind of his own, he steps to you.

You ease yourself closer to the edge of the stage, the height of it meaning he's face to face with your dripping core between your legs. He's never been so close to something like this before, not outside the church. It's glistening beneath the flashing lights and only getting wetter as his hazel eyes look upon it. The smell is intoxicating, sweet like honey, he wonders if your nectar tastes the same.

“C’mon, lick it,” your voice so sultry it's like a song, you gesture for him to come even closer, until he can feel the what of your cunt against his face, “Give them a show.”

He looks around at the room of peopy, all eyes on him. They're hungry. They're ravenous. They're waiting patiently. With shaking hands he reaches up to spread your folds, begging the goddess for forgiveness once again. His hesitant tongue slithers from his mouth and he traces a reluctant lick all the way from your hole to your slit. The taste is…delectable.

Sydney pulls away from a second, thinking about what he'd just done, but when he looks up and meets your eyes, your cheeks flushed as you pant, he can't find it in himself to care. He dives back into your cunt, lapping away at your folds messily. His tongue finds it's way inside you, his hand reaching up to rub at your clit. If you're putting on a performance, it's a good one, moaning and squirming against his ministrations.

He can hear the way the crowd cheers, hear their filthy words and disgusting comments. He can hear it all, but if sounds like nothing to him. Nothing matters to him. Not when you're tangling your fingers in his hair and dripping down his chin, coating his face in that delectable, honeyed wetness. His glasses grow foggy, but it doesn't matter. His fingers dig into your thighs as he sucks at your clit, making your hips buck off of the stage.

“Ahh…yes…yes Sydney, just like that,” you moan for him, body trembling beneath his touch.

You cum for him beautifully, a sense of pride filling him as you yank your body away from his touch to spasm on the stage. Your twitching cunt dripping down on all the bills below you. The crowds burst into cheers as Sydney’s mind looses it's cloudiness, as realization hits him. You pick up your clothes to leave the stage, but he's already rushing out the door before you can even dress. Our the door and down the street, he pants while wiping his mouth, trying to collect himself and think of what he did.

He'll have to stay on his knees for hours to pray for salvation and hope for forgiveness, it's only fair that he does. His chest heaving he looks down at his shorts, they're damp to the touch. He steps in an alleyway to the side to check on himself, opening his pants he sees his caged cock, covered and smeared in a white fluid.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #dol sydney #degrees of lewdity sydney #sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #dol x reader #sydney x reader #smut #mdni

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room-surprise · 1 month

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Dungeon Meshi Anime Review, Season 1, Episode 13 review

This episode has one of me and my spouse's favorite jokes in the manga... And yes, the little sign moves with the hams as they roll away.

This was another great episode!

Thistle!!!!!!! He's perfect. Love that he looks accurate to the manga at this point of the series, and wasn't updated to look more cutesy/younger like he looks in the later manga as Kui's art style evolved to give everyone bigger eyes and cuter faces.

His monarchist speech was chilling and just as good as in the manga. This is a man taht 100% believes in feudalism and the divine right of kings and it's as natural as breathing to him. Love him giving this context for readers and viewers. This is WHAT PEOPLE IN THIS ERA BELIEVE...

Love how we can have Marcille spend an entire episode in just her underwear, fighting for her life, covered in blood, and it's not sexualized. Nothing wrong with sexy things, but very refreshing to see a character able to do that and to feel that the camera isn't focused on objectifying her.

Ok, so time for a pretty big complaint... Leed's voice in the English dub.

As I stated in a previous review, BangZoom entertainment, the English dub company, cast a black actor to play Zon. They have made a pattern of casting real life minorities to play the fictional minorities in Dungeon Meshi, which I think is a noble idea and can certainly bring nuance to the performances! Good for them attempting to do this!

However they rewrote Zon's dialog to have him speak what was either African American Vernacular English (AAVE), or "broken English." In the original Japanese, the orcs do not speak this way, their dialog is more or less the same as everyone else's.

I gave the dub studio a benefit of a doubt because they hired a black actor to play Zon, and I expected that Leed would also be played by an actress of color and that they would rewrite her dialog to match Zon's.

They did not do that.

As far as I can tell, Leed's actress is not black, though she has a Hispanic last name... But much more important than the ethnicity of who they cast, BangZoom did not rewrite Leed's dialog the way they rewrote Zon's dialog.

These characters are siblings, there's no reason Zon and the other orcs would speak a different dialect from Leed.

Did they do this because Leed is pale and pink and they thought that she shouldn't talk in AAVE? They should have known that she was coming later and not done that to Zon then, if they weren't going to continue the trend with Leed.

Very weird, not a fan, makes me question the studio's knowledge and understanding of the source material...

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #spoilers #review #leed dungeon meshi #zon dungeon meshi

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 2 months

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Ive been thinking a lot about Feysand UTM fanart lately and why it discomforts me the way it does. Like, i know a lot of people like to complain about it and shame feysand shippers for romantizing that part of the story and i get it, but I also understand that sometimes people have dub-con or even non-con fantasies and thats very normal, hell, I love reading dark romance stuff involving dubious or even no consent because I think it can be very hot. Well, as long as its not cishet. I think Ive talked about this before, but when I see dark romance where theres a submissive traditionally feminine fragile "girl" and a dominant dark dangerous man, i just see The Patriarchy but on a smaller scale and while I can understand why a lot of people do find that hot in some way, i just find it kinda repulsive, so its only hot to me if its gay pretty much. or if the woman is the dominant one but its so hard to find stories like that

Anyway, so thats my first reason for disliking that genre of Feysand fanart i guess, although its really more of a reason for my dislike of Feysand as a pairing in general. The second reason is that Feysand shipper as a whole often put themselves on a moral high ground because their ship is the one thats 'healthy' and 'feminist', so it really rubs me the wrong way to see those same people create art about the traumatic events that the female main character went through that does not center her trauma at all and in fact objectifies her. And like, there are definitely plenty of Feysand shippers who like it exactly because its fucked up and a typical dark romance couple (i mean just look at all the people who only ship acotar!feysand because its the only version of the ship thats genuinely dark and they like that) and Im guessing those are the people who usually draw romanticised UTM fanart, but it does still find appeal in the broader fandom space so I think my point still stands

And now the last reason: the original UTM scene is not written to be titillating at all. Like, I just said that I find dub-con/non-con stuff pretty hot so Ive read a lot of it, and there tends to be a very distinct difference between non-con fiction thats supposed to be hot and get you off and fiction about rape or SA that actually explores the topic in a serious manner, and the original UTM scene is very clearly a case of the latter, so I find it pretty discomforting when fans (and the books themselves tbh) retcon it into being hot instead when its like, thats clearly not what it was originally imo

#anti acotar #anti sjm #anti feysand

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aconflagrationofmyown · 10 months

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Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

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