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m1rotics · 12 days ago

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half-hope, half-agony (stay soft, get eaten)

pairing: necromancer!wooyoung x fem!undead!reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: wooyoung is a warning in himself, mean dom!wooyoung, pwp, pinv, choking, pussy slapping, sadism, dacryphilia, ingesting blood (both her and wooyoung) not exactly dubcon but she does try to set boundaries but gets ignored, unhealthy attachment, power imbalance.

your body is numb.

it's unnaturally heavy. you feel wrong like your skin doesn't fit quite right, your nerves don't feel connected to your brain. it's almost like you're stuck in space, drifting in a place you can't wrap your head around. your nakedness is secondary to what ever limbo you're stuck in.

The first thing you feel is pain. a scorching pain beneath your ribs, white lightning. like something is pressing on your chest, your heart strangled by some unknown force. the first pump of your heart is agonizing. then heat floods you, a slow process. your body is tingling, pin needles prickling at unused limbs. it's agonizing. you twitch, squirm, jerk. you uselessly scratch at the table your strapped down to.

finally, your eyes crack open.

The first thing you see is him. his smile is sharp like broken glass. he cradles your cheek, unusually cool. it feels good against your too warm skin.

he's saying something— a lot actually —words fall from his mouth faster than your brain can pick up on, and you attempt to reply, but it comes out like a drawn out groan. this causes him to stop his spew of thoughts, looking at you for a moment.

his thumb runs over your bottom lip, and he pauses, thinking. he disappears somewhere off to the side, and you try to turn your head, but your neck throbs. a warbled cry spilling out of you.

you try your best to call out for him. the words come out sloppy. your tongue is too swollen and heavy to provide any use. no matter because suddenly he's looming over you again. you let out a murmured plea– for what you do not know– and it sounds more like a wet gurgle. he chuckles as he presses something to your lips. it's cold and slick. he slides it over your lips, lets the liquid roll down the side of your cheek.

"open," you don't know how you hear it through the fog in your head, but it reverberates through you.

it takes an incredible amount of will power to force your jaw to move, but at some point you manage. he carefully pushes whatever it is into your mouth. it sits comfortably on your tongue, providing relief you hadn't realized you needed. you no longer have cotton mouth, but swallowing down the liquid collecting in your mouth proves to be a challenge, so you sputter.

your throat feels clogged, backed up, like you don't have control of the muscles there yet.

you try again, and again, and again until the liquid trickles down the back of your throat.

vaguely, you find that you recognize it as water. he's given you an ice cube. it gets easier after that. letting the ice slowly melt on your tongue while you gulp down the excess. you hadn't realized how parched you'd been. he busies himself with petting the top of your head, eyes lingering on your face for the most part but occasionally trailing along the length of your body.

when the ice is all melted, he presses his lips to yours. it's soft, tentative. his lips are plump and moving against yours. naturally, you follow his lead, letting him set the pace. his tongue drags over your bottom lip and you allow him entry without hesitation. it's odd at first, feeling his tongue against your own, flicking against the top of your mouth– warm and wet. you welcome it, tangling your tongue with your own, trying to make up for your lack of experience with enthusiasm. his teeth sink into your lip, and you can taste the iron on your tongue. the sting making you whine, but you don't want him to pull away. everything feels right like this, like you were made for him.

you're pretty sure you are. it aches when he pulls away, enough to make you want to pull him in for another.

"almost done," he says. you don't question it, you just want his mouth back on yours. instead, he cuts his thumb and holds it against your lips. you freeze, and he tuts, "c'mon, open up."

he pushes the bleeding digit past your lips, smearing it on your tongue, "suck."

he smiles when you comply, and you can't help but preen under the attention. you'd do anything if he'd smile like that forever.

you chase after him when he pulls his thumb loose, but he presses a hand to your chest, keeping you down. he leans in close, and you can feel his lips brush against yours as he speaks, "you're mine. body and soul."

You nod emphatically, but he huffs, gripping your face between his fingers, “say it.”

You have to choke out the words, “i- I’m yours, fuck— I'm yours. body and soul, whatever you want.”

they're slurred, but they're good enough for him because his smile after that is beyond ominous.

the pain after that is indescribable. searing, curling up in the pit of your chest. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. you can feel your skin splitting, somewhere on your chest, blood dripping down your sides, around the curve of your breasts. It pulses, throbs. you instinctively cry for him— for his touch, his lips, his anything—and he lets out a dark chuckle.

you don't know how long he spends watching you convulse, arching off the table trying to get to him. the relief that you don't know how you know he could provide. you simply feel it in the hollowness of your bones, something whispering your ear that he is the reprieve. that he could help you.

all you know is that when he touches you, the feeling is instantaneous. a coolness dripping down the curve of your spine, wrapping around your ribs. his hand settles over your heart, and the skin there is tender now but his touch soothes it like a balm.

gratitude spills your lips like prayer. sleep creeps into the back of your eyes, making your eyelids heavier. you whisper his praises as you drift off.

the next time consciousness comes, you're far more comfortable, somewhere soft and warm. no longer naked but instead in an oversized shirt. painless as far as you know, and your hand wanders to mindlessly rubs at your chest—over your heart. the skin there is raised and sore, but it's not too bad. however, you're confused. so confused. why are you here? why can't you remember how you got here?

you try to remember, but it's like trying to grab water, slipping through your fingers. the memory is nebulous, bits of it fading in and out, blurring into each other. yet, you could remember him so crystal clear. you remember his smile, his touch, the way his lips felt against yours. the ache in your chest worsens. your scar throbs.

you're sick with yearning. you need him. the feeling hits like a tidal wave. all encompassing, drowning you in its intensity.

it's like a missing piece, a hollowness in your chest– in your very soul. it aches like a phantom limb.

seeking him out comes instinctively. you stumble out of bed, balancing yourself on shaky legs before wobbling to the door. you wander through the halls aimlessly. it's all well decorated– he must be the homemaking type– but you don't stop to admire any of it. you keep opening doors and leaving them behind whenever the figure you're looking for is nowhere in sight. his home is vast. it takes ages to stumble into the living room, only making it because you came across stairs to the first floor, but the difference is immediate.

it's warmer than the rest of the house and coated in orange lighting from lamps, smoke curling in the air from incenses. lavender scented. beautiful artwork hung on the walls, mahogany engraved with intricate patterns. whirls and leaves. a bottle of whiskey sitting on a table next to a deep red accent chair. that's where you find him, cross-legged with a glass pressed to his lips. he dons a deep red button up with black dress pants. his silver earrings glint when they catch the light. your eyes meet and you shudder, glued to your spot in the doorway.

"lost?" he purrs. his voice rolls over you. smooth and languid. almost teasing.

you shake your head, "was looking for you."

"really," he doesn't sound surprised. he sets his cup on the table with a purposeful clink, "come closer, I don't bite."

walking to him is automatic, so you get close enough that you can inhale his cologne. sandalwood. it makes your head a bit fuzzy. you want to touch him. the urge comes like an itch you can't scratch. you ignore it to focus on what matters. he's so unbelievably pretty up close. honey-skin and wine-red lips. his eyes are dark and playful. his voice light and sugary. a rouge strand of hair sits on his forehead, the rest pulled back in a ponytail.

now that you're here, you're not sure what to say. you're not sure what you wanna ask first, what you even want to hear.

he chuckles, a bright smile tugging at plump lips at your inaction. "ah, I've been rude, haven't I?"

you don't respond.

"I'm wooyoung."

you nod, "and why am I here?”

he tilts his head, not confused, but amused, "because you're mine.”

definite, leaving no room for argument. his tone is light and carefree but it's said like a fact. indisputable.

your eyes narrow, "what?”

"you're mine. do I need to spell it out?"

"I'm...yours?"

"exactly! you're such a quick learner."

you fall hush. words fizzling out on your tongue. it's strangely not unpleasant to be called his. it's almost... nice. which brings you to another question.

"why do I want you so much?"

"why wouldn't you? a pet needs their owner. I made you, I own you. needing me is simply expected."

it's a casual omission. so possessive it makes your skin tingle, your heart speeding up an uncomfortable degree. you flush, skin turning hot. your eyes find their way to your feet. you don't know what to say, where to go from here. you have more questions left unanswered, and the most important one sits on your tongue, what does he mean by made you?

but then he's beckoning you closer with a wave, and like a moth to a flame, you follow. mindlessly, helplessly. logic filters through you like water. he tugs you into his lap and you ragdoll into him, pilant in his hold. soft as putty in his hands. he presses a kiss to your temple. your inners warm at the gesture, despite the confusion, despite the vague nature of this situation. you feel good.

being in his arms feels right.

a cold hand slips under the baggy shirt you have on, settling on bare skin. it's reminiscent of the ice he'd given you earlier, and you struggle not to shiver. casually, he runs his hand up and down your side. your skin prickles, tingles, aches at the contact, at being so close. you don't really know what to do with yourself.

he offers you no instructions, just keeps you there. like a doll, or maybe a lapdog. pretty and perfect, something to hold and pet. you find the thought less insulting than you should. he resumes what he was doing before, lifting his cup to his lips once more, takes a long sip— humming something you think you recognize but can't quite place. you can't help but squirm in his grasp, and you don't think you're being too disruptive because he doesn't say anything.

until he does.

“settle down,” it comes out light and velvety. an order wrapped in a silky bow, but it still holds immediate weight in your head– and without you realizing, he's ironed out all the tension in your muscles, the ache to move dissipating into smoke.

you can hear the smile in his voice when says, “there you go, doesn't it feel nice to be good?”

you can't help but nod. you'd agree to anything he says if he keeps talking to you like that.

his hands drop to your thighs, massaging them in his hands, “you're mine, right?”

the sound of his voice is so much closer now, and you can feel his breath brushing your skin. he licks a stripe up your neck, all the way to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth.

“right?”

his grip on your legs tighten, an edge in his voice that wasn't there before has you scrambling to answer.

“I am– I'm yours!”

“you're such a good pet,” he croons, and snakes his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. he kneads your waist, squeezes it so hard you think it'll bruise.

“so warm,” he hums, moving up to grope your chest. he rolls your nipples between his fingers, pinching and tugging at them, “so obedient.”

your head falls back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut, small puffs of air escaping you. for some reason, everything feels like a lot– bordering too much. it's overwhelming, it's addicting. you're spinning, whirling, twirling into a big mess of nerves and want. mushy gushy in his deft fingers. even if you're not sure what you want– you can't tell if you want him to stop or keep going, to slow down or speed up.

so you just take it. you steel yourself to endure everything he's dishing out because that's what you feel like you should do. because maybe that would make him happy, and you want to make wooyoung happy. that's all you really want.

leisurely, one of his hands trails down, past your stomach, to knock your legs open and cup your cunt through your panties. pressing his fingers against the fabric, he whispers a curse at what he finds. you're soaked, ruining the probably expensive fabric. although he doesn't seem to care.

“be good and keep your legs spread, don't you dare close them,” that’s all the warning you get before he yanks your panties to the side. plunging two fingers in your pussy with a wet squelch. his fingers are thick and long. he's in so deep, it makes you gasp, back arching off his chest.

his free hand squeezes your waist in warning.

they slide out to smear your wetness around. his finger traces from your slit to your clit, occasionally dipping a finger in. he does this until you're shaking, your eyes glazed over, lips spit-shiny. your clit throbs.

“you're s’wet,” he all but groans, “can't help but drip all over yourself, huh?”

embarrassed, you say, “m sorry. didn't mean too”

wooyoung hips buck up, and a low groan erupts from him, “s’okay, make a mess for me.”

he's not wrong. you are dripping, soaking his pants and coating the inside of your thighs. arousal glides out of your cunt. syrupy, thick. he pinches your clit and you jolt, thighs twitching, but they stay open. you're still being good. his hand pulls away, and you almost whine, raising your head to see where it's gone– but you don't see nor expect the wet smack when he slaps your pussy. you yelp, toes curling, your hands flying down to hold your legs in place.

you can do it, you can push through it.

“fucckkk— look at you, still trying to be good for me. trying to take it to make me happy.” you barely hear because he strikes your pussy again, harder this time and your cunt clenches around nothing, another wave of slick gushing out of you, “you'd endure anything for me.”

it's the third strike that breaks the dam, and uncontrollable sobs wreck your body– and he moans, mumbling curses, places a chaste kiss to your sweaty temple. brings his hand down again just for the fun of it, nips your neck when you let out another broken cry. three more. it's odd. the pain merging with the zap of pleasure sent through you. it's confusing. runs circles around your brain, makes you dopey and confused. tears drop off your lash line as a shriek is pulled out of you. it's all too much.

“you're so pretty when you cry,” he murmurs sweetly, “and it's all for me, all because of me.”

his hand lifts again, and you jerk, more tears roll down your cheeks. you look a mess. “no, I can't– I don't think I can't take more.”

wooyoung coos, plys your neck with sloppy kisses, “just one more. you can do that for me, one last time and I'll stop. okay?”

you fall silent, eye brows knitting together. you want to make him happy, and it's just one more. you can do that. you do another one for him.

“okay,” you whisper.

“good girl, you're making me so happy.”

it feels so slow when his hand lifts, like everything is in slow motion, your breath stills. you catch the flex of his arm, the straightening of his fingers. it speeds up again when his hand comes down. maybe, the anticipation makes it hurt more, but it knocks a gasp out of you, leaves you twitching uselessly as you let it sting. you don't scream, the air stalls in your throat, effectively choking you. your mouth hangs open.

he doesn't give you any time to settle. his fingers slipping back in your cunt with a deafening squelch. your cheeks burn, slick leaks out of you. it sounds waterlogged, like he'd splashed water around in a pool. it embarrasses you being so vulnerable, letting him feel your need materialized. you look desperate; you are desperate. he hones in on your clit, rolling it beneath his thumb. using his other hand to reach around and pinch it.

his fingers bend, curling, pressing into that spongy spot inside you, and you whimper. your hips bucking up to gain more friction, to push his fingers in deeper. your orgasm barrels at you. it's quick. snake fast. you don't even realize what hit you. you melt in his hands. you turn molten, sticky and pilant. butter in a pan. your eyes rolling so far into the back of your head, you think you catch a glimpse of the inside of it. the world crumbles away– leaving you held up by his comforting hold, and this loitering feeling of ecstacy.

in this pleasure, there is heat. very similar to the one that flooded you when your eyes first opened, but this is different. this heat feels good. it's tepid, lukewarm. like a gentle embrace, it lingers, encasing you in its comfort and its warmth. no pin-needles, only pleasure. his fingers slide out slowly, and your eyes follow the movement as he raises it past the space between your thighs, past your chest, to the wetness of his mouth.

he groans. a rolling vibrato, stemming in his chest. Indulgent, seductive. his cheeks hollow as he sucks on his fingers. it's sensual in ways you've never seen. plush lips wrapped around the soaked digits. red and plump and beautiful. he tugs them out with a pop. his smile is lazy, feline-like. coy. his eyes lazer into you.

“you taste so sweet,” he mumbles, nuzzling your cheek, “but I want to taste it from the source. you'll let me, won't you?”

it's a whispered curse; a sweet damnation. poised as a request, but he knows that you won't– more like can't– turn him down. forcing you to indulge him yet again.

meekly, you nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat. in one quick movement, your back is no longer leaning on his chest, but the chair he once occupied. it's barely warm, the only sign of his presence on it is the faint scent of his cologne. his mouth catches yours in a deep kiss. hot and hungry, his tongue presses against your front teeth, drags over to your molars. prying, probing. he nudges your tongue with his own. traces of whiskey flood your taste buds; strong. when he pulls away a string of spit connects you, breaking off when he drops to his knees.

“can't wait another second, I want you now,” he says, biting into your thigh. “need to taste you. i wanna devour you whole.”

his tongue laves over the indents left behind. a dog-like apology for his earlier transgressions. he sucks and nibbles at the rest of your unmarred skin, leaving spit and bruises in his wake. again, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your thigh. harder this time, and it draws blood. you gasp, eyes wide and dumb. it drips down your thigh but this time he doesn't run his tongue over it, but suckles instead. like a leech, like something parasitic.

all your questions flatline when he looks you in the eyes as he does it, and you wonder, fleetingly, if this is what he meant by devouring you. it scares you that you don't mind. in fact, it excites you. the idea of being eaten by him, of being swallowed whole. bit by bit.

you're already panting when his tongue sweeps over your cunt. his mouth latches onto your clit, ignoring the lace of your panties that act as a barrier. he groans into you, gravely, hands coming up to grip your ass, pushing you harder against his face. you throw your legs on his shoulders, and he hums in content. your hand shoots to his hair, taking a handful of it, tugging him closer. he shudders, moans. his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“taste so good, just like I knew you would,” he mumbles, muffled by your pussy, and the vibration sends ripples of pleasure through you. your thighs squeeze around his head, acting as impromptu earmuffs.

he only pulls away long enough to haphazardly drag your panties down your legs, leaving it dangling off your ankle. wordlessly diving back in between your thighs. it's different without the layer between, it's more intense this way. the pleasure turning sharp; knife-edged.

it rips through you like a hunter's blade, womb to sternum: a proper gutting.

he's messy too– slurping, smacking, and moaning into your skin. his nose bumps your clit every time he sticks his tongue deeper inside of you, fucks you on it like he's trying to dig your brain out through your cunt. his mouth finds your oversensitive, swollen clit and you keen.

“woo– it's too much,” you shrill.

your voice high and probably annoying, wooyoung's eyes are dark when they meet yours. hadal, pitch-black like coal. his eyelids at half-mast, drooping like he can barely keep them open.

he lets out a throaty growl when you attempt to dislodge him, pulling his hair and trying to squirm out of his grasp. his fingers tighten their grip, impossibly so, and you cry out in discomfort. wooyoung groans, tongue swirling around your clit.

“please, please, please,” you babble, tearing up, your bottom lip wobbling.

he doesn't let up and you know what that means. shut up and take it. there's nothing you can do besides take the assault in stride, let him take what he wants. even if it leaves you weak and trembling. you could fight him off, kick and scream, yank and tear.

but you don't.

you can't bring yourself to fight him off, so you let him take, and take, and take. you'd let him rip you asunder with only a whimper and a thank you on your bloodied tongue. he could leave you to rot, and the sick part is that you would let him. you'd let him leave you disemboweled and empty; you'd let him turn you into carrion.

happily too, but only if he smiles at you while he does it.

it's unfair, you think, how you let him dismantle and desecrate you and be okay with it. you don't understand your compliance or your incessant need for him in his entirety, and you…can't quite figure out why. it's like a dead-end. no man's land. unseen, untouched territory. you can't remember anything besides him.

still, he does a damn good job at picking you apart and cramming himself into gaping hole in your chest. he draws his tongue from taint to clit, sucks at the swollen bud like hard candy. he makes out with your cunt like he's in love with it. your hands have fallen to your side, twitching with the need to tear him away, but you've resigned yourself to his whims. as mean as they are.

his hands slide under your thighs, pushing them up, up, up until your knees touch your shoulders. they drop down to peel you open, spreading your pussy so he can reach deeper. he talks to it too, sweet murmurs and hushed praise. the words are inaudible to you, unable to be heard over the obscene noises. you're hot, too hot. a bundle of heat simmers in your tummy, almost boiling, but not there yet.

it's so close. rushing at you like wildfire, threatening to overtake you.

he doesn't stop until you're gushing on his tongue, and only after lapping it all up does he truly pull away. you can't deny, like this wooyoung is gorgeous. his cheeks flushed pink, lips shiny and swollen. the bottom half of his face is covered in you. black eyes staring up at you.

it takes him a minute to lift himself off the floor, and he practically has to wrench his gaze from your glistening cunt. he's surprisingly calm as he peers down at you, face neutral. carefully, you close your legs, putting them down so you aren't such a vulgar display. there's a bulge in his pants, you'd already known without seeing it, you'd felt it pressed against your ass moments ago when you were seated in his lap. he was big. thick. long. you see the hint of a smirk on his face when you look back up.

“are you,” you pause, sniffling, “are you done..?”

“of course not, silly girl,” he croons, tilting his head, “you're not very smart, are you?”

the words send in a tizzy, and you flush at how condescending he was being. gawking, you open your mouth to reply.

“it's okay, pet, you don't need to think when i’m here. you don't need to be smart to be good.”

the whine you let out is entirely involuntary, and you have to squeeze your legs together to attempt to relieve any of the warmth between them. your complaints snuffed out in an instant.

“jus’ wanna be good for you,” you admit and wooyoung swallows thickly.

“I know,” he rasps, words stretching like taffy, and tucks his hands under your arms raising you from his chair. he hooks an arm underneath your legs, towing you to what you assume to be his room. similar to the living room, his room is warm and spacious, and much like his home, it's well-decorated too. a painting above his large bed, deep red sheets with fluffy covers, more pillows than logically needed. an empty glass and a lamp sit on his bedside drawer. unlike the living room, his room smells like jasmine and bergamot.

it's surprisingly gentle when he sets you down on the bed; a complete juxtaposition to the dark expression on his face. you go stock-still, mannequin, glassy eyes and all. wooyoung brings his hands up to cradle your face. his eyes are dangerously dull, and he leans in slowly. his lips ghost against your skin, almost kissing it but not, then his tongue is dragging up the length of your cheek, collecting the leftover salt of your tears. you shiver, and wooyoung groans, pulling away. his hands find your waist, and push. dazed, you clumsily scramble backwards until your back hits the pillows.

“you're driving me crazy,” he says, almost mindlessly, staring at you laid out before him. you feel vulnerable, exposed like an open wound. he looks at you like a slab of meat; a feast for no one but himself. his tongue swipes over his canines; wolfish. his hands make quick work of his top, fingers fast and efficient. there's thin scars littered across his skin, but that's not what catches your eye. it’s the wobbly line that cuts down the length of his torso. old and gnarled. you ache to run your fingers along it, the feeling buzzes in the scar that notches your own chest. if he notices your staring he simply refuses to acknowledge it.

after ridding himself of his clothes, he slots himself between your legs, presses his nose to the softness of your stomach and bites. you jolt, yelping. wooyoung giggles. he creeps up, sucking at various places on your tummy, digs his blunt nails into your skin as he holds you down.

once he reaches the valley between your breasts, he trails his tongue up and past the bump of your collar bone, all the way to your neck. right to your pulse point.

you squirm, “woo, that feels weird.”

he doesn't grant you a reply. rather, you fill the tip of his dick prod your entrance. it's not painful when he pushes in, it's more of a pressure. a slight burn. you can feel yourself stretching to accommodate his length, and how incredibly deep he is inside of you. you're pelvis to pelvis now, and you have to take a moment to note how full you feel.

“god, you're so tight,” he groans, dropping his head to rest in the crook of your neck, “it's like you were made for me.”

you can't help the way joy bursts inside of you at the words. your heart bleeds, bursts, plummets out your chest with a wet splat and lands right into wooyoung's hands. the words bounce around your head, slowly warms in your chest like wax. it turns your heart all gooey and soft. wooyoung's hips leisurely draw back. then slam forward.

it jolts you forward, and an embarrassing yelp is kicked out of your throat. something between a choked whine, and a call of his name. it knocks the thoughts out of your head, leaves you dazed and dumb.

“y’so big,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck. holding onto him for dear life. wooyoung pulls away, and you whimper, clearly wanting to keep him close. he ignores you. you try to pull him back down to no avail. wooyoung head ducks down, his mouth latching onto your breast. his tongue roves over your lips, circling around it. his teeth follow after, sinking into the supple flesh. you gasp, cunt quivering around his cock, nails digging into the muscles of his arms. he lifts a hand to pay your other nipple some attention, rolling it beneath the pads of his fingers, pinching and twisting.

his balls slap against your ass, and he's drilling into you so hard it almost hurts. the pleasure of it all bordering on excruciating. you're like one giant open wound; gushing, tender, and aching– and he keeps prodding, keeps pushing you to your limit.

wooyoung's hand snakes down to your clit, until his fingers are rolling quick circles over your sore clit. another orgasm hurdles at you. its speed break-neck. pleasure searing through your worn, little body. you buck like a frantic bull, hands pushing at his chest. your nails catching on his skin in your desperation, they leave behind red scratch marks on his skin.

his hand grips your waist holding you still. his hold is firm, unyielding. you couldn't squirm away if you wanted to, but you try.

“s’too much– ah,” you wail, tears reappearing in your eyes. some fall down the sides of your face, over your temples, others stick to your lash line.

“aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” he mumbles, swiping at a vagrant tear, “you're a mess. a pathetic, little mess.”

wooyoung swims in your vision, everything blurry. you can imagine him in vivid detail though, and even in your mind the picture is sinful– his tar-black eyes, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the wicked grin you know he has right now, and that shadowy expression like he wants to rip you apart.

“slow down– fuck, please. don't have to stop, jus’ slow down,” you whine. it's a shoddy attempt at bargaining, and it fails. pitfully, at that.

wooyoung laughs, which comes out more as a loud moan than anything else. in spite of your pleading, his thrusts speed up. hips snapping into your cunt wig more fervor than before.

perhaps you're more out of it than you thought because you don't notice the hand wrapping around your throat. well, not until it's far too late and he's already wrenching the life of you.

you writhe, wriggling around. your hands tugging at his arms, his wrist, his fingers– anything you can reach.

wooyoung tsks, “quit it.”

and like the obedient pet you are, you stop. your struggle regresses to involuntary twitches, your mouth falling open in an attempt to find air.

“you'd do anything for me, huh?” he says, in sick awe, tightening his grip around your neck, “you'd let me hurt you, you'd let me kill you.”

you can't respond besides letting out choked whines, gasping for air. your chest tight. wailing and shaking, your cunt squeezing his cock. out of fear, out of pure adoration. his words ring true, and it chills you down to the bone.

you would let him kill you.

the thought sends another orgasm careening towards you. it hits hard, like a punch to the gut, like a full-on collision with an eighteen wheeler. it knocks you off kilter. the entire world spins off its axis.

wooyoung’s dick twitches, and he's panting like a wild dog. his pace going sloppy, more erratic. smooth strokes getting interrupted by the stuttering of his hips. his tightens up like a noose, unceasing and unrelenting. you try not to struggle. your hands screw up the sheets.

“you’d die for me,” he breathes, “you'd kill for me.”

he says it with a hint of marvel, sick adoration in his voice. sweet like brown sugar. an unholy glint in his eyes.

he fills you up with a staccato groan, hips stuttering, fingers twitching. his grip loosens and you sigh out of sheer relief. he doesn't remove his hand, just holds it there. like a collar, like he's staking a claim on you. the bruise left behind almost feels like a brand.

immediately, your eyes close. you're not asleep yet, simply resting a bit. you feel the bed dip, and you assume he's left. you sigh. you'll clean yourself tomorrow.

the feeling of something warm and wet brushing over the skin of your inner thigh startles you. you jump up with a start.

wooyoung looks back at you, “I don't like dirty toys, lay down and let me clean you”

you collapse back onto the bed. the bed is soaked beneath you, but it doesn't matter right now. you focus on the feeling of wooyoung wiping you down. it's relaxing. he's methodical with it, starting from the bottom and working his way up. he gets gentle around the spots he bit and your aching cunt. it's surprisingly intimate, and you'd almost describe it as heartwarming. it gives you whiplash. your head spinning at the sheer duality of the man. how hot and cold he is.

wooyoung snuggles up beside you when he's done, throws the wash towel to the side, and pulls you into his arms. he's still cold, which is odd but you don't mind. honestly, it helps cool you down. you seem to run far too hot for your own good.

“I thought you left,” you mutter, pressing yourself harder against him.

“I wouldn't,” he replies, “you're far too fun to leave alone.”

it's not the normal comfort you expected, but it's something and you drift to sleep faster having heard it.