what a feeling

Chapter 7

Before you know it, the next few months fly by. Somewhere between lazy Sundays together wrapped up in bed, evenings cuddled up on the couch watching a new horror movie you both wanted to see, and weekly trips to the famers market together before the cold settled. You and Yunho become inseparable. You would spend your days working and then without much discussion either one of you would end up at the other’s place where you’d spend the evening attempting a new recipe together. Some recipes would turn out better than others, some would end with you both accepting defeat and ordering takeout.

“I don’t think this looks right.” You say as you tilt your head with your nose scrunched.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m sure it’ll thicken up once we let it sit for a few minutes.” Yunho says as he scratches his head not sounding too confident. After a few minutes it’s not thickening up and possibly looks worse than before. You cautiously grab a spoon to taste test. Your face immediately turns at the taste causing Yunho to start laughing. “Maybe we should just get some wings instead?”

“Extra crispy, please.” you say laughing as you chug a bottle of water.

There were countless grocery store dates, Yunho brought you to some plant stores you hadn’t been to before, telling you that you needed to “add to your collection.” When work required you to head out of town for a few days you left Yunho with a spare key so he could water your plants while you were gone. Before either of you realized it, there were toothbrushes in both bathrooms, hoodies scattered between apartments, and drawers filled with each other’s clothes. At some point, it stopped feeling like you were visiting one another and started feeling like you simply had two homes.

“Babe, we have to make sure we remember to grab some more dish soap tomorrow when we go to the grocery store.” Yunho says as he places the plate he was just washing in the dish strainer.

“Just wrote it on the list this morning.” You say with a wink as you walk behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He slightly turns with you still wrapped around his waist as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re the best.”

A week before Thanksgiving, Yunho laughed as he reminded you the last time you were at your parents’ house he went as your pretend boyfriend; he grabbed your hand and said the next time you walk through their door together he wants to be your real one. You said yes before he even finished asking. When thanksgiving finally came Yunho helped your dad with the turkey while your mom and grandma fussed over the side dishes. Laughter echoed through the house, and every time you looked over at him, he seemed to fit there as naturally as if he’d been part of your family all along. At one point your mom leaned over and quietly whispered, “I told you not to let this one get away.”

Your chest filled with warmth as you watched him slip so effortlessly into your life. Christmas arrived a few weeks later. You spent the next few weeks decorating both places, building gingerbread houses and decorating cookies together. You even convinced him to get matching pajamas with you, which you know he secretly loved. He spent the entire evening insisting they were ridiculous but never once suggested taking them off. When you exchanged gifts, you could see the genuine excitement on his face when you got him a limited-edition Spider-Man figurine that he had mentioned wanting before. When Yunho handed you your gift, you couldn’t believe he was able to find a rare plant you had been looking for. Between the matching pajamas, decorating cookies, and binging Christmas movies, he slowly became your favorite part of the holiday.

The holidays came and went, and loving Yunho slowly became a part of your everyday life. There were moments when things weren’t always picture perfect, though. Work sometimes got overwhelming and the stress from work would sometimes follow you home. You’d withdraw and he would notice immediately. When you’d brush it off, he would mention he knows something is bothering you, but he wouldn’t push. You’d end up snapping but would come back an hour later apologizing. He was always so gentle with you he’d give you your space until you were ready to talk about whatever was bothering you. You appreciated his patience with you. Yunho also had a habit of not wanting to ask for help sometimes or admit that he didn’t know something.

“Babe, maybe we should use the GPS. I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.” You said as you look out the window trying to find a familiar landmark to show if you were going the right way or not.

“No, it’s fine I know how to get there.” Yunho said sounding slightly annoyed. He wasn’t necessarily annoyed with you, more so annoyed with the fact that he wasn’t quite sure where you were at. T wenty minutes later, and after passing the same gas station twice, Yunho sighed in defeat. “Okay…maybe we are lost.” You purse your lips together as you try to hold back your laughter.

“That’s what I thought.” Your laughter finally spills over as you pull up the GPS.

By the time spring rolled around, date nights had become a tradition. Every Saturday, one of you would be responsible for planning a date for that night and the other wasn’t allowed to complain about what it was. This week it was your turn. There had been a new slasher film that just recently came out that you were dying to see. Even though Yunho found a lot of the horror movies you watched predictable, he’d always watch them with you and would pay close attention to any theories you had. Halfway through each movie he’d tell you he knew who the killer was already and was right every time.

“Don’t you dare tell me your predictions during the movie because you’re going to be right and I won’t be surprised!” You say with a pout as you fold your arms.

“My lips are sealed.” He drags two fingers across his lips as if he’s zipping them shut, a smile threatening to break through. You playfully smack his shoulder.

“I’m serious! You’re scarily accurate every time. I want to feel the suspense when I find out who the killer is!” You can’t hold back your laughter anymore. You playfully continue your conversation while you wait in line to get your snacks and drinks. On the way to the theater, you’re dramatically telling a story when you accidentally bump into a man. You begin apologizing immediately but the man scoffs and begins to scold you.

“You need to pay better attention to your surroundings! I almost dropped my popcorn. What a fucking idiot!” The man hisses out as he points his finger in your face. Yunho clenches his jaw. His fingers are gripping the snacks so tight his knuckles are white.

“It was an accident sheeesh.” Before you could say anything else he storms into the same theater you were headed for. “Great.” You roll your eyes. You look over and see how angry Yunho looks. It almost scares you since you’ve never seen him this angry before. You rub his arm gently to soothe him. “Hey, babe. It’s fine. Just ignore that jerk.”  His his gaze is fixed in the direction the man disappeared in for another moment before he finally blinks, his expression softens as he looks down at you.

“Yea. It’s fine.” He smiles softly at you and you both make your way into the theater. As you settle in your seats, Yunho takes notice that you were seated right in front of the mysterious jerk. You could hear the man scoff when he realizes the same. You try your best to ignore him when the previews begin, but he is determined to make his presence known. During the quietest moments of the movie, he lets out a loud, over the top cough. Every couple of minutes you hear him shuffling in his seat as he adjusts the candy and popcorn around him. You look back and let out a heavy sigh when he shakes the candy box incessantly to get the candy out.

“Could he be any more annoying?” You whisper to Yunho loud enough for the man to hear you. He rolls his eyes at your comment. Yunho doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“Just watch the movie.” He says calmly but his jaw is tight. Thankfully, you are able to catch enough to follow the plot. You already know you’ll be watching it again once it becomes available on streaming services to catch anything you might have missed. When the credits roll across the screen you get up with an attitude as you roll your eyes at the man. You don’t want to carry the attitude back home with you so you try and focus on happier thoughts to rid your attitude before you get to the car. The man shoves past people making his way towards the exit. Yunho’s eyes follow him as far as they allow him.

The cool evening air greets you as you walk out the theater. You and Yunho are discussing the movie as you make your way across the parking lot. Yunho quietly locks on to the man outside smoking a cigarette. He continues to watch him as the man walks out of the parking lot towards an alley. You’re wrapped up in your explanation you don’t notice what is happening. When you get a few feet from his car he begins patting his pockets.

“Dammit, babe. I think my phone fell out my pocket when we were sitting in the seat. I’m going to go back and check for it.”

“Of course it did.” You let out a soft laugh. “Go look, I’ll wait in the car. I’m seriously going to Velcro your phone to you in a minute the way you’re always misplacing it.” He kisses your forehead as he unlocks the car for you. He waits until you get settled in the passenger’s seat before he walks away. He walks towards the theater entrance and then looks back to make sure you’re out of site when he walks in the direction of the alley. Yunho quickens his pace, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds. The man slows near the entrance of the alley, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Got an extra smoke?” Yunho calls casually.

The man turns at the sound of his voice; he doesn’t realize who spoke to him before Yunho was reaching for him. With his hand on the man’s face, he pushes him to the ground and is straddling him. He pushes his face into the ground. The struggle is brief. Yunho moves his hand from his face to wrap around his neck. The man fights back at first, but every attempt grows weaker than the last until the alley falls silent. He waits a couple beats to ensure there is no more breathing from the man. Yunho remains still for a moment, listening. Nothing but the distant hum of traffic and muffled voices drifting from the theater. He exhales loudly, smooths the wrinkles from his shirt, runs a hand through his hair, and drags the body out of immediate view beside the overflowing dumpster. By the time he reaches the car, every trace of the man from the alley has disappeared. As he opens the driver’s door, the warmth returns to his eyes, and he’s once again the man you’ve grown to love.

“You’re not going to believe this.” He laughs pulling his phone from his back pocket. “My phone was in my pocket the whole time.” Your jaw drops before you join in the laughter.

“No way! Oh my god.” You say as you dramatically palm your face and drag your hand down. “Velcro isn’t enough at this point.” Your eyes soften as you look at him, unable to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “What am I going to do with you?” He reaches over and grabs your hand.

“Love me.” A smug smile pulls at the corners of his lips. You shake your head as you quietly laugh.

“I think I can do that.” You squeeze his hand and your gaze shifts to look out of the window as he pulls from the parking space. The ride home is a comfortable silence with only the low sounds of the radio filling the air between you. Even though there were some unpleasant moments in the evening from rude movie goers, you enjoyed your date night and as you watched the city lights blur past your window, you found yourself wondering what the two of you would end up doing next Saturday.

© princesskatriinnaaa 2026 | please do not copy, repost or modify my work.

It’s not unusual for sex with Wooyoung to end up like this.

Especially when he’s been away on tour, or busy with comeback preparations—whenever he’s not able to fuck you as much of often as he likes, this is the result.

Whiny. Desperate. Clinging to you; fingers digging into your skin, blunts of his nails pressed in deep enough to sting. Like he’s holding on for dear life; like he’s afraid that if he lets go, if he loosens his grip even a little bit, you’ll slip away for good.

He was already half hard when you walked into the living room in a thin t-shirt, the fabric a little tighter around your tits and hips, nipples visible through the white cotton. He’d started getting hard on the car ride home just from the thought of you; the thought of how pent up he knows you are after days without him, how desperate you must be, how easy it’ll be to make you come undone and everything he’s going to do to get you there. He’d spent the whole journey with his bag on his lap, trying to hide the imprint of his hardening cock against his sweats in case the taxi driver decided to glance back at him in the rearview mirror.

Fuck, he should’ve worn underwear, but he knows you prefer it when he doesn’t, especially in those sweats. He hadn’t really thought about how difficult that would make it to get home; hadn’t remember how fucking easy it is for him to get hard over you.

When he entered the apartment, when you walked through to greet him, his dick was already straining the fabric of his sweats. The sight of you, the way your shirt clings to your body, your bare legs—it took him the rest of the way. He felt the beads of precum leaking from the tip as you padded across the floor over to him.

Fuck, he needs you bad. He wasn’t even half this bad when he met you; he was far from low libido, but you just bring something out in him that’s entirely new.

“Hey,” you smiled. “Missed you.”

He didn’t even reply. Couldn’t reply; the moment your hand was wrapped around his wrist, pulling him towards you, the moment he got a whiff of your scent, the body wash you like to lather over yourself and a hint of your natural sweetness—he couldn’t do anything but pounce.

He barely got you to the bedroom. He didn’t even get your shirt all the way off; just yanked it up so your tits were exposed, so he could watch the way your nipples hardened in the cold air, how the skin reddened when he smacked lightly at your breasts just to watch them move, so he could feel the warmth when he grasped them in his hands. He managed to pull it over your head, but neither of you thought to pull out your arms, so now it’s sitting there, leaving you entirely exposed while he fucks you open.

By the time he’d pulled his dick out the front of his sweats had darkened, spots of wetness seeping through the light grey fabric, precum already smeared over his tip, He didn’t take them down, just pulled them far enough to get out his cock and got to work.

Your pussy was already wet, of course, just as he knew it would be—still he was kind enough to spit down onto your hole, a little more onto his fingers, smearing his saliva across your clit just to get you a little more needy for it before he finally sunk himself into you.

Wooyoung is thick, a little longer than average, and even with your pussy leaking and weeping for him like it often does, it took a bit of effort to get himself all the way inside. When he finally got himself in, when your hole was finally wrapped around his shaft, about halfway down, he yelled. The pressure, the pleasure was dizzying; the way you clung to him like you couldn’t handle him, like your poor little pussy didn’t know what to do with something his size—it was too much. Fuck, he had to close his eyes, squeeze them shut, dig his fingers into the skin of your hips to ground himself to avoid cumming before he’d even bottomed out.

He couldn’t handle it. The way you were responding—pussy leaking and clenching around him at the same time, so incredibly tight despite how needy and sloppy is already was for him; your cry, strangled and dizzied, when he sunk into you, your small, desperate whimpers as he continues to push inside—it almost pushed him over the edge. If he hadn’t closed his eyes in time to avoid the way your eyes widened, lips parting and shiny with drool as you tried to adjust to him, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.

Now, finally, he’s bottomed out, dick all the way inside, pressing against your g-spot, slamming into it with every thrust. His brows are furrowed, pupils blown, sweat sticking to his forehead and dripping from his chin. His grip is iron, fingers digging into your hips, holding onto the skin like a lifeline; you know there’ll be bruises later, littering the expanses of your hips and waist, but you don’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time for either of you. You wear the marks he leaves, and he wears yours, like a badge of honour.

He’s going hard, rough, thrusts one after the other, so fast even he can barely keep up. He’s almost crying, you can tell; see the tears brimming in his eyes, hear his whines and gasps like he’s trying to keep himself together. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, you— baby. Oh my god.”

“Wooyoung,” you cry. “You— feels so good. So deep, Woo, how are you so fucking deep?”

“I know,” he says. His hand moves from your hip to your tummy, pressing down, running across the expanse of your skin. “I’m in here,” he grunts. The pressure of his hands increases, pressing down right where his dick is stuffed all the way inside you and pressing against your spot. “Do you feel it?”

You nod, whimpering, and he groans, a sharp, strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Tell me you feel it,” he says, and fuck his voice sounds so raw, so affected, the way you sound when you’re all fucked out and begging him for release. “Please, baby, tell me.”

“I feel it,” you say. “Woo, I feel it. You’re so deep inside me, you’re so big, it hurts.”

He pushes down a little harder, making you sob, then his hand moves back to its place on your hip, holding onto the skin, fingers digging into it again.

“More,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper, need and desperation evident in the tone. “Woo, please. Need more.”

“Fuck.”

He can’t ever say no to you—you both know that. He could be at the very edge of what he can do, at the very edge of collapse, and if you looked up at him with those wide, loving, fucked our eyes and begged him for more, he’d give it to you.

And like this—with your pussy crying for him, tensing and spasming around his shaft, sucking him in, your body begging for him without words—he’s pretty much a dead man walking.

He can’t fucking take this. He doesn’t remember you ever being so tight and warm and wet. He knows you have been—you always are—it must just be the days, weeks even that he’s gone without having you like this, the compounded need and relief of finally having your cunt wrapped around his cock.

He’s going to break. He knows it. But he hasn’t given you nearly as much as he intends to yet.

His head dips, the pressure of his hands on your hips increasing, like he’s struggling to hold himself up now. His hair is sticking to his forehead, breathing laboured, whimpers getting louder and hotter and more guttural. His thrusts are speeding up too, getting harder, but the precision and control of them is slipping; the more he fucks you, the tighter he clings to you, the sloppier and messier his movements inside you get.

Your legs wrap around his waist, feet interlocking with each other against the small of his back, locking you in place. You push your hips up, pressing yourself closer to him, pulling him in deeper; your hands reach out to grab his shirt, curling the material around your fists then moving up to hold onto his shoulders, then his neck, then a fistful of his hair in one of your hands while the other grips his forearm. A harder thrust, sharper, makes you squeal, head thrown back, your face wet and flushed and blotchy with tears.

Wooyoung looks up, finally, meeting your eyes, and the sight of your face, so dumb and desperate and high on what he's giving you, makes his dick pulse inside you, legs almost giving out just from the sight of you. His dick is so fucking sensitive now, strangled by your cunt, hardly able to move in and out of you but unable to do anything but go harder and faster and messier. He’s fairly certain you’ve creamed already, probably more than once; he’s felt your cunt spasming around him, heard your cries grow sharper then settle back into softer whines and sobs, and he feels the stickiness leaking out of your hole around his cock. He wants to cum too, so fucking badly, but he can’t—

Fuck. Fuck. The image hits him like a vision, a spiritual experience, something solid against his chest. The way you’re clinging to him. He knows he’s not going to pull out, won’t be able to, he rarely does with you; knows that when he cums, when he finally allows himself to break, it will be with his dick pressed up against your g-spot, the cum filling up the deepest parts of you. He wishes he could cum directly into your womb; he’s said that to you before, and when you’re stuffed full of him and begging him to fill you up, you have on a few occasions cried for him to stuff your womb with cum. To get you pregnant.

He wants to do that now. He wants it so bad he could cry; wants it so bad it’s all he can think about. And with the way you’re squeezing him, milking his cock with your cunt, it seems like you want it too. Your body wants it, at least.

“Baby,” he hisses. “I…”

He leans down, closer to you now, face inches from yours, close enough to see the tiny details of his face and feel his breath against your skin. You grab a handful of his hair, gentle but desperate, and pull him closer to you. Your breaths are short and shallow, words whispered, like a prayer meant only for him. “You what?” You breathe.

He grunts, chewing on his lip, hips bucking just at the thought. “I want to get you pregnant,” he hisses, voice cracking on the final syllable and slipping into something more like a whimper. “Please, baby. Let me…”

You cunt clenches at that, at the image; your hips buck upwards and you pull his head down further, closer, until his lips are on yours. He freezes, just for a moment, then melts into it, tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, hands cupping your face with the same pressure and fervour they’d had on your hips. The kiss is wet, rushed, messy; loving and hungry at the same time. He groans into your mouth, his hips bucking, skin slapping against yours, then pulls away. “Tell me I can,” he says. “Tell me I can knock you up. I need to knock you up.”

“Knock me up, Wooyoung,” you say. He rewards you with another, sharper thrust that nearly makes your vision white out. “Please. Put a baby in me. Need a baby in my tummy, Woo, need to be all swollen with it.”

“Shit,” he grits out. His hands are on your shoulders now, pushing them down and pinning you against the bed. His eyes are wild now—crazed. “You need it,” he says. “Fuck, baby, you need it, right?”

“Need it,” you repeat. “I need your baby, Woo, it’d be so cute, right? We’d have such a cute baby.”

“Fuck, don’t talk like that.” Wooyoung feels lightheaded, his entire body buzzing with need, toes curling into the sheets. He slows down just enough to think a little clearer, thrusts lazier while he strings his words together. “Baby, put your legs up. I wanna— I wanna press it all the way in. Need to press my cum all the way inside, right in your little womb, okay?”

He stops fucking you for a moment, still stuffed inside, then adjusts. He sits himself up, straightening up from where he was leaning over your; his hands grip your legs, still wrapped around his waist, keeping them there as he moves. Then he pushes your legs forwards, gently, so your knees are pushed towards your face, legs spread, calves pressed against your thighs and your thighs pushed back until—

“Yeah,” he grunts. “That’s perfect.”

You know this position; remember how it feels, how it allows him to get so much deeper and stay there, how his cum stays stuffed inside you after he pulls out, your ass raised a little off the bed.

He starts to move again, but he doesn’t ease you into it; can’t, at this point, when you’re spread out so invitingly, your pussy pulsing around him at the realisation of the position he’s put you in, your entire body so vulgarly displayed beneath him, at his mercy, a present only he gets to unwrap. Soon enough, he’s slipped again, the thrusts sloppier, messier, the control he’d managed to cling to for all of a second, just long enough to adjust you the way he wanted you, now evaporated. His hands find your waist now, holding you tight whilst he slams himself into your spot over and over like he’s chasing something.

His moans are soft, breathy, whiny, getting louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He can’t stop thinking about it, picturing it; you, knocked up, carrying his child, looking so perfect and pretty and used. His cum in your cunt—fuck, if he could keep his cum inside you every fucking day he would. He’d fuck you every morning before he goes out, unload inside you, slide your pretty panties over your pussy to catch any seed that tries to escape. If it starts to leak he’d make you push it back inside, or gather it on his finger and make you lick it off. Then he’d fuck you again, before bed, hard and rough, until you fall asleep with bruised hips and smarting skin and a belly full of cum.

He’s going to get you pregnant—he doesn’t fucking care anymore. As he pushes towards his orgasm he knows for a fact, no doubt, that he’s going to do it; that he has to do it, or he’s going to shatter. It’s like a compulsion now, a need as much as eating or sleeping or drinking. He needs to get you pregnant and see you pregnant and know your belly is round and swelling because of him.

He doesn’t realise how loud he’s being; doesn’t realise the loud, whiny moans filling the air and drowning out the sound of his skin slapping against yours is him. Fuck. Is he always this fucked out when he’s trying to cum? Is he always this… pathetic?

He doesn’t care. If pathetic is what he is when he fucks you full, when he fills you up, when he feels your perfect cunt squeezing his dick like this, then fuck it, he’s pathetic. He’ll wear that badge with pride if it’s for you.

His orgasm comes quickly when he stops resisting; when he finally allows it to overtake it. He feels it in his entire body, in his fingers, his toes, every inch of him. It starts and doesn’t seem to stop; you feel your tummy filling up, warmth spreading through you, Wooyoung’s hands heavier and grip tighter, his strangled gasps and choked sobs as he keeps fucking you through it, like he’s trying to milk every last drop of himself out and into you. He’s saying something, somewhere between grunting and wailing; words you can’t quite decipher but understand entirely.

You’re going to get pregnant, tonight. He’s not stopping until you do. He’s gonna fill you up over and over and you can’t take anymore; until you’re so full of his cum that he can’t even fit his cock in there.

His hips rock back and forth, pushing the cum in deeper as it comes out.

And then he stills. His grip loosens just a little bit. He slumps slightly, catching himself in time, breathing heavy and laboured. His dick twitches inside you, still hard, but no longer moving.

“Stay still,” he says. His voice is raw, hollow, as though he’d been screaming and screaming and screaming until he lost it. “Keep your legs there. Helps— it helps it to take.”

“Take?” You repeat. You feel dazed.

Wooyoung nods. “My cum. If you keep your legs there it’ll help you get pregnant. Hold them there. Please.”

Fuck, he really… he really wants you pregnant. Like, actually pregnant. You pull him closer to you, pressing your lips together. This time the kiss is gentle, soft, none of the desperation of before but all of the feeling.

Wooyoung is massaging your legs, rubbing the backs of your thighs with enough pressure to feel it in the muscles; trying to keep the blood flow going, to stop you from losing the feeling in your legs with the strenuous position he’s holding you in. “Doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Always so good, so pretty, gonna be such a good mom. Wanna give you a daughter.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Want it.”

“Good.” He sits back up, pushing the hair out of his face, staring down at you with a small smile.

You know that smile. That’s a smile that says you’re not done—not even close.

“You’re probably pregnant now,” he says. “But we have to be sure. And we’re not stopping until we’re sure.”

You don’t reply. Just watch as his smile widens, as his hands move back to your hips where they’d been before.

“I’m gonna fuck you again,” he says. “I’m gonna breed you over and over, until the cum is spilling out of you. Until you have my baby. Until you’re carrying my seed inside you all day, every day, for nine months. Okay?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to; he knows you well enough to read your reaction.

And even if he didn’t—your pussy speaks for itself. The way it clenches around him says everything you’re too fucked out to voice.