In The Stars

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it's already a little late, you’re lying in bed having resorted to doomscrolling on your phone in just a big shirt of seungcheol's and no shorts, legs swinging lazily, waiting for your boyfriend to be back. you hear him come in, footsteps heavy, keys dropped in the bowl by the door and bag by the couch.

“baby,” he calls. his voice low and a little raspy, tired after a long three-hour practice as he pads through your shared apartment to the bedroom.

you barely have time to turn before he’s already through the door, climbing onto the bed and moving over to lie on top of you. his head flops onto your shoulder as the rest of his body covers yours totally. the faded smell of his cologne hitting your nose almost immediately. seungcheol's hands wander under your shirt, fingertips slow and deliberate, like he’s memorising the feel of you again.

“you were waiting for me?” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts gently, "sorry i'm late, gorgeous."

he starts to kiss your shoulder through the shirt, before he trails them to your neck. your phone falls onto the bed, already forgotten and you let your head rest on your arms. "wanted to see you," you answered softly, taking away his worries of coming home late to which he hums against your skin.

his hands moved again, now cupping both your breasts and he squeezes them softly like his personal stress balls as his little kisses continued. he did this a lot, claiming they were his favourite part of you countless times. so many days of him coming home exhausted only to bury his face between them for cuddles and head scratches.

you shudder when he rolls your nipples under his thumbs and pinches them, eliciting a whine of his name from you.

"mmh?" he hums lowly, "can you roll over for me, baby?" and he moves off of you just enough for you to roll onto your back.

now that you're on your back, his hands start to push up your shirt, over your chest as his fingers return to your nipples. "cheol," you breathed, arching up into his touch.

he smiles at your reaction, "so pretty, baby." he coaxes you to pull your shirt all the way off and discards it off the side of the bed before he dips down and closes his lips around one of your nipples. and he groans like this was his sole purpose of life.

his palms find home on your ass, of course. grabbing and squeezing like it’s routine—like he has to feel it or he’ll go crazy. the mixture of his warm mouth on you, tongue swiping over your increasingly sensitive nipple, and his hands palming your ass has you squirming under him.

“can’t decide...” he murmurs, between kisses, “what i love more, baby.” with a smack of his lips, he pulls back, moving to the other breast to give it equal love. "burying my face in these... or watching your pretty ass bounce on me."

he grunts when your hips punch up weakly, brushing against his front. he kisses down your chest. soft and wet, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. then he pulls away, sits on his knees and pulls his shirt off over his head.

and fuck, your boyfriend is so hot. arms you want locked around your head more times than appropriate, shoulders that you love clinging onto, and his torso firm beneath all his softness—your favourite. his abs are barely there, but you can definitely see the ghost of the lines. you love his little bit of chub. you'd spend all day kissing it if you could.

as soon as he's done with that, he tugs you nearer with his hands on your thighs, spreading them simultaneously before he leans down and kisses you deep and needy.

your cold hands rest on his tummy, digging your nails into his softness as you breathe him in between kisses. he was so full everywhere, you couldn't get enough of it. admiring how his waist spills over the elastic of his pants with your hands like the masterpiece of a creation he was.

“waiting for me in my shirt and this useless thing..." he mumbles against your lips, fingers pulling the waistband of your underwear only to let it snap back against your skin, "it's like a reward, baby."

seungcheol's hands are on your back, keeping you arched up against him. you already feel how worked up he is as the painful-looking tent in his sweats presses into your clothed cunt.

"wanna turn you over again, pretty girl. let me see all of you," he says gently, maneuvering you easily back onto your belly.

you arch just a little when he places you back down—cheeks up, thighs pressed together—and he moans, like he felt it in his chest.

“fuck yeah, there she is," he praises as he grabs your hips, ruts against you slowly just to feel the curve of your ass against his clothed cock, and leans down again, chest to your back, dragging his hands under your body to cup your tits from below while continuing to grind on your ass.

"seungcheol- baby..." you choke out once you feel his hand snake down between your legs, rubbing you slow and steady over your stupid underwear as you writhe against the mattress.

you’re on your stomach, squirming from the way he's touching you so carefully and skilfully. he’s pressed between your legs—his cock hard against your ass, one hand working over your clit to get you wet enough for him, the other toying and pinching your nipple.

“can’t believe this is all mine,” he groans, dragging his lips along your spine. "every inch of you, baby... i swear to god. can't believe i get to make my beautiful girl feel so good...”

he presses kisses between your shoulder blades as he slowly grinds against you, breathing getting heavier. finally, he sits back, leaving you laying on the bed for a second to yank his sweats down just enough, and pulls you back up by your hips, his thumb pulling your underwear to the side and lining himself up.

one of his hands goes to rub your clit as he slides in, letting you feel everything nice and slow. you let out a muffled whine as you press your face into the duvet, the stretch of him always overwhelming. "fuck, gorgeous. missed you so much."

he pulls almost all the way out and agonisingly grinds back in. "was thinkin' about this the whole time at practice, baby."

he leans over you, hands planted by your head as he keeps his hips steady. he moans in your ear—deep, and raw, almost painful. "you’re takin’ me so good, pretty girl.”

he maintains the slow pace at first, deliberate, watching how your hips curl up to meet his every time. he's biting his lip so hard he groans through his gritted teeth.

and because he's way too obsessed with your tits, he leans down again and presses his chest against your back, one hand curling under your body to pull you up against him, letting him grab and squeeze at your tits while he fucks into you from behind. it’s overwhelming and you can feel him everywhere.

"always feel so fuckin' good for me, baby. love you so much," he grunts, digging his hips in deeper, making your eyes roll back with a throaty whine.

you feel his thick arm wrap around your neck, keeping you there in a headlock and your cunt clenches hard on him. "fuck, baby-" his hips stutter, "filthy girl. you like that, huh?"

you let out a broken whine of his name, feeling the knot in your belly grow tighter and tighter. he feels it too, your hips bucking erratically against his.

"you close, baby? can you touch yourself f'me?" he groans out by your ear. your hand shakily finds its way to your clit, messily rubbing circles over yourself as your breath quickens, moans turning more high-pitched.

you barely get any words out before your body locks up against his, trembling as your high crashes over you. your other hand flies to grip at his arm around your neck, trying to find something to ground you.

“so pretty when you cum,” he pants, his voice soft as he slows his hips, still chasing his own orgasm.

“i love you so much, baby- fuck, i’m so-”

he thrusts into you once more, burying himself deep as he finishes. groaning your name into your neck and holds you close like you're oxygen for him.

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A car pulled into the driveway and your body jolted. You snatched the umbrella you’d propped by the door earlier and rushed outside.

Seungcheol moved quickly, unbuckling your son from his car seat. He barely stirred as the three of you huddled under the umbrella and hurried back toward the house.

Inside, your son shifted in Seungcheol’s arms, murmuring something with his cheek still pressed to his dad’s shoulder.

“Shit…his bag—”

“I got it. Just take him to his room,” you called over your shoulder, already heading back out.

When you returned, Seungcheol was crouched by the bed, easing your son’s shoes off. You headed straight for the dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas. Skipping his bedtime bath made you wince, especially after camping. He smelled like campfire smoke and wet dirt. Lord knows if he’d had a proper shower in the last two days.

Tonight you let it go. There was no use waking him up, and you could always wash the sheets in the morning.

He wasn’t supposed to be back for another two. But the storm shifted course overnight, and was headed straight for the camping ground area. You’d called Seungcheol this morning, asking him to pack up early. Surprisingly, he hadn’t argued.

“He conked out right away,” he whispered. “Didn’t even make it past the park exit.”

“Sounds like he had a lot of fun,” you said, then paused. “Sorry I had to cut it short. I know he’s been looking forward to this trip all month.”

“No, no—it’s fine, really. Better safe than sorry.”

Redressing your sleeping son was a delicate balancing act. His limbs hung limp, head heavy against his dad’s chest, making every movement challenging. You reached for the hem of his shirt, and Seungcheol instinctively shifted his grip, steadying your son’s upper body so you could peel the fabric away. Your fingers brushed his as you tugged the sleeve free, and for a moment, neither of you pulled away.

You moved around each other without speaking, with Seungcheol adjusting his hold, and you working quickly to replace dirty clothes with clean ones. A hand on your wrist to help guide a pant leg. Panicked glances when your son stirred. It was a routine you hadn’t shared in a while, but it came back easily. Like muscle memory.

Once changed, Seungcheol gently laid him down. But the moment his head hit the pillow, his eyes fluttered open, bleary and disoriented.

“Mommy?” he croaked drowsily.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re home,” you murmured, brushing his hair back. “Go back to sleep.”

Seungcheol leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Love you, bud. I’ll see you next week, okay?”

Strangely, that made him more alert now. “Wait—where are you going?”

“Daddy has to go,” you said gently.

“Go where?”

He was still half-asleep, you told yourself. He knows this routine. “To his house.”

“No, don’t go. Please?” he begged, clutching his father’s wrist.

You forced a smile, smoothing his hair again. “Sweetheart, he has a long drive back, and I bet he’s tired. You’ll stay with him the whole week next week though.”

“Noooo, I want you both,” he insisted, voice cracking. “Please?”

You glanced at Seungcheol, torn. He gave a small shrug, already lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.

“I can stay a few more minutes,” he told him tentatively, then turned his gaze to you. “If…that’s okay with mommy?”

You sighed, then nodded. “Just until you fall asleep.” Your son squealed softly, eyes already fluttering shut in relief.

You settled opposite Seungcheol. Your son reached out and grabbed both your hands in a death grip—just in case one of you tried to slip away before he was fully asleep.

You hummed softly, threading your fingers through your son’s hair. Seungcheol flicked the nightlight switch, and the room was instantly filled with glowing constellations. You remembered when your son unwrapped it for his birthday—how he gasped in wonder, then whispered, It’s like camping…but inside. The memory elicited a quiet laugh from you.

Seungcheol caught the sound and glanced over. His eyes lingered on you, like he was seeing something he hadn’t in a long time. Something he forgot he missed.

Eventually, your son’s grip loosened. His face was peaceful again, lashes matching his dad’s resting against his cheeks. You eased your hand free, and Seungcheol did the same, rising first. You followed behind, pausing at the doorway for one last look before pulling the door closed.

In the kitchen, Seungcheol was rubbing his eyes. He looked away mid-yawn when he saw you coming down the hallway.

“Coffee?”

He hesitated. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Not at all. I offered,” you said, already reaching for the mugs. “Besides, I’d rather you not fall asleep on the drive home. Especially in this weather.”

He nodded, then smiled faintly.

You set a mug beneath the dispenser. “Still take it the same way?”

He was caught off-guard at the question, but eventually nodded slowly.

You handed him the mug, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, as the storm hummed steadily outside. Standing opposite each other in the kitchen wrapped in silence.

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked toward the hallway as he took a sip. “He’s getting so big. He was so excited to help me set up the tent.”

“Interesting.” You leaned against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. “Last time you let him help, he got tangled in the rainfly and cried for twenty minutes. I thought you were going to throw him into the river,” you snorted.

He clicked his teeth, rolling his eyes at the accusation. “I was not going to throw him,” he muttered, but his smile faded. “I had a short fuse back then. I’m working on it.”

He swirled the coffee in his mug, then chuckled. “He’s just a very strong-willed kid. Like someone I know…” He arched his brow at you.

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “It builds character!”

“Yeah, no shit.” His laugh was soft, but tired.

You sipped your coffee, watching the way he stared into his mug, thumb tracing the rim.

“He asked if we could all go next time.”

You let out a small laugh. “Did you tell him no?”

“I said maybe.” He paused, eyes still on the mug. “He said he missed when we did things together.”

The words settled between you. You nodded slowly, unsure what to do with that. And tonight was hardly the moment to unpack it. “I think he just misses the idea of it.” Your eyes dropped to the floor.

“Sometimes I miss it too.” His voice came so quietly, as if he didn’t mean to say his thoughts out loud. You took a few beats before answering.

“I mostly miss the parts that didn’t hurt.” The words cut deeper than you intended. You weren’t trying to be cruel, just honest.

As much as you wished your son could grow up with both parents under one roof, you and Seungcheol knew that wasn’t possible. Not without reopening wounds that hadn’t fully healed. For all the things you disagreed on, there was one thing you had agreed on: you wanted your son to be happy. And in order to make that happen, you would not raise him in a warzone.

He nodded, quietly acknowledging.

He glanced at the clock behind you, cleared his throat. “I should probably get going.”

You watched him drain the last sip, then move towards the sink.

“Cheol, just leave it.” You tried to intercept him, but he was already rinsing his mug clean.

“Nah, I got it.” He set the mug on the rack and wiped his hands on his pants before heading toward the door. You rolled your eyes at the gesture, but bit your tongue. That’s not your job anymore, you reminded yourself then followed him toward the front door.

He paused at the threshold. “Thanks for the coffee.”

His hand hovered near the door latch, the other tucked into his pocket like he was restraining himself from reaching for you. His jaw tightened and shoulders lifted slightly, as if bracing against a familiar pull.

It had taken months of therapy to stand this close without recoiling. To be in the same room without wanting to rip each other’s head off. Still, tonight felt different. Heavier. Like something was pressing in from the edges.

You gave a small nod. “Drive safe,” you said automatically.

“Yeah.” His mouth tugged faintly, somewhere between a smile and a sigh.

“You should go before the wind picks up.” It was a half-hearted nudge, more suggestion than insistence.

“Guess I should.” But he didn’t move.

His gaze drifted—not to your eyes this time, but lower, to your mouth. You felt it again, that subtle shift in the air.

You looked away first, clearing your throat, but the tension didn’t ease. You swallowed hard. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” he echoed. He shifted his weight, hesitating—then stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you. You felt the uncertainty of his hold, but once you leaned in, it settled into something familiar.

It’s just muscle memory, you convinced yourself.

Your hands found the back of his jacket, and for a moment, you let yourself rest there. Into that nook between his chest, the warmth from it, the steady thrum of his pulse beating…It all came rushing back. The ache beneath. Not quite yearning, but something close to it. A whisper of what used to live between you, before the fights, before the silence. Before it all fell apart.

His hold slightly tightened, making you wonder if he felt it too.

He pulled back slowly, reluctantly. Then he opened the door. The cool air slipped in, and you flinched—not from the sudden chill, but from the thought of letting that door close behind him.

“Cheol!” His name tumbled out before you could stop it.

He turned immediately, brows furrowed.

Heart racing, you took a step, close enough to hear the subtle hitch in his breath.

Before your brain could process, your hand lifted, brushing along his jawline. His lashes fluttered, leaning into your touch instinctively.

But logic cut through. You shouldn’t reach for him. You shouldn’t want him. You just…shouldn’t.

You shook your head and stepped back. “Sorry. I… I need to stop.”

He caught your wrist, his hold gentle but firm. “Is that what you want?”

What you wanted was to talk yourself out of this.

He moved closer, crowding your space, whispering, “Tell me to stop.”

But the words wouldn’t come. You were standing at the edge of a cliff, telling yourself not to jump, and yet your body leaned forward anyway.

“Don’t.”

His arm banded around your waist, pulling you against him as his mouth claimed yours. No hesitation left—only the inevitable you’d been running from. He broke the kiss long enough to kick the door shut, the lock clicking into place.

And then you’re freefalling.

***********************

His lips crashed against yours, with raw, desperate hunger that took your breath away. Your hands flew to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer in response.

Every step toward the bedroom was careful, breaths ragged but hushed—the kind of restraint born from not wanting to wake your son.

A loose floorboard betrayed you. It gave a sharp, sudden creak beneath Seungcheol’s foot, making you both go still. You both held your breaths, listening for any stirring from across the narrow hallway.

Nothing. Just the long stretch of silence.

Relief flickered, and desire resumed. Your fingers curled at his nape, tugging him back down to your mouth.

You moved again, a tangle of limbs and mouths stumbling through the dark hallway. The sound of the bedroom latch barely registered before you spun him, shoving him backward until he fell onto the mattress with a laugh. He barely had a moment to sit up before you were straddling him, settling into his lap and claiming his mouth again. It was as if the last two years had been erased. Just this—the heated, possessive slide of his tongue against yours, so intoxicating it made you ache with the regret of ever letting it go. His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a tenderness that made your chest hurt, your body molding to his like it had never left.

Your mouth broke from his, trailing a path of wet kisses down the column of his throat. You nipped at his collarbone, and he arched into you. His hands slid down your spine, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. He ground his hard length against the ache blooming between your legs.

“A little eager, are we?” you teased, your voice breathless.

“I don’t want to play games,” he rasped, his hand already sliding under your shirt to palm your breast, the material of your bra a rough tease against your skin. He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You shook your head, a shaky breath escaping you. With a dark smirk, he peeled your shirt off, his movements sure. Your bra followed, his fingers expertly working the clasp. He leaned back, his gaze raking over you, hungry and unabashed.

You cleared your throat. “My eyes are up here, sir,” you joked, though your voice was weaker than you intended.

He chuckled softly. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with awe.

The warmth that spread through your chest was dangerous, a feeling you couldn’t afford tonight. What you needed was raw, not soft. The cool air on your bare skin was a shock, but it was nothing compared to the searing heat of his mouth as it closed over a peaked nipple. You gasped, your back bowing as your fingers knotted in his hair. His tongue swirled and teased, his teeth grazing the sensitive tip with just enough pressure to make you whimper. Shocks of pleasure ricocheted through you, settling between your thighs, where the need for him was so painful you could physically feel it.

Your bottoms felt like a flimsy barrier against the slick heat that begged for him. You moaned, your hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt until he growled in frustration and yanked it over his head himself. You splayed your palms across the warm, solid expanse of his chest, the sight of him bare and wanting making your head spin. He kissed you again, a deep, claiming kiss, before his hand dipped past your waistband.

Without hesitation, his fingers slipped through your slick folds. “Oh, shit… all this for me?” he murmured, his voice a low growl that made your knees weak.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, rocking your hips against his hand, shamelessly chasing the friction. He found your clit, swollen and desperate, and began to circle it with the exact, maddening pressure he knew you liked. Your eyes rolled back as white-hot pleasure shot up your spine.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me hear you.” He slipped two fingers inside you, making you whimper at the sudden, perfect stretch. “So wet. So fucking perfect for me.”

Your hips moved on their own, riding his hand as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. You were so close, teetering on the edge from his touch alone, but it wasn’t enough.

“I need you.”

“Let me get you off like this,” he urged, his fingers stroking deeper. “You’re right there. I can feel it.”

Damn him and every damn secret of your body he still owned.

“No,” you choked out, forcing your hand past his to palm the hard length straining against his pants. You gave him a firm squeeze, pausing his movements as his hips jerked with a groan. “I said, I need you. Now.”

He relented, withdrawing his fingers, the loss a brief, hollow ache. But then his hands were on your bottoms, tugging them down your legs in one rough, urgent motion. You kicked them away, completely bare before him, consumed by a need so visceral it burned away every last shred of control you had.

He made quick work of his bottoms, and when you turned from the nightstand, he was gloriously naked and fully hard. A sight you knew by heart, yet one that still made your breath catch. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto the bed effortlessly. The air thickened instantly with his scent—and that fucking cologne. The smell that had been absent for a while was back, and you knew it would haunt your sheets for days.

As he settled between your thighs, he paused. His gaze landed on the foil square in your hand, brows furrowing with surprise. It was a silent but loaded question.

“What?” You pushed the packet into his palm, chuckling. “Safety first.”

A wry smile touched his lips, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of jealousy. “Who are you fucking?”

You held his stare, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it feel like a power play. “Right now, you,” you finally answered.

A slow grin spread across his face. The condom was forgotten for a second as he crushed his mouth to yours, the kiss deeper, hungrier. He broke away to tear the foil with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours. The rustle was loud in the quiet room. You watched as his hands rolled it down his length—a riveting yet unfamiliar sight you’d hated yourself for wanting.

When he finally settled back over you, the skin-on-skin contact you craved was gone, replaced by a thin, sterile barrier that was a stark reminder that you were no longer the same people you used to be.

But the beauty of muscle memory is that it doesn’t care about time. All it takes is the right prompt, and your body flows right back into its old rhythm instinctively. His touch was that prompt.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the heat of him an insistent pressure against your slick flesh. He slid in, and the stretch and fullness took your breath away. A delicious ache that chased away every thought that wasn’t him, here, now.

“Missed this,” he grunted, more to himself than to you.

You didn’t answer. You just hooked your legs around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back, and pulled him deeper. “Fuck… you’re so tight.”

A whimper was all you could manage, your nails scraping desperate lines down his shoulders. The feeling of being so utterly filled, the familiar shape of him, the alien friction of the latex—it overwhelmed your senses.

This was Seungcheol. Your Seungcheol. And yet, at the same time, he wasn’t.

His hips slowly pulled back—almost all the way out—before a rolling thrust buried him to the hilt again, forcing your back to arch off the bed. He set a punishing rhythm from the first stroke, deep and relentless, each one hitting a place inside you that made your eyes roll back and flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” he demanded.

Your eyes flew open, meeting his with that same fierce, stubborn energy he’d always known. Neither of you said a word, but the argument was right there in the air between you. Every snap of his hips was a question: Remember this? And every helpless gasp he elicited from your lips was your only answer: Yes.

He shifted, angling his hips, and the next thrust dragged directly over your clit. You clenched around him again, milking his length as he drove into you, his rhythm unyielding.

“God, you fuck me so good,” you admitted shamelessly.

You were completely and utterly blinded by how good he made you feel. A cocky smirk touched his lips.

He withdrew, leaving you achingly empty for a heartbeat. He manhandled you onto your side, folding your legs together until your knees touched, then he entered you from behind. The new angle was devastating. The coil inside you tightened violently, pleasure building with every rut of his hips.

You could feel your climax approaching, a tidal wave gathering force just offshore. A cry tore from your throat, the intensity of his movement combined with the utter helplessness of your position hurtling you toward the edge.

“I’m close,” you gasped.

He grunted, his voice strained. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

His words were the final trigger. The room spun into a blur. Your body seized, muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic waves. The sharp and all-consuming pleasure ripped through you, leaving you trembling and boneless.

He fucked you through it, his movements becoming more frantic, chasing his own release. The sound of skin slapping against skin, his ragged breaths, your own whimpers filled the room.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice raw as his body seized above yours, then you felt that deep, rhythmic pulse as he spilled into you. For a moment, his full weight crushed you, his face buried in your neck, his breath ragged against your skin. Then he propped himself up, his chest heaving, his cock still inside you. The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and confusion. His eyes met yours before he rolled off, collapsing beside you. The air on your sweat-slicked skin felt cold with the absence of his warmth surrounding you.

You stared blankly at the ceiling for a few moments, until unspoken instinct drew your heads to turn, your movements sickeningly synchronized. The raw hunger in his gaze had faded, leaving behind a chilling clarity that was a perfect reflection of the horror dawning in your own gut. What the fuck did we just do?

The question hung in the air, joining the tense silence that had replaced the frantic sounds moments before.

***********************

While Seungcheol showered, you dressed by muscle memory, each layer settling on your skin like a reminder you didn’t want. The soft fabric felt foreign against skin still marked by the raw scrape of his stubble. The elastic of your underwear dug in like a bruising echo of his fingers on your flesh. Every piece of clothing carried its own impossible weight, yet none of it compared to the phantom heaviness of him on top of you.

You floated in those memories, untethered, until a single thought yanked you back to reality: your son.

You slipped out of the bedroom and padded down the hall. You eased the door open, and there he was—your beautiful boy, in a perfect, peaceful heap under the blankets. Mouth parted, one leg dangling free.

A pang of guilt twisted in your stomach. You’d been just feet away, his father pinning you to the bed while the storm raged outside. And here he’d remained, safe in his quiet sanctuary—completely oblivious.

You watched the steady rise and fall of his small chest, forcing your racing thoughts to slow and sync with his breathing, summoning your soul back to the one thing in your world that was still pure.

***********************

It was quieter when you made your way back to the bedroom. The shower was off. The door was ajar, and steam drifted out into the hallway, and with it, the scent of your shower gel and shampoo. It was another jarring reminder that he had been in your space.

He stood with his back to you, a towel slung low on his hips, water tracing paths over the expanse of his shoulders as he dried his hair. You pursed your lips, taking in the sight in front of you. Even now, the sheer sight of him was a physical blow, undoing you all over again.

He turned, and a slow, knowing smirk curved as he caught you staring. Heat flooded your face. You tore your gaze away, feeling like some flustered prude, instead of somebody who’d just been thoroughly fucked.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he chuckled, his voice a low rasp. “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” The light, teasing tone was an attempt to bridge this chasm of awkwardness that had opened between you. He was right, though. You knew every ridge of his chest, the deep V that tapered below his navel, down to the way his skin tasted. But that was before. In another life. Now, that knowledge felt like contraband you were still carrying—and you had to get rid of it.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you muttered tightly. You pulled the door shut, attempting to contain the potent, dangerous temptation of him on the other side.

***********************

Down the hall, you heard your son’s bedroom door open and close. Moments later, Seungcheol appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair still damp from the shower.

“Sounds like there’s a break in the storm,” he said, his voice soft.

“Yeah. It looked nasty for a moment there.” You turned back to the coffee machine, your back a rigid line.

He leaned against the counter, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you. “Looks like you finally remodeled the bathroom.”

“Sure did.”

“Looks amazing. Better than what I could have done,” he joked, a weak echo of his old bragging.

He cleared his throat. “So, uhm… are you okay?”

You glanced over, your expression carefully neutral. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were quiet after. I got worried when I got out of the shower and you were gone.”

“I just went to check on him,” you said, brushing it off.

He nodded slowly, his eyes searching yours, refusing to let it go. “And after that? You kind of ran off.” His voice dropped, the question a direct challenge.

You let out a sharp exasperated breath. “Look. So we had a moment. We’re both adults, right? Do we really need a post-mortem?”

You felt him retreat, the walls you’d just thrown up brick by brick coming up again. The silence stretched, and in your desperation to break it, you grasped for the first weapon you could find.

“So, I heard she took him to the zoo last week,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “Without you.”

The accusation hung in the air. It stopped him dead. She.

“S-sorry,” he stammered, running a hand through his damp hair. “I know we agreed I have to always be there, but the office called, and we were in crisis mode. I just didn’t want to let him down. She assured me she wouldn’t let—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, your tone deceptively calm. “I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there would be times when he’d have to be alone with her when you have him. I mean, she lives there.”

Hearing the calmness in your voice didn’t ease his worries, so you met his gaze with a small smile. “Relax. All I’m saying is that if she’s alone with our son, I’d like to know.” You knew you’d regret the next words even as you said them. “If you want, you can give her my number for emergencies. Tell her I don’t bite.”

“Thanks,” he said, the relief washing over him. “It… means a lot that you would offer that.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “He, uh, also wouldn’t shut up about her sea lion impression. He brings that little plushie she got him everywhere.” The words spilled out too fast. You were talking just to fill the quiet, anything to drown out your thoughts—whether she made him groan like that, whether her taste lingered on his tongue, whether he was already counting the minutes until he could see her again. Stop! You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah. She’s great with him.” He smiled fondly.

She’s great.

That was the sound of a door closing, a line drawn in the sand. The mind‑blowing sex was a distant memory, just like the version of him that had once been yours. What stood here now was just Seungcheol. Your son’s father. Her partner.

“So, about next week,” he began, hands sinking into his pockets.

“You can pick him up whenever. Just call. I’m working from home anyway,” you cut in, a tight smile stretched across your face.

“Oh. Okay. So… meet at the usual neutral pickup point?”

“Actually,” you said, the thought forming even as it left your mouth, a reckless impulse disguised as efficiency. “It might be easier if you pick him up here after I get him from school. It’s on your way, right?”

He froze. Not shocked, but slightly confused. As if he was replaying the sentence in his head, checking if he’d heard it right. You’d never let him pick your son up from the house. Not since the custody agreement. And for a beat too long, he let himself believe this meant something else.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice softer than it should have been.

“Yeah, it’s only practical!” You shrugged like it was nothing, hoping it would dash whatever internal monologue he was having in his head.

“Right. Practical.” He nodded slowly. The moment stretched, his eyes searching your face for a crack you weren’t offering. Then he redirected, building on the practicality of your offer, to make it sound more justifiable.

“Or… what if I just grab him from school? I get off early Tuesday. I can swing by, pick up his things, save you the interruption.”

You’d only meant to extend an olive branch, to prove you were unaffected. Yet his counteroffer hung there, reasonable and simple, and a reminder that you inadvertently cracked open a door you weren’t sure you wanted open.

“He gets out at 1:15, right? I can come by at 12:30?” he added, nudging that door wider.

The silence weighed heavily with words trapped in your chests. He was trying to be helpful. You were trying to pretend you didn’t need it. Neither attempt succeeded.

“Sure. I’ll have his bag ready.”

“Great. Tuesday at 12:30?”

“Tuesday at 12:30,” you echoed.

He leaned in, aiming for your mouth, but you turned at the last second. His lips brushed your cheek. Tonight was a one‑off. A lapse in judgment. Nothing more.

“See you,” he murmured awkwardly.

“Bye,” you whispered, your throat tightening around the word.

You listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, the creak of the door, the soft click as it shut. The sound brought a dull ache in your chest. You stayed where you were, surrounded by the scent he left behind and the echo of things you didn’t say.

But as your gaze drifted to the small pile of your son’s toys on the floor, the ache settled into something steadier, something you can almost convince yourself is peace. You didn’t lose everything. You just outgrew what wasn’t meant to last. Even if a part of you still wished it had.

Damn muscle memory.

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

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it’s your annual christmas party at the company. the conference room is decorated with wreaths and ribbons, the lights turned down to create that moody atmosphere. that moody atmosphere grows darker somehow with mingyu sulking in the corner of said room.

you laugh when seungcheol points this out, swatting him lightly. seungcheol knows your boyfriend through and through, even becoming drinking buddies with him. but with you around, he knows mingyu gets grumpier. off to the side, mingyu’s mood darkens even more.

you sharing your beautiful smile and laugh with someone else? not possible.

he stomps his way over to your group, that sulky look still stuck on his face, lips jutted out. when he reaches you, his hands wrap around your neck, pulling you close. his grip almost makes you stumble, but mingyu would never let you fall; his hold tightens to steady you.

he whines softly in your ear, “don’t leave me alone.”

you only smirk. your hands slide down to his ass, giving it a squeeze.

“be good, puppy. let me have my fun,” you whisper, your voice dropping an octave.

mingyu gulps. he bites his lip to stop the whimpers threatening to escape. you did this on purpose —dragging him to a party, leaving him alone while you flirt and prance with your colleagues. all of that in a miniskirt and his favourite blouse. it’s his favourite because it pushes your tits up just right, leaving the perfect amount of cleavage for him to stare at.

and instead of him being the only one who gets to look, it’s everyone in your department, all of them getting a full view of his angel, his beauty, his girlfriend.

you feel him hover behind you, so close his chest brushes your back with every breath. mingyu’s touch isn’t subtle; he’s got both hands on your waist like he’s anchoring himself, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your hips.

it’s possessive without him saying a single word.

“good boy,” you whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

mingyu’s inhale is sharp. his fingers tighten, almost trembling.

you reach for a drink, and the bartender hands it over with a polite smile. mingyu’s grip immediately locks down, chest pressing into you as if the simple act of someone smiling at you is a threat.

“relax,” you say, amused.

“can’t,” he grumbles. “everyone keeps staring.”

you bring the glass to your lips and take a sip, intentionally slow. mingyu watches like he’s the one getting drunk off the sight.

you turn around in his hold, both his hands sliding down to the backs of your thighs automatically. he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, he just wants you close.

you smirk, leaning in just enough that your lips ghost over his jaw. “clingy.”

“only with you,” he shoots back instantly, sounding almost defensive. “you make me like this.”

you laugh under your breath, soft but warm. mingyu’s entire face softens at the sound, like he’s been waiting all night for it.

a coworker waves at you from across the room, calling your name. you wave back casually.

mingyu immediately pulls you closer, chin dropping to your shoulder, like he’s physically shielding you from being approached.

“stop that,” you whisper.

“no,” he mutters, arms tightening around you like a cage. “stay with me.”

you slip your fingers into his hair and tug lightly—just enough to make him breathe out a shaky whine.

“i’ll stay,” you say, voice low, “but only because you look cute when you’re jealous.”

mingyu’s cheeks tint pink, and he ducks his head, hiding it in the crook of your neck like he’s embarrassed.

“don’t say stuff like that,” he mumbles, lips brushing your skin.

“why not?”

“because i’ll do anything you tell me to.”

that makes you grin. you pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, your hands sliding down his sides.

“anything, huh?”

mingyu nods, desperate and obedient. “anything.”

-

your hands grip his cock so tightly, he can only whimper. your soaked panties all crumpled, placed so perfectly in his mouth, acting as a gag. all his groans and noises all muffled.

“tsk, tsk, tsk” you taunt, “puppy, i already told you, you gotta keep quiet,”

he actually mewls the moment your hand squeezes the tip. his cock bright red, hard and huge next to your tiny hands, the visual is to die for. mingyu can only whimper, he knows if he tries to stop you, you might actually stop and leave him with the mess he made.

your movements are so slow, taunting him. the sight of him for you is equally as delicious. a huge, handsome, beautiful man that can flip this around anytime he wants but chooses to bend to your every will.

“b-baby,” he whines.

his hands gripping the sheets, gasping from the pressure of your hands. his mouth opens to release silent moans as your hands start jerking him, up and down. your grip becoming increasingly tighter. he knows he’s been a good boy, knows that you might reward him but now, he can only imagine the feeling of your tight cunt around his cock. for now, he can only enjoy your hands.

you watch as his face contorts with pleasure, his thighs shaking in your hold. you know he’s close, so you jerk him faster, harder. his cock dripping as you fist his cock. you focus your strokes onto his sensitive tip.

his groans only encourage you. and mingyu, oh your good boy, begs. knows he needs permission, knows his rules despite the torture you put him through all night.

“p-please, mommy,” his sweet whimpers, “p-please let me c-cum,”

“of course, my baby.”

his cum spurts from the slit of his cock, the liquid easily covering your hands. he’s gasping for air, hips still jerking your hands for some sort of friction. as he’s coming down from his high, you pull your hands away. he whimpers at the loss but is silenced when you scoop out his cum, licking all of it from your hands.

you look almost drunk. drunk of his cum, drunk of him. your eyes blown with lust. when your eyes look up, finally matching with his, the tip of your mouth curls into a smirk.

It's scorching twenty-five degrees Celsius outside and it's not even ten o'clock in the morning. The air in the bedroom is so thick you think you can taste it on your tongue. Maybe even drink, like soup? Who knows, you have to try later. Later, when your brain is functioning properly. If that time ever comes at all. Right now it feels so, so far away.

The night brought little to no reprieve, and the day promises only a deeper, more diabolical humidity. You can feel it pressing against the windows, a lethargic, suffocating blanket.

However, you do not care.

All you care about is the wet, muffled plap, plap, plap of Seungcheol driving his cock into your sopping cunt. The sound is obscene, a squelching that syncs with the frantic beat of your heart somehow. Your hair is a disaster, half splayed out on the now-damp pillowcase, half glued in darkened strands to your sweaty temples and throat. You cling to him, your fingers slipping on his skin, trying to anchor your dissolving self to the solid, moving reality of your man. He's just as slick, just as slippery. His hair sticks to his forehead in dark petals, and a bright, splotchy pink flush blooms across his cheeks, spreading down his neck and over the broad plane of his chest.

Delirium is a gentle word for it. Your brain is empty—scoured clean by tingling sensation of ecstasy that the stretch from his girth provides,—rendered beautifully, perfectly dumb. All that exists is the three-hour arc of this morning, a single, unbroken thread of pleasure. Seungcheol woke you at the crack of dawn, the first light a pale grey at the window, with kisses between your legs that were less a greeting and more a deep, reverent conversation. He'd had a whole make out session with your pussy, his tongue writing promises you're still feeling.

That was about two hours ago.

Now, he's plowing your poor, abused pussy, the stretch a familiar, devastating burn. The thin summer cover is still tangled around your bodies, a foolish addition to the furnace you've built together. It traps the heat, magnifies it, until every slide of skin on skin is accompanied by the slick whisper of sweat. Your bodies gleam in the dim room. Both of you pant open-mouthed into the minimal space between your faces, and you swear you can see small, ghostly puff clouds leaving your lips— a ridiculous thought, born of a brain fried by heat and relentless, coiling pleasure.

From time to time Seungcheol slows down and takes a gulp of hot air which brings him pretty much no relief, neither does it to you. The slowing down, the pause. It is necessary, sure, otherwise your hearts would probably give out. What a way to make a headline on the local news channel, you think to yourself briefly. Your glazed eyes slide over to Seungcheol's neck and you swallow, suddenly salivating at the sight of sweat beading on his skin, a particular droplet growing bigger and bigger until it begins to slowly run down the column of his throat. You can't take it.

Grabbing him at the back of his neck you pull yourself up just enough to plant you lips over his neck and all but slurp. His skin is salty and tastes faintly of soap or his perfume or all of it mixed—you don't know. But you know that it drives you mad. And so you lap at his skin, going from the little hollow at the base of it to the underside of his jaw in a single broad stripe, to the spot beneath his ear. You almost reach the soft flesh of his cheek, hypnotised and entranced.

"Baby—" Seungcheol's voice is breathy and strained. You're sure you can hear a soft moan that mixes in there. So pretty, he always moans so prettily it's a crime.

You're straining his neck with your hold. You sigh and drop back down onto the damp bedsheets, breathless and licking you lips, tasting the salt on them.

Seungcheol slows down and takes a deep slow breath, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. You feel dizzy just being fucked like that and you can't imagine what it's like for Seungcheol. If you had to ride him you'd probably faint midway from heat and dehydration.

When he starts moving again you can feel every ridge, every vein of him. The head of his cock is brutal, spreading your gummy walls with each return, again and again. It feels like your entire consciousness has gathered there, hyper-aware, a live sparkling wire connected directly to your spine. Your hands wander over the expanse of his back, feeling the powerful, corded muscles roll and flex beneath the smooth, heated canvas of his skin. You can't help it; you dig the tips of your nails in, not to hurt but to feel that he's real and not a figment of your fatally fried imagination. He falters, a full-body shudder rippling through him, and a ragged groan tears from his throat.

"Fuck. Do that Again."

His voice is gravel, throat dry after moaning and groaning and going at it so intensely. You comply, scratching lightly, and he curses, driving into you with renewed force. The sound he makes is more animal than human.

There isn't much talking. It's all sound, guttural and primal, drawn from a place far preceding any language. Grunts, choked off whines, the wet sloppy symphony of your joining. You're sure you don't sound like people anymore. You're creatures of need, of sweat and salt and seeking even more planes of contact when there's barely any more.

Your vision swims, tears of overwhelm spilling from the corners of your eyes to trace hot paths into your hairline. You blink up at him. Seungcheol above you is a vision, a masterpiece of exertion. His big brown eyes are heated, dark pools where his pupils have swallowed the irises almost whole. Even in the dim light, you can see the carnal, unfiltered want in them, a mirror to your own. It makes you squeal, a high-pitched, desperate sound, and your cunt clenches tightly around his persistent intrusion.

Seungcheol's rhythm stutters and he lowers himself onto you, your bodies sticking together under his weight. "Jesus. You're tryin' to kill me."

He says it into the hollow of your throat, his lips moving against your damp skin. He doesn't stop. If anything, his pace becomes more focused, more relentless.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," he whispers, the command a hot breath in your ear.

You're more than happy to oblige. One hand slides down your own slick stomach, through the wet that's pooled there, finding the swollen, throbbing nub of your clit. The contact sends a shock through your system, a sharp, bright sizzle that makes your legs jerk. You draw tight, frantic circles, the pleasure building in sharp, tingling spikes, and your sounds shift into broken mewls, short, high pitched whimpers that you don't even recognize as your own.

"That's it," he grunts, his own breathing a harsh counterpoint to your squeaks. "Let me hear you. Let me see you."

He props himself more comfortably on his elbows and his hands bracket your head, his forearms caging you in. The position allows him to go deeper (as if he wasn't already rearranging your guts), and you both share a sharp intake of breath. The new angle brushes a spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

"There?" he rasps, watching your face crumble.

All you can do is nod, a frantic, jerky movement. Words are beyond you.

"Tell me."

"There!" you manage to gasp, the word punching out of you. "Right there, please—"

He sets a brutal, perfect pace, hitting that same electrifying spot with every single thrust. The world narrows to the point where your bodies meet, to the friction of his hips against yours, to the maddening circles your own fingers are tracing. The heat is everywhere, inside and out, a consuming fever.

"I can feel you," he mutters, his own control clearly fraying. "Getting so tight. So fucking perfect. Gonna cum for me?"

You can only whimper in response. The coil in your belly is wound impossibly tight, a spring about to snap. You're crying fat tears, teetering on the edge, and yet your eyes are locked on his, on the sweat dripping from his chin onto your chest. The room smells of sex and summer heat and your and his sweat.

"Look at me," Seungcheol demands when your eyes begin to roll back into your scull, his voice low and thick. "Look at me when you let go."

You force yourself to focus to your best ability, considering your vision is blurry and your ears begin to ring. That's when the pressure breaks.

It shatters through you like a wave of white-hot liquid, starting from that deep, touched place and radiating outwards until your very fingertips are buzzing and tingling. Your back arches off the bed, a silent scream caught in your throat before it escapes as a long, shattered moan. Your cunt convulses around him, rhythmic, pulsing clutches that milk his length. You wrap your arms and legs around him, trying to anchor yourself to the present. The sensation of his hot skin under your touch is so solid and real that you can't help but cling even tighter.

Seungcheol's face transforms, a grimace of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He fucks you through it, his movements becoming jagged, losing their rhythm.

"Oh, fuck, fuck—take it, take it," he chants, a mantra as he chases his own end.

With three more deep, grinding thrusts, he stills, buried to the hilt. A deep, ragged groan is torn from his chest as he follows you over, his own release flooding you with warmth that mingles with the heat already pooling between you. You feel the frantic throb of his cock inside you, the final, intimate surrender.

For a long moment, there is only the sound of ragged breathing, the distant hum of a struggling air conditioner somewhere else in the building. Seungcheol collapses, most of his weight coming down on you, but you welcome it—the solid, heavy, sweaty reality of him. He nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his lips pressed to your pounding pulse, kissing your skin lazily in attempts to soothe.

"Hell of a way to beat the heat," he mumbles, voice slurred with exhaustion and satisfaction.

A breathless, giddy laugh escapes you. You drag a trembling hand up his damp back and thread through his wet hair, scratching the scalp and tugging on short strands affectionately. He purrs and wraps his arms tighter around you.

"You're insane. We're going to melt."

"Already melted," he corrects, lifting his head just enough to kiss you, slow and deep and tasting of salt. "You melted me."

You stay like that for a long time, tangled in the damp sheets, in each other. Too lazy and fucked out to move to the shower. You'll have to move eventually, of course, drink a bottle of water at least, turn on the AC, go about your day but for now you will let the world outside get hotter, brighter, the humidity gather its strength. For now it's just you Seungcheol and the sweaty mess that you made of your bed.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.