SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ When you enter the Love Island villa as a bombshell, you spark an instant, high-stakes connection with the intense and complicated Rafe Cameron. As you navigate each others web of secrets, messy betrayals, and jealous rivals, you must decide if your undeniable chemistry is a genuine match or just a casualty of the game...
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, smut, mentions of past relationships, suggestive content, mentions of addiction, circumstantial cheating/infidelity, general LI drama, arguments, mentions of mental health, drinking, more detailed warnings for each individual chapter
SERIES TAG NAV‧₊˚ #fic analysis☀️ | #sotb | #mailbox:sotb
some quick (kinda important) notes
EPISODES
The Deep End (Day 1+2) | tweets
2. Muggy Mornings and Moonlit Pasts (Day 3+4) | tweets
Summary: Kim Namjoon finally got out of military and back to the unwilling makeup artist. You may or may not have promised to marry him after the military service just so he would leave you alone. And well, he was now out to collect your promise (One shot)
Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Smut, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: First of all, Happy birthday to me. Second of all, I love Namjoon okay bye I hope you enjoy
The kings were back and you were still here.
It was as though the entire eighteen months did not happen. Hybe, their own kingdom, welcomed them with open arms, fans were roaming the streets in show of their unwavering support for the group and media from all over the world were broadcasting of their return. Likewise, the boys headed straight to the company as soon as they stepped out of the military compound as though they couldn’t wait a single second to reclaim their thrones.
Except for the apparent changes in their bodies as they adapted to the rigorous routine of the military, it was like nothing changed. It was evident by the way he was shamelessly staring at you as the meeting presided. Unwavering. Unblinking. You could feel the hair at the back of your neck stood up from the crushing uncomfortableness brought by his unwanted attention. You kept your gaze fixed forward, refusing to meet his eyes, except for that one slip—when you caught him sitting back, arms crossed, eyes heavy on you. Taehyung chuckled lowly at the sight of his hyung who looked like he was barely constraining himself. Meanwhile, you wanted to leave the building and perhaps if not for the ironclad contract, the country.
You had gone without this for eighteen months.
You thought those months were enough to extinguish whatever fire he had for you.
You couldn’t have been more wrong.
You should have known that a man such as Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone who let go so easily as evident by the way he persevered to lead BTS from a small company’s gamble to a worldwide phenomenon.
You should have known that he was someone who held promises in high regard, especially when it came from you.
“And so, that concludes our meeting!” Bang PD announced with a clap before addressing Namjoon and Taehyung. “Welcome back, boys and let’s take over the music industry once again.”
The staff cheered for them, some clapped their backs, congratulating them. You, on the other hand, were already one foot out of the room, so close to freedom when Bang PD called you. You groaned inwardly. There just went your escape. “I’m sorry for pulling you out of the TXT team. I know how much you like working with them. But you know how particular Namjoon is,” he sighed, his tone apologetic. “He didn’t want to proceed with his schedule if his usual team is not there.”
You didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t that he was particular with his team. No. It was just that he was particular when it came to you. You must admit that the entire time you spent working for them was one of the best years of your life. Despite the job being demanding, the boys made it worthwhile with the salary, benefits and of course, the friendship you built with them. The job honestly opened a lot of doors for you, doors that you could walk through any moment had it not been for one foolish mistake.
Everyday felt like living your dreams. You were literally living the life people dreamed of until he turned it into a nightmare. Or was it you who sabotaged yourself? Was it you who flew too close to the fire only to find out that the fire would rather burnout than let go?
It honestly started with a simple, harmless admiration.
You were with them almost every single day. You weren’t blind. You saw how the boys held this unexplainable charm that inevitably drew the fans. You noticed. But it was harder not to notice Namjoon more. He was charming, polite, a true leader in every sense of the word, intelligent, and well… he was like a man written by a woman.
As someone who had to work closely with his face, you could see the dark bags in his eyes, the tiredness that could only be hidden by makeup. He was always quiet while you worked with him, only greeting you a quiet good morning before closing his eyes and letting you do the work while the other members filled the room with noise and energy.
The next schedule with him, you were sure to buy him coffee after asking around the staff what he preferred. When you placed it on the table in front of him, he blinked at it, bleary-eyed.
He looked surprised, blinking his sleepy eyes before slowly drinking the coffee, hiding his dimpled smile. It became a quiet ritual after that. You’d bring the coffee; he’d give you a warm smile and a soft “thank you.” And each time, those simple gestures were enough to warm you far more than the drink ever could. It started with coffee.
Then came the conversations—short at first, until one day he asked about the book in your bag. The next thing you knew, the two of you were trading thoughts about novels while you brushed powder across his skin.
He smiled more now. His eyes seemed brighter. And in those moments, it was easy to believe he was warmer too.
If there was a thing such as a slow burn, yours was probably the slowest.
You didn’t even think your crush would turn out to something more, and at that point you just truly felt bad for the guy. He was falling asleep from working too hard. You’d been pulled from your usual schedule and assigned to another group, accompanying them overseas for an entire week. By the third day, you were exhausted, halfway through a late dinner in your hotel room, when your phone lit up.
Where are you?
You stared at the unknown number.
I’m sorry. Who’s this?
A pause. Then—
Namjoon.
Before you could even process, another message came through.
Where are you?
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.
I’m in Japan. Do you need anything?
When will you come back?
On the 28th. Why?
The next day, you were asked by the company to come back immediately. You weren’t told why.
When you walked in the makeup room once again, you heard someone muttered thank god.
Namjoon was already there, one leg crossed over the other, glancing up from his phone—not at you, but at your reflection in the mirror. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, the kind of look that pinned you in place.
Looking back, that should have been the first red flag.
You weren’t assigned to another group since then.
Suffice to say, it was the beginning of Namjoon monopolizing your time —one subtle scheduling change at a time, until every shift, every day, every hour seemed to circle back to him.
“What are you two?” Hoseok once asked, the ever-present smile in his face was as wide as ever.
His question caught you off guard you until he clarified that he was asking about you and the group’s leader. You said that you were friends. Hoseok lost his smile right then and there.
You weren’t delusional to hope that a simple harmless crush of yours would turn into a relationship. First, you didn’t think you would survive being in a relationship with an idol and second, Namjoon didn’t even like you.
You shrugged off that peculiar interaction.
“You should come to the party!”
You were already shaking your head before they could even finish their sentence. Parties weren’t your scene, and after the exhausting wrap on their album shoot, all you wanted was to go home and collapse into bed.
“Just stop by, noona! We promise we’ll have the drivers take you straight to your apartment!” Jimin pleaded, leaning forward with that disarming smile that made it harder to say no.
“I don’t want to be an imposition, really—” you began, already rehearsing your polite refusal.
“I’ll give out a bonus if you come,” Namjoon said suddenly, his voice cutting cleanly through the room.
You turned to him, startled. He’d been quiet through the entire exchange, absorbed in his phone—or so you thought. But now his eyes were on you, calm, unreadable, as if he’d been listening the whole time.
“…I’m going.”
Jimin whooped in victory. Namjoon just went back to his phone, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth in the mirror.
It was where it all truly went down.
The party was exclusive only for Hybe, everyone was having fun with all the drinks, food and the music. The members were obviously enjoying themselves as they should. They deserved it after the crucial several months of back-to-back schedule. You’d been content to ride the wave of celebration for a while, but the alcohol was beginning to blur your thoughts, the heat of the room pressing in. Fresh air seemed like the only solution. You weren’t sure why the balcony called to you, but you went, slipping out into the cool night. The muted bass of the party thudded faintly behind you as you inhaled deeply, the crisp air clearing your head.
Leaning against the railing, you tilted your head back to admire the stars—until a puff of smoke curled into the air on your right.
You turned.
There, half-swallowed by the shadows, stood Namjoon. The glow of the ember lit the edge of his face, the cigarette resting casually between his lips. His eyes met yours through the haze, unreadable.
You blinked, owlishly.
He looked at your lips, heat in his eyes apparent. It was quiet, no one dared to say a word. Namjoon stepped closer to you, his thick thighs enclosed by dark slacks and he didn’t stop until he was just a shy inch from you.
Your eyes were at his chest, and ever so slowly, you met his draconic eyes.
He smiled.
And you were gone.
His hand was on the back of your head, the other tilting your jaw up to meet his as he kissed you.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. It was hungry, ravenous, dangerous. Namjoon drove you back until your spine hit the wall, hidden in shadow. His lips devoured yours, his tongue claiming without asking, playing with yours as if it already belonged to him. He tasted right—alarmingly right.
His hands roamed lower, gripping your thigh, thumb tracing along the strip of skin your dress exposed. The restraint in his touch was thin, trembling.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” he growled against your mouth, “every single fucking day.”
A beat.
Your breaths filling the air.
“…What’s stopping you?”
That was your second mistake.
The night was a blur.
Not because it was unmemorable, but because everything happened so fast.
Before you knew it, you were in his apartment. You heard the door click shut behind you, and as ominous as it sounded, you remembered thinking you just sealed your fate. Namjoon was looking at you, the apartment dark saved by the moonlight from the floor to ceiling window.
His hand slid across your jaw, his eyes fascinated by you.
You touched his hand, grappling with a semblance of control even when his erection was pressing against your stomach. “I..I don’t usually do this-”
His smile was slow, dangerous, the kind that promised nothing good.
“Good.”
It was all he said before he lifted you by the waist and hoisted you up the table. He pushed your legs apart, his hips in between them as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours. You couldn’t help but moan as he peppered kisses down your shoulders then his lips landed on top of your breast.
He was patient, but not when it came to this as he ripped down your bra and suck on your nipples like he had been starving for so long. His fingers went down to your core, pressing on your clothed clit and without any preamble, ripped your panties.
“Fuck, baby, you’re wet just for me,” he growled before he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. He thrusted his tongue while sucking your clit. He was animalistic, hungry, savage as he made you come and come again until your begged him to stop. At one point you did try to crawl off the table only to be stopped by his strong arms.
“Where are you going, baby? We’re not yet done,” he crooned at you as he fingered you, too overstimulated to notice that you didn’t once discuss about protection.
“N-Namjoon–”
“Yes, baby girl?” he whispered and you heard zipper and the buckle of belt. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size.
“I…I don’t think that’s going to fit..”
“Of course it will,” he assured and wondered what you were talking about when you were made for him.
He guided the bulbous head of his cock, bumping your clit every so often. You mewled from the sensation. You were a mess. He knew it and he loved it.
“Namjoon…baby, please daddy–”
“What do you need baby?”
“Y-your cock. Daddy please!”
“Hmm,” he pushed the head of his cock in you and you knew you came a little from being so overstimulated, his thumb rubbing your wet clit. “I only take what’s mine,” he murmured. “Are you mine?”
“D-daddy –”
“Are you mine, baby girl?”
“Y-yours –”
You didn’t even finish when he slammed in you. you were squeezing your tight cunt around his hard cock. You could feel everything. You could feel the vein, the hardness and how deep he was in you. To Namjoon, this was nirvana. He could feel himself already becoming addicted. Obsessive, even. This was why he never allowed himself to indulge on his desires.
He was an obsessive man.
He never expected it to feel this fucking good. His fingers were going to leave marks, your neck would display his ownership.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby. You feel incredible.”
He could feel you tremble as he shuddered out of his orgasm, his hot cum inside you.
You remembered waking up the next day with your body sore and his arm wrapped around you. You didn’t know how you made it out of his apartment quietly, but you did.
Shame burned through you, vivid and suffocating. You kept replaying the night in your mind—his hands, his voice, the way you’d let go of every line you’d sworn you wouldn’t cross. It wasn’t just unprofessional. It was reckless.
He must think you were the kind of person who let desire dictate their choices. You couldn’t even bring yourself to blame him if he did.
So when your phone began lighting up with message after message from him, you didn’t open a single one. You didn’t have to—not when you’d already decided you were taking the month off. No work, no meetings, no chance encounters in dim-lit rooms with him standing far too close.
“What do you mean I am off the group’s shoot?”
The manager exhaled heavily, like he’d been dreading this conversation. Around the conference table, the other staff avoided your eyes, staring down at papers, coffee cups, anything but you.
“Y/N,” he began carefully, “I wish I could give you a better answer, but… BTS specifically requested for you to be exclusive to them.” He hesitated before adding, “They said Kim Namjoon is… very particular.”
And there it was.
The consequence of your actions. The price for leaving his bed.
The weight of it settled in your chest, cold and suffocating. You didn’t have to ask why. You already knew.
It only worsened from there. Namjoon wanted you around all the time—on sets, in meetings, in the shadows of every event. You weren’t just working with BTS anymore; you were orbiting him, tethered by something you didn’t remember agreeing to but somehow couldn’t break free from.
You were starting to suffocate. How could you even know that that horrendous mistake would turn your life into a nightmare?
You didn’t want to be in this situation, much less being in a pseudo-relationship with the leader of one of the biggest groups in the world. You wanted your old life back. In fact, you tried to break it off whatever was between the two of you one dinner.
“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, barely able to meet his eyes. “It’s not… right. I want things to go back to normal.”
Namjoon, with that practiced calm that made you want to scream, simply asked, “And what happens if the industry finds out you left because you fucked one of the members… and you’re in a relationship with one of them?”
You blinked at him, pulse skipping.
“You’re not my boyfriend—”
He tilted his head slightly, setting down his chopsticks with deliberate slowness. “You’re right,” he said, voice soft but unyielding. “A husband and wife sounds better. More ironclad.”
Your stomach dropped. “Are you insane?” you asked, half-hoping he would laugh and tell you this was all some sick joke.
But he just shrugged, like the idea of marrying you on paper to keep you locked in his orbit was the most natural thing in the world.
The air in the meeting room was already taut, but the moment the door opened, the tension doubled.
Seokjin walked in during his rare break from service—still in casual military uniform, the air of authority he’d gained during service clinging to him.
You and the other staff scrambled to your feet out of habit, but Seokjin’s eyes didn’t waver from Namjoon.
“Stay,” he said—not to the room, but to you specifically.
You froze, halfway standing.
His gaze slid back to Namjoon. “Are you changing our plans because of her?”
Namjoon leaned back in his chair, hands folded loosely on the table as if this was nothing more than a routine discussion.
“She’s going to leave once I’m in there.”
The bluntness of it hit like a slap.
You opened your mouth to protest, but Seokjin’s eyes cut to you sharp, assessing before returning to Namjoon.
“That’s not a reason to disrupt the schedule,” he said, voice clipped.
“It’s reason enough for me,” Namjoon replied calmly, though his eyes flicked toward you like a silent warning.
And suddenly you understood: This wasn’t just about enlistment. It was about making sure you had nowhere to run.
And now, you saw an out. A rare opportunity for you to be free from him.
Eighteen months of freedom.
Eighteen months of breathing space.
Seokjin rubbed his forehead, the kind of motion that said he’d been dragged into too many of Namjoon’s storms before. He leveled his gaze at his younger brother.
“This isn’t you, Namjoon.”
“Is she not going to run?” Namjoon asked, voice calm, but the words were like a blade. “If I enlist?”
Your stomach sank. Hypothetical, he said—except you knew he already believed the answer.
Seokjin exhaled through his nose. “What if we get her to sign a contract? Will that be enough?”
Namjoon didn’t hesitate. “I want her to promise me that she’ll marry me after.”
Your head snapped toward him. “What?!”
He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at you—steady, deliberate—like the idea was no more outrageous than asking you to pass the salt.
“Promise me,” he said quietly, “and I’ll go.”
What would a false promise cost you, right?
This.
This was what it cost you—eighteen months of deliberate silence.
Eighteen months of ignoring every call, every text, every midnight voicemail where his voice cracked as he told you he couldn’t sleep without you. That he was wasting away. That he didn’t know how to breathe in a world where you didn’t look at him.
And maybe you should’ve felt something—guilt, pity, even the faint ache of what used to be but you didn’t. You were just counting days, waiting for the lock on your cage to rust.
Your contract was almost up. One more month and you could be free from HYBE, from the constant eyes, from him.
You’d already mapped out your exit like a military operation. No forwarding address. No lingering contacts. No chance encounters in dim-lit corridors with him standing too close.
You thought he got over you now.
You were wrong.
“It’s just for one two days. Think of it as the last thing you’ll have to do for the company before you leave,” Bang PD said with a smile before leaving the room. You sighed, shoulders sagging, and turned—only to freeze.
There he was, blocking the hallway like he’d been waiting all morning just for this exact moment.
You blinked, owlish and unprepared, words stuttering in your throat. What did you say to someone you’d ghosted for almost two years? Someone whose messages you’d ignored, whose calls you’d silenced until the sound of his ringtone felt like a warning siren?
“W-welcome back, Namjoon,” you managed, voice too soft, too unsure.
He didn’t return the greeting. His eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, his arms folded across his chest as though he had every second in the world to stand there and dissect you.
“You’re resigning?”
It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a question, not really. More like a quiet confirmation of something he already knew.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
A beat passed.
“Okay,” he said finally, turning slightly to let you pass. “See you in the shoot.”
And that was it. No anger. No plea. No demand.
For a second—just a fleeting second—you thought maybe he really had gotten over it. That maybe eighteen months had dulled whatever hold he thought he had on you.
The shoot happened to be six hours away from Seoul. The company car dropped you off with your things in front of what seemed to be a rest house.
It was too quiet to be a shoot.
You were used to chaos—the constant hum of chatter, the thud of heavy equipment being hauled around, cars lined up outside ready to transport anything that needed moving. But now? Nothing. Not even the faintest echo of footsteps.
Peculiar didn’t even begin to cover it.
But still, this was your last work for the company. After this, you were done, you told yourself. You just had to suck it up.
You opened the door only to be met with silence. Despite the house being homey filled with paintings and books, there was something eerie about it that you just couldn’t put your finger to. You walked deeper into the house, your phone on your hand calling your co-worker about where they could possibly be.
“Honey, what shoot? We are all in a break.”
You froze. “What?”
A low, velvety whisper brushed against your ear. “Welcome home, baby.”
You gasped, spinning around only to find Kim Namjoon standing far too close. Shirtless, his broad chest damp and glistening, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His hair was tousled, droplets still sliding down his temple.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I didn’t know you’d be this early, but I cooked just in case. Come on.”
Before you could process, his hand wrapped around yours, warm and firm, pulling you toward the kitchen.
You struggled, twisting your wrist. “W-what’s going on? Where’s the shoot? W-ha—”
Namjoon chuckled, finally stopping. He turned to face you, closing the distance in a single step, his hand sliding to your waist until your bodies were flush. His breath was warm on your skin as he dipped his head to inhale at your neck.
“God, I missed you,” he murmured. “I barely slept in there, did you know that? I was losing my mind not being able to get to you.” His grip tightened, possessive. “Ah, but regardless… you’re here now.”
You attempted to push him away to no avail. “Namjoon, seriously, where is everyone? My team was supposed to—”
“They’re not coming.” His tone was casual, almost lazy, but it landed like a brick in your chest.
Your phone was still in your hand. You glanced at it, thumb hovering over the screen to call again only for him to pluck it away with ease. He set it down on the counter like it was nothing.
“You…” Your mouth went dry. “…you set this up.”
Namjoon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your temple. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to make sure you were here alone?” he murmured, almost proudly. “No interruptions. No distractions. Just you and me.”
The warmth of the house now felt suffocating. Your gaze darted toward the front door, but Namjoon’s body shifted subtly, blocking the way without even touching you.
The air between you crackled with something you couldn’t quite name—part longing, part danger.
You swallowed hard. “Namjoon… what do you want from me?”
He grinned then, eyes crinkling in a way that would’ve been charming anywhere else, with anyone else.
“Your promise, my dear wife.”
You froze. “That was… I didn’t mean it, Namjoon. We would never work out, and you know that.”
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but with a strange, unshakable certainty. “You know what I realized in there? I realized that I want… no. I crave a family. I was hoping the seed I kept on planting in you would bear us a child, but maybe it wasn’t time. I was so disappointed every time your period came. But we have all the time in the world now… wife.”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not your wife. I will never be your wife—”
“Baby,” he interrupted softly, almost pitying. “You already are. Didn’t you think I wouldn’t… pull strings for you?”
You shook your head, taking a step back, but his hand caught your wrist with the precision of someone who had imagined this moment a thousand times.
“What strings?” you demanded.
Namjoon’s smirk deepened. “Immigration can be so… accommodating when the right documents cross their desk. You signed things you didn’t read, remember? When you thought it was just for a work visa?” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “Turns out you signed our marriage license, too.”
The room tilted. The paintings on the wall blurred. “No—”
“Yes,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw, as if comforting you. “And now there’s nowhere for you to go. Korea is home. I am home.”
You tore your wrist free, stumbling back, breath ragged. “You can’t—”
“I already did.” His voice was gentle, final.
And then, as if to seal it, he reached over to the counter and slid a small velvet box toward you. Inside was a simple gold band.
Disclaimer: This is a dark fiction that includes heavy themes and adult content. Do not read if you feel uncomfortable with such topics. You are responsible for your media consumption. Please read with caution!
Chapter 1 - The Fansign
Chapter 2 - Where mistakes lead
Chapter 3 - Warning bells
Chapter 4 - Morning after
Chapter 5 - The softness of chains
Chapter 6 - The damage of gentle hands
Chapter 7 - Punishment
Chapter 8 - Cracks
Chapter 9 - The cruelty of kindness
Chapter 10 - Permanent
Chapter 11 - Bargaining
Chapter 12 - Terms and conditions
Chapter 13 -
Chapter 14 -
Chapter 15 -
Chapter 16 -
Summary: It all began with a small accident. A small car crash. A name known by everyone. And a woman who chose to leave— not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much. Because sometimes— love isn’t about finding each other. It’s about whether you can hold on… when the world tries to tear you apart.
Status: Series
Pairing: Idol!Namjoon x Reader
Word Count: 100.2k~
Genre: Idol!AU, Smut, Fluff, Heavy Angst
Rated: MDNI, 18+ 🔞
Tags: ARMY, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Awkwardness, Secret, Drama, Slice of Life, Reader is Yoongi Bias, Protected Sex, Unprotected Sex
Started: May 6, 2026
SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ ・ Taglist 📝
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15
Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20
Bonus 1
Bonus 2
Drabbles
1. You Were Never in My Plan
2. The Bruise
3. Marked by You
4. Recording
5. Spicy Regret
6. That Black Tank Top Problem
7. Can't Sleep (Ko-fi Exclusive)
8. The Night Tampa Lost Control
9. The Hardest Pokémon to Collect
10. Far From Home
Author Note: Hi guys! This is my very first series on this platform, so it might not be perfect yet, but I truly hope you’ll enjoy it. Your support means a lot to me, and I’d really love to hear your thoughts. Even a small comment or just an emoji would make me really happy and help me improve. Thank you so much for taking the time to read 🩷
Below find the guides to how each of the girls are named when appearing in the other stories, as well as links to each story's master list. As I add stories, I will update the names and their connection.
Nari - RM's Girlfriend/Wife
Kim Namjoon | Wild Flower
Yuna - Suga's Girlfriend/Wife
Hana - V's Girlfriend
Synopsis: What does it take to balance the overwhelming weight of fame and a desire for a peaceful life? To the world he is RM, leader of BTS. But to Y/N he is simply Kim Namjoon. Together they navigate the ever careful balance of what the world can and cannot see. From a first meeting to BTS 2.0 their
Master List
Min Yoongi | Save Me
Synopsis: What started as two producers who couldn't help but clashing at every chance later into something entirely unexpected. When Y/N first had to work with Suga from BTS she was counting down the days until they could be done with one another. Until everything shifted. Now they are navigating love and family life while trying to balance his group's grand comeback.
Master List
Kim Taehyung | Slow Dancing
Synopsis: A misunderstanding, two broken hearts, and the need for a second chance. Y/N had met and fallen for Tae as his group fought for the recognition they deserved. But as their fame exploded, a divide formed between them. Then the dating rumors started and she was not the subject of them. One final misunderstanding was the breaking point. But some feelings never go away. When those feelings simmer and boil over, a second chance is born.
Sypnosis: You’ve always been in the background, quietly loving him while he shined in the spotlight. One drunken night, everything changed — a single, impulsive moment between you that left your heart tangled and your world uncertain. By morning, he pulled away, leaving you to wonder… can you keep loving someone who will never choose you?
A/N: Excited to share my new story! It's Always You is a slow-burn, heartbreaking romance about loving someone quietly, standing in the background, and all the tension that comes when everything finally spills over. It will be posted on Feb 28 on Ko-fi and March 7 on Tumblr. Can’t wait for you to read it! 🤍
The taglist is open, comment below if you’d like to be added.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Final
Prologue
The dorm always sounded like a living thing.
Tonight it was loud enough to shake the walls.
Music thumped from the speaker someone had dragged into the living room. The kitchen smelled like ramyeon, fried chicken, and whatever disaster Taehyung had tried to cook before being chased out. There were shoes scattered near the door like evidence of a crime. Laughter burst from every corner, overlapping, colliding, filling the space with something warm and chaotic and alive.
You slipped inside without knocking.
“Yah!” Jimin pointed at you from the couch. “She didn’t even ring the bell again. She thinks she lives here.”
“I basically do,” you shot back, toeing off your shoes. “I’ve survived more of your arguments than your managers have.”
Hoseok ran over and pulled you into a quick hug that smelled like fabric softener and cologne. “You’re late. We started without you.”
“You always start without me.”
“Because you take two hours to decide what to wear.”
You gasped. “That is slander.”
Namjoon was in the corner trying to fix the Bluetooth connection while Yoongi sat cross-legged on the floor pretending he wasn’t invested in the chaos. Taehyung was draped over the back of the couch like a cat, observing everything with suspicious amusement.
And then there was him.
Seokjin was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, arguing with Jungkook about how long to microwave something. His voice rose above the others, half dramatic, half playful.
“Trust me, I have experience,” he declared.
“With what?” Jungkook challenged.
“With surviving you.”
The room exploded in laughter.
You smiled before you even realized you were smiling.
It had been like this for years. This rhythm. This orbit. You never had to try to belong here. You were folded into their world naturally, as if the couch always had a space waiting for you.
You walked toward the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “Are you two fighting over plastic again?”
Seokjin turned.
And there it was. That split second when his expression softened before he could stop it.
“Yah,” he said, but the word came out lighter than it should have. “You’re late.”
“You said that already,” you replied, nudging his elbow.
He nudged you back.
The contact was small. Casual. The kind that wouldn’t make anyone blink.
Except everyone noticed.
Jimin let out a dramatic gasp from the living room. “Ah. It begins.”
“Hyung,” Taehyung called lazily, “control yourself. She just got here.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Can you all stop being weird for five minutes?”
“You’re the one who sat closer,” Hoseok chimed in.
“I did not.”
“You always do,” Jungkook grinned.
You tried to laugh it off, but you could feel the heat climbing your neck. This was normal. The teasing had been happening for so long it almost felt like tradition.
Almost.
Seokjin carried two bowls of ramyeon to the coffee table. Without thinking, he set one down in front of you before sitting beside you.
Your knees brushed.
The contact was brief, but it traveled through you anyway.
Yoongi watched the two of you with the quiet knowing look he never bothered to hide. “Should we leave?”
“Please do,” Seokjin muttered.
“You’re the one who keeps choosing her side of the couch,” Namjoon added.
“I don’t choose,” Seokjin insisted.
“You always choose,” Taehyung said softly, almost sing-song.
The room went quiet for a second. Just long enough.
Seokjin glanced at you.
You looked down at your bowl.
It had been like this for years.
The inside jokes. The glances that lingered a second too long. The way he would save you the last piece of fried chicken even if he claimed he didn’t want it. The way you knew when he was tired without him saying a word.
Everyone thought it was funny.
Everyone thought you were stubborn.
No one knew how deeply it ran.
Jungkook plopped down on the floor in front of you. “Noona, tell us the truth. If Jin hyung confessed, would you say yes?”
The room erupted.
“Yah!” Seokjin barked, but his ears were red.
You forced a scoff. “Confessed what? That he’s dramatic?”
You picked up your chopsticks slowly, buying time. “He wouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Hoseok asked.
You shrugged. “Because he doesn’t look at me like that.”
The words came out lighter than they felt.
The teasing quieted just a little.
Seokjin didn’t laugh.
He looked at you then. Like he wanted to say something.
But he didn’t.
Instead he flicked your forehead gently. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
You rubbed your forehead. “Ow. Violence. In front of witnesses.”
“You deserve it.”
“For what?”
“For thinking I wouldn’t look at you.”
There it was again. That tone that made your chest tighten in a way you hated.
The others started shouting over each other again, the tension dissolving into noise, but your mind stayed there.
For years.
You had loved him for years.
It hadn’t happened all at once. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no lightning strike, no cinematic revelation.
It was slower than that.
It was the way he remembered your coffee order without asking. The way he would sit next to you during long car rides and fall asleep with his shoulder brushing yours. The way he once stayed up until three in the morning listening to you talk about your fears.
It was the way he said your name when he was tired. Softer. Unfiltered.
You fell in love quietly.
And you never told him.
Because this. This mattered too much.
Taehyung suddenly leaned over from behind the couch and wrapped his arms around both of you. “I ship it.”
“Stop shipping real people,” you groaned.
Seokjin gently pried Taehyung off. “Go away.”
Taehyung only grinned wider. “You know what I think?”
“No one asked,” Yoongi muttered.
“I think,” Taehyung continued anyway, “if one of you dated someone else, the other would lose their mind.”
The room oohed.
You laughed loudly to drown out the sudden pounding in your ears. “I would throw a party.”
“Liar,” Jungkook sang.
Seokjin stayed quiet.
You could feel the warmth of him beside you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing. The familiar scent of his detergent mixed with something sweet.
This was the part no one saw.
How you memorized him.
How you measured your distance so you wouldn’t lean in too much.
How every time someone teased you both, a part of you hoped he would say something real instead of brushing it off.
“Yah,” Seokjin said suddenly, turning to you. “Why are you so quiet?”
You blinked. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Maybe I’m tired of being bullied in this house.”
“You come here voluntarily.”
“That doesn’t mean I consent to emotional damage.”
He laughed. That full, bright laugh that made everyone else laugh too.
“You love it here,” he said.
You looked at him.
I love you, you almost said.
Instead you rolled your eyes. “Maybe.”
He watched you a second longer than necessary.
Then he reached over and wiped a drop of broth from the corner of your lip with his thumb.
The room froze.
It was intimate in a way that didn’t belong in a room this loud.
“There,” he said, like it was nothing.
Your heart felt like it had been turned inside out.
“Hyung,” Jungkook whispered, scandalized.
Seokjin finally seemed to realize what he’d done. He pulled his hand back quickly. “She looked messy.”
“I hate all of you,” you muttered, standing abruptly.
You walked to the balcony to get air.
The city stretched out below, Seoul glowing in soft gold and white. The noise from inside blurred into background static.
You rested your hands on the railing.
You had loved him through debuts and breakdowns. Through world tours and quiet winters. Through girlfriends he never introduced and rumors he never addressed.
You loved him in the spaces between jokes.
Behind you, the balcony door slid open.
You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“You okay?” Seokjin asked.
“Yes.”
“You ran away.”
“I went to breathe.”
He stepped beside you. Close enough that your shoulders almost touched.
“You’re weird tonight,” he said.
You laughed softly. “I’ve always been weird.”
“No,” he replied, voice quieter now. “Not like this.”
You looked at the skyline instead of him. “You ever think about how long we’ve known each other?”
“All the time,” he answered immediately.
That surprised you.
He leaned against the railing. “It feels like you’ve always been there.”
Your chest ached.
“That’s because I have,” you said gently.
He turned his head toward you.
The noise from inside swelled again as someone shouted your names.
Seokjin smiled faintly. “If I ever date someone, you better not disappear.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
You forced a grin. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re dramatic.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
You looked at him then. Fully.
“If you ever date someone,” you said carefully, “I’ll still be here.”
Even if it breaks me.
He studied your face like he was searching for something.
“Good,” he said at last.
Inside, Taehyung yelled, “Stop flirting and come back!”
Seokjin rolled his eyes. “We’re not flirting.”
You gave him a small smile. “We never are.”
But as you walked back inside together, your shoulder brushing his, your heart whispered a truth you had never dared to speak out loud.
☾ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Namjoon can't sleep more than three hours. Eden's in desperate need of fast cash. When a desperate girl and exhausted idol meet through a cuddle service what starts as a miserable arrangement builds into something more.
☾ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Idol Namjoon x Black Fem OC
☾ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ MDNI, Profanity/Coarse Language, Namjoon can be rude at times, Insomniac Namjoon, Emotional Distress, Anxiety, possible slow uploads
☾ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers, Black Reader, Angst, Forced Proximity, Contractual Intimacy (Non sexual), Cuddle Service AU, Mutual Healing, Eventual Smut
# summary: it's not cheating...if you're separated. the paperwork's already filed...
# pairings: lewis hamilton x broncos!player ex wife (black female reader)
# warnings: mentions of infidelity (cheating), abortions, typical drama being a wag/married to an athlete, horrible husband/spouse, separation/divorce, cursing, drinking, usage of the 'n' word - minors dni and if uncomfortable, do not read.
# tags: @lewismcqueen, @beauty-gurl, @issfaith, @palefacestudentlove, @kinggbl, @vintagesoul-01, @peyiswriting, @scorpiobleue, @purplelewlew, @rethasavedlives, @lovelymilaa, @butterpas2, @jessnotwiththemess, @muglermami, @pinkcatcus, @plan3tch1ld, @iamryanl, @weetjy, @camillak97, @snowseasonmademe, @differentmentalityduck, @itisiyourfemur
A week. It had been a full week since you'd spent that perfect weekend at Lewis's place, and you were already feeling the ache of his absence. Sure, you'd been texting constantly—good morning messages that made you smile over your coffee, late-night calls where his voice would drop to that low, velvet register that made your body respond even through the phone. But it wasn't the same as having him there, having his hands on you, his mouth, his body.
Your phone buzzed as you pushed the shopping cart through Target, De'Ariel skipping beside you, chattering about the new backpack she'd picked out for school.
Lewis: What are you wearing?
You bit back a smile.
You: Really? It's 2 PM on a Tuesday.
Lewis: Just trying to get a visual. Miss seeing you.
You: Currently in Target with my daughter, so probably not the mental image you're looking for. Leggings and a t-shirt. Very unsexy.
Lewis: Everything you wear is sexy. Even leggings and a t-shirt. Especially leggings.
You: 😏 Behave.
Lewis: Never. What are you doing this weekend?
Your heart jumped. You'd been hoping he'd ask, but trying not to seem too eager.
You: DeAndre wants De'Ariel again. I don't know why—he barely handled last weekend without calling to ask me basic questions about her routine. But he insists he wants another weekend.
Lewis: So you're free then?
You: Looks like it. Why?
Lewis: Come over Friday night. Stay until Sunday. I'll make it worth your while.
Heat flooded through you at the promise in those words.
You: I think I can arrange that.
Lewis: Good. I've got plans for you.
You: Should I be nervous?
Lewis: Definitely. In the best way. Now stop texting me and pay attention to your daughter before she adds twenty things to your cart.
You looked up to find De'Ariel had indeed wandered toward the toy section, her eyes wide at all the options.
You: Too late. Gotta go do damage control.
Lewis: 😂 Talk later. Miss you.
You: Miss you too.
You caught up with De'Ariel before she could get too attached to anything too expensive, redirecting her back toward the school supplies you actually needed. But your mind was already racing ahead to Friday, to two more days with Lewis, to the way he'd made you feel during that last weekend—cherished, desired, seen.
Late-night texting could only do so much. Your body was already anticipating having him close again, remembering the weight of him, the way his hands knew exactly where to touch, how his mouth could make you forget your own name.
"Mama, can I get this?" De'Ariel held up a sparkly notebook.
Lewis's house felt like coming home when you pulled up, your overnight bag in the backseat. You'd dropped De'Ariel off at DeAndre's condo an hour ago, and she'd been excited about spending time with her daddy. DeAndre was still vaguely hostile toward you.
"Got everything she needs?" he'd asked, that thick accent making the simple question sound accusatory.
"It's all in her bag. Her schedule is on the paper in the front pocket."
"I know how to take care of my daughter."
"I never said you didn't." You'd kissed De'Ariel's forehead, told her to be good, and left before DeAndre could start another argument about the divorce.
Now, walking up to Lewis's front door, you felt that familiar flutter of anticipation. Before you could knock, the door swung open, and there he was—braids pulled back, wearing joggers and a fitted t-shirt that showed off his arms, that smile that made your knees weak.
"There she is," he said, pulling you inside and into his arms in one smooth motion. His mouth found yours immediately, the kiss deep and hungry, like he'd been waiting all week for this moment.
"Hi," you breathed when he finally let you come up for air.
"Hi yourself." He grabbed your bag with one hand, kept the other on the small of your back as he led you inside. "Missed you."
"I literally just saw you a week ago."
"That's seven days too long." He set your bag by the stairs and pulled you close again. "I've got dinner ready, wine chilling, and a whole list of things I want to do to you. In that order."
"A list, huh?"
"A very detailed list." His hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you against him so you could feel exactly how much he'd missed you. "But first, let's eat. You're going to need your energy."
Dinner was simple but delicious—pasta with vegetables from his garden, fresh bread, the wine he'd promised. You ate on the deck, watching the sun set over the mountains, Roscoe snoring softly at your feet.
"How's the race season looking?" you asked, genuinely curious. You'd been following it online, watching highlights when you could, trying to understand this whole other part of Lewis's life.
"Tough," he admitted. "Ferrari's still not where we need to be. We've got one more week before the summer break ends." He paused, swirling his wine. "I've been thinking a lot about what comes next."
"Next as in...?"
"As in after the season. As in long term." His eyes held yours. "I want you to come to a race. Bring De'Ariel."
You set down your wine glass carefully. "Lewis..."
"I know. It's fast. But I'm serious about this—about us. And I want my worlds to connect. I want the people in my life to meet each other."
"We've talked about this." Your voice was gentle but firm. "De'Ariel starts school again soon. I can't just pull her out for a race weekend."
"What about after? Once she's settled into her routine? We could plan it around her schedule."
"It's not just the timing." You reached across the table to take his hand. "Meeting my daughter is different than meeting anyone else. She's going to have questions. She's going to wonder who you are to me, what this means. And I don't know how to answer that yet."
Lewis was quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing circles on your palm. "What do you want me to be? To her, to you?"
The question hit harder than you expected. What did you want? A few weeks ago, you might have said you were just figuring things out. But now, after late-night calls and constant texting and the way your heart jumped every time his name appeared on your screen...
"I want to take it slow," you said carefully. "I want to make sure this is real and solid before I bring her into it. She's already dealing with her parents separating. I can't introduce her to someone new unless I'm sure they're going to stay."
"I'm going to stay." His voice was firm, certain. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You don't know that. Things are good now, but what happens when the season picks back up and you're traveling constantly? What happens when the press finds out about us and it becomes a whole thing? What happens when—"
"We figure it out." He squeezed your hand. "Together. That's what happens."
"Lewis, I need you to understand something." You took a breath. "I have a lot of stuff I need to handle first. The divorce isn't finalized yet. I'm still navigating custody with DeAndre. I'm trying to give De'Ariel stability while her whole world is changing. I can't rush this, even though I want to."
"Even though you want to," he repeated, focusing on those words. "So you do want this to be more?"
"Yes," you admitted. "But wanting it and being ready for it are two different things. Can you please just... give me time? Let me handle one thing at a time?"
Lewis studied your face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I can do that. But I'm not giving up on the idea of you coming to a race. When you're ready."
"When I'm ready," you agreed.
He stood, pulling you up with him, and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry if I'm pushing too hard. I just... I know what I want, and I'm not good at being patient when it comes to things that matter."
"I matter?"
"You matter more than you know." He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "Now come on. Let's go inside. I believe I promised you a movie night."
You settled on the couch—the same couch where you'd first kissed him, where he'd pulled you into his lap and made you feel things you'd thought were dead—and Lewis immediately pulled you against his side. The movie was something action-packed that neither of you were really watching, too focused on each other.
His hands wandered—tracing patterns on your thigh, playing with the hem of your shirt, occasionally sliding higher to brush against your breast through your bra. Your breathing would hitch and he'd smile against your hair, pleased with himself.
"You're not even watching the movie," you accused.
"I've got a much better show right here." His hand slid fully under your shirt now, palm hot against your stomach. "Plus, I'm thinking about that list I mentioned."
"The detailed list?"
"Very detailed." His mouth found the spot behind your ear that made you shiver. "Want to hear what's on it?"
"I think I'd rather you show me."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Lewis took his time to relearn your body, finding all the spots that made you gasp, that made you arch into his touch. He was different tonight, somehow more intense, like he was trying to memorize every reaction, every sound you made.
"Lewis," you breathed as his hand slid between your thighs, his fingers finding you already ready for him.
"I've got you, baby." His voice was that low, rough register that made you weak. "Just let go for me."
And you did, right there on his couch, his name on your lips as pleasure crashed over you.
Later, tangled together in his bed, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your back, you felt your phone buzz on the nightstand. You ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again.
"You should check that," Lewis murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.
You reached for it, squinting at the screen. Three missed calls from De'Ariel. Your heart dropped.
Before you could call back, your phone lit up with an incoming call. De'Ariel's name flashed on the screen, and you answered immediately.
"Baby girl? What's wrong?"
"Mama?" Her voice was small, tearful, cutting straight through your heart. "Can you come get me?"
"What happened? Are you okay?" You were already sitting up, Lewis alert beside you.
"I don't like it here." She sniffled. "It's too loud and Daddy won't listen and I just want to come home."
"Is Daddy there? Let me talk to him."
"He's with his friends. They're being loud." Through the phone, you could hear it—music thumping, male voices laughing and shouting. "Please, Mama. I want to go home."
"I'm coming right now, baby. Stay in your room, okay? I'll be there in twenty minutes."
You hung up and were already moving, looking for your clothes.
"What's wrong?" Lewis was up too, pulling on his joggers.
"I have to go get De'Ariel. She's upset and wants to leave." You found your jeans, yanked them on. "I'm so sorry. I have to—"
"Don't apologize." He helped you find your shirt, handed you your shoes. "Is she okay? Does she need anything?"
"I don't know yet. I just need to get there." You were shaking slightly, that familiar mama-bear panic setting in.
Lewis cupped your face, making you look at him. "Drive safe. Text me when you get her, okay? Let me know if you need anything."
"I will." You kissed him quickly. "I'm sorry to ruin our night."
"You didn't ruin anything. Go get your daughter."
The drive to DeAndre's condo complex felt longer than it was. You could hear the music from the parking lot—bass thumping, way too loud for a place where a six-year-old was supposed to be sleeping.
You took the stairs two at a time, your heart pounding. The music was even louder in the hallway, and you could hear male laughter from inside the apartment. You knocked on the door.
Nothing.
You knocked harder.
Still nothing.
Finally, you pounded on the door like you were the police, using the side of your fist until your hand hurt.
The door swung open, and there was DeAndre—eyes slightly glazed, a cigar in one hand, his shirt half-unbuttoned. He looked at you, and a slow smile spread across his face.
"Well, well." His accent was thick, words slightly slurred. "I guess wifey found some sense and wants the old dick back."
Behind him, you could hear laughter—Monty and what sounded like several other men. Through the doorway, you could see them in the living room, cards and chips scattered on the table, bottles and what definitely looked like marijuana scattered around.
You were livid.
"De'Ariel called me," you said, your voice cold. "Said she wanted to come home."
DeAndre's smile faded. "Why she call you? It's my weekend."
"Are you serious right now?" You pushed past him into the apartment, and the smell hit you immediately—alcohol, weed, cigar smoke. "You're having a poker night with your daughter here? With weed and alcohol everywhere?"
"Man, we just having a little fun," Monty called from the living room. "It ain't that serious."
You ignored him, looking around. "Where is she?"
"Upstairs," DeAndre said, trying to block your path. "But hold up, she fine. She just being dramatic."
"She's six years old and crying because her father is too busy getting drunk with his boys to pay attention to her." You moved around him toward the stairs.
"It's my weekend," DeAndre repeated, his hand catching your arm. "You can't just come take her."
"Watch me." You pulled free. "You're clearly not in any condition to take care of her right now."
"Don't do the man like that, Y/N," one of his teammates called from the living room. "He just trying to relax a little."
"Mind your business," you snapped without turning around.
You found De'Ariel in the guest room, curled up on the bed with her stuffed bunny, her face tear-stained. She looked up when you came in, and her expression crumpled with relief.
"Mama!"
"I'm here, baby girl." You scooped her up, grabbed her overnight bag. "Let's go home."
DeAndre was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking more sober now, more upset. "You can't just take her. It's my time."
"You're not acting like it." You shifted De'Ariel's weight—she was getting too big to carry, but you'd manage. "This will be a conversation at our custody session this week. Count on it."
"Man, come on—"
"Goodbye, DeAndre." You pushed past him toward the door, De'Ariel's face buried in your neck.
In the car, you buckled her into her booster seat, noting how she was still sniffling, her eyes red and puffy.
"You okay, baby girl?"
"I don't want to go to Daddy's house anymore," she said quietly, clutching her bunny. "It's too loud and he doesn't pay attention to me. Can I just stay with you?"
Your heart broke. "But Daddy will miss you if you don't want to see him."
"He can visit us at our house." She looked up at you with those big eyes so much like her father's. "Can we do that, Mommy? Can Daddy just visit instead?"
You didn't have an answer. Didn't know how to handle this without making DeAndre the villain or making De'Ariel feel like her feelings didn't matter. This was exactly the kind of thing you'd been worried about when the custody arrangement was being worked out.
"We'll figure it out, baby. I promise." You kissed her forehead. "Let's just get you home, okay?"
The drive back was quiet except for De'Ariel's occasional sniffles. Your phone buzzed in the cupholder.
Lewis: Everything okay?
You: Got her. She's fine. Just upset.
Lewis: Is she okay? Does she need anything?
You: She's okay now. Just wants to be home.
Lewis: And you? Are you okay?
The question made your throat tight. When was the last time someone had asked if you were okay, not just your daughter?
You: Getting there. Sorry again for leaving like that.
Lewis: Stop apologizing. You did what you needed to do. That's what good mothers do. Text me when you're home safe?
You: I will. Thank you for understanding.
Lewis: Always. Get your baby home. We'll talk tomorrow.
At home, you helped De'Ariel into her pajamas, made her some chamomile tea with honey, and settled her into bed with her favorite stuffed animals arranged around her.
"Mama?" she said as you were tucking her in.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Are you and Daddy going to get back together?"
Your heart stopped. "What makes you ask that?"
"Because I heard Grandma say that's what's supposed to happen. That mommies and daddies always get back together."
You sat on the edge of her bed, choosing your words carefully. "Sometimes they do. But sometimes they don't. And that's okay too."
"Is it okay if you don't?"
"Do you want us to get back together?"
De'Ariel was quiet for a long moment. "I want you to be happy, Mama. You're always sad when Daddy's around. But you smile more now."
You had to blink back tears. "You're very smart, you know that?"
"I know." She smiled slightly, then yawned. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
"Of course, baby girl."
You carried her to your room, settled her in the middle of your bed, and lay beside her until her breathing evened out and she fell asleep. Only then did you grab your phone and text Lewis properly.
You: Home safe. She's asleep. Thank you for being so understanding tonight.
His response came quickly.
Lewis: How are you holding up?
You: Honestly? I'm exhausted. And worried about the custody stuff. And feeling guilty that my daughter doesn't want to see her father anymore.
Lewis: None of this is your fault. You know that, right?
You: Logically, yes. Emotionally? That's harder.
Lewis: Come back tomorrow. Bring her if you want. Or just you. Either way, I want to see you. Want to make sure you're okay.
You: I can't bring her yet. We talked about this.
Lewis: I know. Just offering. The invitation stands whenever you're ready. But if it's just you, I'll take it. I want to see you.
You looked at your daughter, sleeping peacefully now, her face relaxed in a way it hadn't been when you picked her up.
You: Let me see how she's feeling tomorrow. If she's okay, I might come over for a few hours.
Lewis: Good. I'll be here. Get some rest. You did good tonight, Mama.
The endearment, the reassurance, the simple acknowledgment that you'd handled a difficult situation—it all made your eyes sting with tears you hadn't realized you were holding back.
You: Thank you. Goodnight, Lewis.
Lewis: Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams.
You set your phone aside and pulled De'Ariel closer, breathing in her little-girl scent, feeling the weight of responsibility and love and fear all tangled together.
This was your life now—navigating custody with a man who couldn't get his priorities straight, protecting your daughter from situations she shouldn't have to deal with, trying to build something new with Lewis while managing the wreckage of your past.
It was messy and complicated and sometimes overwhelming.
But as you drifted off to sleep, you thought about Lewis's steady presence, his understanding, the way he made you feel capable and strong even when you felt like you were barely holding it together.
Lewis settled into his seat in the owner's box, nodding at the other members of the ownership group as they filtered in. The second pre-season game was about to start—Broncos versus the Seahawks—and the energy in the stadium was building despite it not counting toward the regular season.
But Lewis wasn't here for the game, not really. He was here because DeAndre Williams was playing, and Lewis wanted to see for himself how the man was handling everything that had gone down this week.
The custody session. The new restrictions. The supervised visits.
Lewis pulled out his phone, scrolling back through his messages with Y/N from three nights ago. She'd called him late, her voice tight with exhaustion and anger, needing to vent about everything that had happened in that lawyer's office.
Three Nights Ago
Lewis had been in his home gym when his phone rang, Y/N's name lighting up the screen. He'd answered immediately, concern already building.
"Hey, sweetheart. You alright?"
"I'm—" Her voice cracked slightly. "Can I just talk? I need to talk to someone who isn't going to judge me or tell me I'm being too harsh."
"Of course. Talk to me." He'd grabbed a towel, heading upstairs to his bedroom where he could give her his full attention. "What happened?"
"The custody session was today." She let out a long breath. "It was... it was a lot, Lewis."
He'd settled onto his bed, phone pressed to his ear. "Tell me everything."
And she had. For the next hour, Y/N had given him the full play-by-play—how DeAndre had shown up late, still smelling faintly of weed despite supposedly being sober. How he'd tried to charm the mediator with his accent and his smile, playing the victim, saying you were trying to keep him from his daughter out of spite.
"He really tried to say that?" Lewis's jaw had tightened. "After what happened? After she called you crying because he was too busy getting high with his boys to pay attention to her?"
"He said I was exaggerating. That it was 'just one time' and I was using it as an excuse to punish him." Y/N's voice had been bitter. "Then my lawyer brought up the other incidents. The times he'd called me to come get her early because he had 'plans.' The weekend he forgot to give her her allergy medicine and she ended up with hives. All of it."
"What did the mediator say?"
"That supervised visits are in De'Ariel's best interest until DeAndre can prove he's taking his parental responsibilities seriously. So now he only gets to see her at my house or another agreed-upon location, and I or another responsible adult has to be present the whole time."
Lewis had felt a grim satisfaction at that. "Good. He needs to prove he can actually be a father before he gets unsupervised time with her."
"He also has to take parenting classes," Y/N had added. "Eight weeks of them. The judge said it was that or even more restricted access."
"How'd he take that?"
"About as well as you'd expect." She'd laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Started yelling about how this was bullshit, how I was turning his daughter against him, how no court was going to tell him how to be a father."
"Jesus."
"It gets worse." Y/N had paused. "His mother was there. Sitting in the back of the room. And when we left, she cornered me in the parking lot."
Lewis had sat up straighter. "She what?"
"Started cussing me out. Calling me every name in the book. Saying I was a vindictive bitch who was trying to destroy her son because I couldn't keep him satisfied. That if I'd been a better wife, he wouldn't have needed to go elsewhere." Y/N's voice had gotten quieter. "She said some really foul shit, Lewis. About me, about what kind of mother I am, about how I'm going to mess up De'Ariel by keeping her from her father."
"That's not true." Lewis's voice had been firm. "You're protecting your daughter. That's what good mothers do."
"I know. Logically, I know. But hearing it from his mother, having her scream at me in a parking lot..." She'd trailed off. "It brought back a lot. All those years of his family making excuses for him, blaming me for his behavior."
They'd been quiet for a moment, Lewis processing everything she'd told him.
"Can I ask you something?" he'd said finally.
"Yeah."
"The woman who messaged you. The one you mentioned before, about the abortion." He'd chosen his words carefully. "Did she actually get one? Or was DeAndre just telling her to?"
Y/N had been quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. I never followed up. Part of me didn't want to know, you know? Because if there's a child out there... if DeAndre has a kid he doesn't claim..."
"That would change things."
"It would change everything." Her voice had been small. "But I can't think about that right now. I have enough to deal with."
"Fair enough." Lewis had wanted to press, wanted to tell her she should find out, but he'd understood. She was already drowning in legal battles and custody arrangements. Adding another potential complication wasn't what she needed.
"Thank you," she'd said softly. "For listening. For not judging."
"Never. I'm here for whatever you need." He'd meant it completely.
"I know. That's why I called you instead of one of my friends. They mean well, but they don't... you actually get it, you know?"
"I do." He'd paused. "How's De'Ariel handling everything?"
"She's okay. Confused, mostly. Doesn't understand why Daddy has to visit instead of her going to his place. I tried to explain it in a way that didn't make him sound bad, but..." Y/N had sighed. "She's six. She doesn't need to know all the details of why her father can't be trusted alone with her right now."
"You're doing the right thing. Even when it's hard."
"I hope so." She'd yawned. "I should let you go. It's late."
"You can talk as long as you need to."
"I know. But I'm exhausted, and you probably have things to do."
"Nothing more important than this." He'd meant that too. "Get some rest. Text me tomorrow?"
"I will. Goodnight, Lewis."
"Goodnight, beautiful."
Now, sitting in the owner's box, Lewis watched as the teams took the field for warmups. He spotted DeAndre immediately—hard to miss at six-foot-three, wearing number 18, his movements sharp and aggressive as he ran routes with the backup quarterback.
"Lewis!" One of the other owners, Greg Morrison, settled into the seat beside him. "Didn't expect to see you at another pre-season game."
"Figured I'd show my face. Support the team." Lewis kept his eyes on the field, on DeAndre specifically.
"Right, right." Greg followed his gaze. "Williams is looking good out there. Kid's got talent, even if he's got an attitude problem."
Lewis made a noncommittal sound. Talent didn't mean shit if you couldn't get your personal life together enough to actually focus on the game.
The game started, and Lewis watched with the analytical eye of someone who'd spent his life evaluating performance under pressure. DeAndre lined up in the slot for the first play, ran his route clean, and the ball sailed over his head—but that was on the quarterback, not him.
Second play, DeAndre's route was sloppy. He rounded off his cut instead of making it sharp, giving the defensive back time to recover. The pass went to someone else.
Third play, DeAndre was supposed to chip the linebacker before releasing into his route. He barely touched him, too focused on getting downfield, and the linebacker blew past to sack the quarterback.
"Come on, Williams!" the offensive coordinator yelled from the sideline. "You've got to make that block!"
Lewis leaned forward slightly, watching as DeAndre jogged back to the huddle. Even from here, he could see the tension in the receiver's shoulders, the way he was shaking his head like he was arguing with someone.
"He seems off," Greg observed. "Distracted or something."
"Personal issues," Lewis said shortly.
"Ah. The divorce thing?" Greg shook his head. "Messy business. Though from what I hear, it's his own fault. Man should've kept it in his pants."
Lewis didn't respond, but he silently agreed. DeAndre had everything—a beautiful wife, a daughter, a good career—and he'd thrown it away for what? Ego? The thrill of variety? Whatever it was, it was costing him now.
The game continued, and DeAndre's performance got progressively worse. Dropped passes, lazy routes, missed blocks. By halftime, he'd been targeted five times and caught one ball for eight yards. Pathetic numbers for a supposedly talented receiver.
Lewis pulled out his phone.
Lewis: Watching the game.
Y/N's response came quickly.
Y/N: I'm watching too. De'Ariel wanted to see Daddy play. She keeps asking why he looks mad.
Lewis: Because his life is falling apart and he's finally realizing he can't charm his way out of consequences.
Y/N: Lewis...
Lewis: Am I wrong?
Y/N: No. But still. That's her father.
Lewis: I know. I'm sorry. How are you holding up?
Y/N: I'm okay. Tired. His mother called me again this morning. More of the same.
Lewis's jaw clenched.
Lewis: You should block her number.
Y/N: I did. She called from a different one.
Lewis: Jesus. Want me to handle it?
Y/N: How would you handle it?
Lewis: I have lawyers who specialize in making people stop harassing other people. Say the word and I'll make a call.
There was a pause before her response.
Y/N: Let me think about it. Don't want to escalate if I don't have to.
Lewis: The offer stands. Anytime.
Y/N: Thank you. I have to go—De'Ariel wants popcorn. Text you later?
Lewis: Anytime. Give her a hug from me.
Y/N: I will. ❤️
Lewis set his phone down, his chest warm from that little heart emoji. Small thing, but it meant something. Meant she was letting him in, bit by bit.
On the field, the second half started, and if anything, DeAndre's performance got worse. He ran the wrong route on one play, causing an interception. Gave up on another route entirely, just stopped running like he couldn't be bothered. By the fourth quarter, he'd been benched in favor of a rookie who actually seemed to give a damn.
Lewis watched as DeAndre stalked to the sideline, yanked off his helmet, and threw it. One of the coaches got in his face, clearly chewing him out, but DeAndre just turned away, dismissive.
"That's not a good look," Greg muttered beside him. "Kid needs to get his head straight or he's not going to last in this league."
"Agreed."
After the game—a loss, 17-10—Lewis made his way down to the field level where coaches and ownership sometimes mingled with players. He wasn't looking for DeAndre specifically, but he wasn't avoiding him either.
He found him near the tunnel, still in his uniform, talking with Monty and another receiver. DeAndre's body language was aggressive, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke in that thick accent.
"Man, that shit was rigged," DeAndre was saying. "Coach got it out for me, I swear. Pullin' me for some rookie who can't even run a proper route? That's disrespect."
"Bro, you dropped like three passes," Monty said, but his tone was cautious, like he knew DeAndre didn't want to hear it.
"'Cause the timing was off! That ain't on me, that's on the QB." DeAndre spotted Lewis approaching and his expression hardened. "Oh, here we go. The owner coming to tell me how to play, I bet."
Lewis stopped a respectful distance away. "Actually, I was just heading to my car. But since you brought it up—that was a rough game, Williams. You alright?"
"I'm fine." DeAndre's jaw was tight. "Just adjusting to the system."
"It's pre-season. Everyone's adjusting." Lewis kept his tone neutral, professional. "But if there's something affecting your game, you should address it before the regular season starts."
"My game is fine." DeAndre stepped closer, and Lewis could smell the sweat and grass stains and something that might have been frustration. "Maybe if people stopped trying to interfere with my personal life, I could focus better."
Ah. So they were doing this now.
"No one's interfering," Lewis said calmly. "People are just making sure best interests are protected."
"You don't know shit about me."
"You're right. I don't." Lewis met his eyes steadily.
DeAndre's face flushed. "Man, you got some nerve—"
"I've got nerve?" Lewis's voice stayed level, but there was steel underneath. "We will see soon enough, I guess."
"Who the fuck do you think you—"
Before DeAndre could finish, Lewis turned and walked away, leaving the receiver fuming behind him.
In his car, Lewis sat for a moment, letting his heart rate settle. That had been risky—getting into it with a player, even one he had issues with. But DeAndre was spiraling, and everyone could see it.
His phone buzzed.
Y/N: De'Ariel fell asleep. Game was too long for her. How was it from the owner's box?
Lewis: Educational. He's struggling.
Y/N: I noticed. Is it bad that part of me feels a little satisfied seeing him face consequences for once?
Lewis: Not bad at all. Very human, actually.
Y/N: His mother left me another voicemail. Calling me a selfish bitch who's destroying her son's career.
Lewis's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Lewis: That's it. I'm making the call. My lawyers will send a cease and desist letter. This harassment needs to stop.
Y/N: Lewis, you don't have to—
Lewis: I want to. Let me help with this. Please.
There was a longer pause this time.
Y/N: Okay. Thank you.
Lewis: You don't have to thank me. This is what I'm here for.
Y/N: What are you here for exactly?
Lewis: Whatever you need. Always.
Y/N: You're going to spoil me with all this support and care.
Lewis: That's the plan. Get used to it.
Y/N: I'm trying. It's just very different from what I'm used to.
Lewis: I know. But different can be good. Different can be better.
Y/N: It already is better. You're better.
Lewis smiled, warmth spreading through his chest.
Lewis: When can I see you again? I miss you.
Y/N: This week is crazy. DeAndre's first supervised visit is Wednesday at my house. Not looking forward to it.
Lewis: Want me to be there?
Y/N: As what? My moral support? My... what are you, exactly?
It was the question they'd been dancing around for weeks. What were they to each other? More than casual, less than defined. Somewhere in the complicated middle.
Lewis: I'm yours. However you need me to be. But if you want labels, I can do labels. I want to be your man, Y/N. Officially. When you're ready.
Y/N: Lewis...
Lewis: No pressure. Just putting it out there. Think about it. But regardless of labels, I want to be there Wednesday if you need support.
Y/N: I don't think that's a good idea. DeAndre will flip out if he sees you there.
Lewis: So?
Y/N: So I don't need more drama. Let me get through the visit first, then we can figure out when I can see you again.
Lewis: Okay. But I'm here if you need me. Day or night. For anything.
Y/N: I know. That means more than you know.
Lewis: Get some rest. Text me after the visit on Wednesday. Let me know how it goes.
Y/N: I will. Goodnight, Lewis.
Lewis: Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams.
Lewis set his phone down and started his car, pulling out of the stadium parking lot. Around him, fans were filing out, some happy despite the loss, others complaining about the team's performance.
But Lewis's mind wasn't on the game anymore. It was on Y/N, on the harassment she was dealing with, on the supervised visit coming up. On DeAndre's spiral and how it was affecting everyone around him.
Most of all, it was on that question: What are you, exactly?
He wanted to be everything to her. Wanted to be the man she called when things went wrong, the arms she fell into at the end of a hard day, the future she could count on. He wanted to be there for her daughter, to show De'Ariel what a good man looked like, how women should be treated.
But he also knew he couldn't push. Y/N was healing from years of disrespect and neglect. She needed time to trust that what he was offering was real, that he wasn't going to disappear or change or turn into another disappointment.
So he'd wait. He'd be patient. He'd show up consistently until she believed he was staying.
He pulled onto the highway, heading back to his place, already planning the next time he could see her. Already thinking about how to make her laugh, how to ease the stress she was carrying, how to remind her that she deserved so much better than what she'd accepted for so long.
You checked the time on your phone for the third time in five minutes. DeAndre was supposed to arrive at 4:00 for his first supervised visit with De'Ariel, and your stomach was already in knots. You'd cleaned the house twice, made snacks you knew De'Ariel liked, set up activities in the living room—anything to keep your hands busy and your mind off the fact that your estranged husband was about to be in your space.
"Mama, is Daddy coming soon?" De'Ariel appeared in the kitchen doorway, her favorite stuffed bunny clutched in one hand.
"Soon, baby girl. Why don't you go wash your hands? He should be here any minute."
She skipped off toward the bathroom, and you took a deep breath, smoothing down your casual outfit—jeans and a t-shirt, nothing fancy, but you'd caught yourself putting on makeup this morning and had to ask yourself who you were really trying to look good for. Not DeAndre, that was for damn sure.
The doorbell rang at exactly 4:00, because of course DeAndre would be on time when a court order was involved.
You opened the door to find him standing there in designer everything—Amiri jeans, an Off-White hoodie, expensive sneakers. He looked put together, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the barely contained irritation in his eyes.
"Hey," you said, stepping aside to let him in.
"Baybeeh." That thick accent, the one that used to make you weak in the knees but now just made you tired. "Thanks for doing this."
"It's not a favor. It's a court order." You closed the door behind him. "De'Ariel's washing her hands. She'll be right out."
DeAndre looked around your living room like he was cataloging changes, trying to find evidence of something. "Place looks different."
"I rearranged some furniture."
"Mm-hmm." His eyes landed on the coffee table where you'd left your laptop open. "You been busy?"
"I have a job, DeAndre. So yes."
Before he could respond, De'Ariel came running in, her face lighting up. "Daddy!"
"There's my princess!" DeAndre scooped her up, and you had to admit, whatever else he was, he did love his daughter. "Look at you! You get prettier every time I see you."
"Mama says I look like you."
"You do. You got all my best features." He set her down, glancing at you. "So how this work? I just... sit here with her?"
"You spend time with her. Play, talk, whatever. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything." You started to walk away.
"Hold up." DeAndre's voice stopped you. "We need to talk. After."
Your stomach tightened. "About what?"
"After," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The next two hours were tense. You stayed in the kitchen, pretending to work on your laptop while really just listening to DeAndre and De'Ariel in the living room. They colored together, played with her dolls, watched part of a movie. To his credit, he was focused on her, asking about school starting soon, about her friends, about what she wanted to be for Halloween.
But you could feel the weight of whatever conversation he wanted to have hanging over everything.
At 6:00, you walked into the living room. "Okay, time to wrap up. De'Ariel needs dinner and bath time."
"Already?" De'Ariel pouted. "But Daddy just got here!"
"It's been two hours, baby girl. Daddy will come back to visit again soon." You looked at DeAndre. "Right?"
"Right." He kissed De'Ariel's forehead. "I'll see you real soon, princess. Be good for your mama, yeah?"
"Okay, Daddy."
De'Ariel went upstairs to put away her toys, and you walked DeAndre to the door. The second you opened it, he turned to face you, his expression hard.
"So you gonna tell me who he is?"
Your heart stopped. "Who who is?"
"Don't play stupid with me." His accent was thick, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you seeing somebody. You think I'm dumb? You been different, acting different. Got that glow that women get when they getting good dick."
"DeAndre—"
"Nah, don't 'DeAndre' me." He stepped closer, and you instinctively stepped back. "Who is he? 'Cause I'ma find out. And when I do, that nigga gonna face some serious consequences for fucking my wife."
"Is that a threat?" Your voice was steady despite the fear creeping up your spine.
"It's a promise." His eyes were wild now, desperate. "I want my fucking family back, Y/N. I'll do anything—anything—to get it back. You hear me?"
"I hear you making threats about a man you don't even know exists." You forced yourself to hold his gaze. "You need to leave. Now."
"This ain't over."
"Yes, it is. It's been over for years. You just refused to see it." You opened the door wider. "Goodbye, DeAndre."
He stared at you for a long moment, then sucked his teeth and walked out, muttering something in that accent you couldn't quite make out. You closed the door and locked it, your hands shaking as you slid the deadbolt home.
Then you couldn't breathe.
Your chest tightened, your vision narrowed, and suddenly you were sliding down the door to sit on the floor, gasping for air that wouldn't come. Panic attack. You'd had them before, back when things with DeAndre were at their worst, but it had been months since the last one.
He's going to find out about Lewis. He's going to do something. He threatened him. He threatened—
"Mama?"
You looked up to find De'Ariel standing at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide with worry.
"I'm okay, baby girl," you managed, forcing yourself to breathe deeper, slower. "Mama just needs a minute. Can you go play in your room? I'll call you when dinner's ready."
She hesitated, then nodded and disappeared back down the hall.
You sat there for another few minutes, focusing on your breathing, on bringing yourself back from the edge. This was bullshit. This whole situation was bullshit. You shouldn't have to worry about your ex threatening whatever man you might be seeing. Shouldn't have to deal with his mother's harassment or his possessive bullshit or any of it.
You were supposed to be enjoying your man before he left for Amsterdam next week. Supposed to be savoring every moment before the racing season took him away for weeks at a time.
My man. My man. My man.
The phrase kept running through your head, and it felt right even though it maybe shouldn't. You were still legally married to DeAndre, even if separated. But Lewis felt like yours in a way DeAndre never had—attentive, present, making you feel seen and valued and wanted.
Still, there was that small voice in the back of your head saying it was wrong to have another man while you were still Mrs. Williams on paper. That you should wait until the divorce was finalized, until everything was clean and done.
But fuck that. You'd waited long enough. Done everything right for years while DeAndre did whatever he wanted. You deserved this. Deserved Lewis. Deserved to feel good for once.
Hopefully this would all be over soon. The divorce would be final, DeAndre would sign the papers, and you could be rid of him completely. Move on with your life without his shadow hanging over everything.
You pulled out your phone and dialed before you could overthink it.
"Hey, baby girl!" Your mother's voice was warm, familiar, exactly what you needed. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you till this weekend."
"Mama..." Your voice cracked slightly. "Can you come tomorrow instead of next week? I need you."
"Tomorrow? Y/N, what's going on? Is De'Ariel okay?"
"She's fine. It's not her." You took a breath. "I met someone, Mama. And DeAndre and his mama are being crazy about it, and I just... I need you here."
There was a pause, then: "You met someone? Like a man someone?"
"Yes, a man. A good man. And before you start—"
"Baby, I'm not starting anything. Lord knows you deserve some happiness after what that boy put you through." Your mother's voice softened. "But DeAndre's acting up about it?"
"He doesn't even know who it is yet, but he's making threats. And his mother won't stop calling and harassing me." You felt tears building. "I'm just tired, Mama. I'm so tired of dealing with his bullshit."
"That's it. I'm calling your auntie. We'll both come down tomorrow."
"Mama, no—please don't bring Auntie. You know how she is. She'll just escalate everything and—"
But it was too late. You could hear your mother yelling in the background, "Sandra! Get on the phone! Your niece needs us!"
"Oh my God," you muttered, already regretting this call.
"What's going on?" Your aunt's voice came on the line, sharp and ready for a fight. Your mother's twin sister had never liked DeAndre, had told you from day one that he wasn't shit, and she'd been waiting for years for permission to tell him about himself.
"Hey, Auntie," you said weakly.
"Don't 'hey Auntie' me. Your mama says DeAndre's being stupid again? And his mama's harassing you?" Her voice rose. "Oh, I got something for both of them. Let me book these flights right now."
"Auntie, you don't have to—"
"Hush. We're coming. Tomorrow. You need your family, and we're not letting you deal with this alone." You could hear typing in the background. "Found a flight at 10 AM. We'll be there by early afternoon."
You held your head in your hands, shaking it, but you couldn't help smiling a little. This was exactly what you should have expected. Your mother and aunt were a package deal, and they didn't play when it came to family.
"Okay," you conceded. "But please, please don't make things worse."
"Worse? Baby, we're about to make things better. Now tell me about this man you met." Your aunt's voice turned curious. "Is he fine? Does he have a job? Is he good to you?"
"He's... he's amazing, Auntie. Really amazing."
"Then that's all that matters. Now your mama wants to talk to you again."
Your mother came back on the line. "We'll text you our flight info. And baby? I'm proud of you. For leaving, for protecting De'Ariel, for finding someone who treats you right. Don't let DeAndre make you feel bad about moving on."
"Thanks, Mama." Your throat was tight. "I love you."
"Love you too, baby girl. See you tomorrow."
After you hung up, you sat there for another moment, processing everything. Your mother and aunt were coming tomorrow. Lewis was leaving for Amsterdam in a few days. DeAndre was spiraling and making threats. It was all too much and not enough and overwhelming in ways you hadn't anticipated.
But at least you wouldn't be dealing with it alone anymore.
"Mama!" De'Ariel called from upstairs. "I'm hungry!"
"Coming, baby!" You pulled yourself off the floor, wiped your eyes, and headed to the kitchen. Life kept moving forward whether you were ready or not.
While you were making mac and cheese—De'Ariel's favorite—she came bouncing into the kitchen.
"Guess what?" you said, stirring the pot. "Grandma and Auntie Sandra are coming to visit tomorrow."
De'Ariel's face lit up. "Really? For how long?"
"A few weeks. They're going to help us get ready for school to start."
"Yay!" She started dancing around the kitchen. "Can we make cookies with Grandma? She makes the best cookies!"
"I'm sure she'll make you all the cookies you want, baby girl."
As you served dinner and listened to De'Ariel chatter about all the things she wanted to do with her grandmother and aunt, you felt some of the tension leave your shoulders. It would be okay. You had family coming. You had Lewis. You had a plan.
DeAndre could make all the threats he wanted. But you weren't backing down. Not anymore.
Lewis's couch had become your favorite place in the world.
You were sprawled across his lap, your legs tangled with his, his hands on your waist as his mouth moved against yours in a kiss that had started slow but was quickly building into something more urgent. His braids were loose, falling around his face, and you had your fingers tangled in them, using them to pull him closer.
"I'm going to miss this," Lewis murmured against your lips, his accent thick. "Miss you."
"Ugh, don't remind me." You pulled back slightly to look at him. "You leave in two days."
"I know." His hands slid under your shirt, warm against your skin. "That's why we need to make the most of right now."
His mouth found that spot on your neck that made you gasp, sucking gently, his tongue tracing patterns that made your body respond immediately. You shifted in his lap, feeling him hard beneath you, and his hands tightened on your hips.
"You're going to be the death of me," he breathed, his teeth grazing your collarbone.
"Good way to go though."
He laughed against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you. His hands were everywhere—sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts through your bra, gripping your ass to pull you closer. Each touch was deliberate, purposeful, like he was trying to memorize how you felt.
"You going to miss me?" he asked, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.
"Maybe a little."
"Just a little?" His hand slid between your thighs, making you gasp. "I think it's more than a little."
"Okay, fine." You rolled your hips against him. "I'm going to miss you. Miss this. Miss your touch." You leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "Miss your dick."
Lewis groaned, his head falling back against the couch. "Fuck, the way you talk."
"You like it." You bit your lip, watching him watch you, the way his chest was rising and falling faster now.
"I love it." He was staring at you now, really staring, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in that way that made you want to taste him again. "We'll just have to find other ways to not miss each other while I'm gone."
"Oh yeah?" You traced your finger down his chest. "What did you have in mind?"
"You could send me some pictures. Maybe a little video." His voice had dropped to that low, rough register that made your core clench. "Help me remember what's waiting for me when I get back."
"You want me to send you pics?" You tried to sound scandalized but couldn't quite pull it off.
"Hell yeah." His hands slid up your thighs. "It's turning me on just thinking about it."
"I can tell." You ground against him, feeling exactly how turned on he was.
Lewis's control snapped. In one smooth motion, he flipped you onto your back on the couch, covering your body with his, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was all heat and promise and barely contained need.
His hands were everywhere—pushing up your shirt, unclasping your bra, sliding down to work at the button of your shorts. Your own hands were pulling at his t-shirt, needing to feel his skin against yours, needing him closer.
"Tell me you want this," he breathed against your mouth.
"I want this. Want you. Always want you."
That was all the permission he needed. Clothes disappeared piece by piece, and then he was settling between your thighs, his body covering yours, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, everywhere he could reach.
"You’re so responsive," he murmured, like he was amused by it. "I barely touch you and you’re already like this."
"Don’t act surprised,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Look at you,” he said softly, almost to himself. “So beautiful when you relax for me.”
You arched instinctively, chasing the warmth of his mouth, and he made a quiet sound of approval. “That’s it. Just like that. Let me take my time.”
The raspiness of his voice sent tingles down your spine, and you let out a soft moan as you felt his lips close over your clitoris. "Baby..."
Lewis's lips devoured your pussy - sucking, biting everything within reach and causing your body to become electrified with pleasure. Your hands grasped his braids as your shaky thighs practically smothered him, hips rocking back and forth to increase the pressure that was mounting inside of you. He then ran one hand upward the length of your body to squeeze your left breast briefly, then making its way to your open mouth, inserting two of his long fingers. You instinctively sucked on them, a trail of saliva coming down his hand did not deter him in the slightest from his assault on your pussy.
Before you knew it, he removed his hand to immediately insert them inside of you, working in tandem with the quick, succinct movements of his tongue, and in return, forced your eyes to roll to the back of your head and moan incessantly.
"Ooh fuck......Lewis......mmhmmm..."
You were babbling a string of nonsense as Lewis continued to pleasure you, leaving no fold untouched.
"Like this, baby?" he asked, voice low as his thumb massaged your anus.
"Yes," you breathed without a second thought.
"You gonna let me have you here one day?"
"Yes," you immediately answered, even though a tiny part of it scared you. You never tried anal, no matter how many times DeAndre asked for it, but you would let Lewis do the most freakiest, nastiest things to you and then beg for more.
"And this, baby? Still good?" His thumb inched inside as he then began to French kiss your pussy, and your vision became blurry.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby," you hissed as your legs began to shake uncontrollably.
"Then cum...be a good girl for me."
Not even a second after those words escaped his mouth, you writhed across his face until your release came over you like a tidal wave, for which Lewis refused to miss any drop of your essence, licking you until you were dry.
You were spent, absolutely breathless, but judging from the look on Lewis's face, you were far from being done. When he finally pushed fully inside you, you both gasped, the connection immediate and overwhelming. He moved slowly at first, his eyes locked on yours, making sure you were with him, making sure you felt everything he was trying to say with his body.
"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead pressed to yours. "So perfect. You okay?”
You nodded, hands sliding up his back. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Instead, he shifted his weight, angling you slightly, one of his hands braced beside your head while the other stayed at your waist, anchoring you.
“You feel incredible,” he groaned quietly. “I could stay in this pussy all night.”
You wrapped your legs around him without thinking, pulling him closer, and that earned a breathless laugh against your cheek. “Impatient,” he teased. “But I like that about you.”
His rhythm changed subtly—nothing abrupt, just enough to make you gasp and clutch at him. He noticed immediately.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “That the spot?”
“Lewis,” you whispered, voice breaking, “don’t stop doing that.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “I’ve got you. Let go when you’re ready.”
And you did, pleasure crashing over you in waves while Lewis worked you through it, his own release following moments later, your name on his lips like a prayer.
After, tangled together on his couch, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your back, you felt that familiar bittersweet ache. This was perfect. He was perfect. And in two days, he'd be gone for weeks.
"What are you thinking?" Lewis asked softly.
"That I don't want you to leave."
"I don't want to leave either." He kissed your forehead. "But I'll be back. And we'll figure out how to make this work with my schedule."
"Your schedule is insane."
"I know. But you're worth figuring it out." He tilted your chin up to look at him. "And in the meantime, don't forget about those pictures you're going to send me."
You laughed despite yourself. "You're terrible."
"You love it though."
"I really do."
You stayed like that for a while, neither wanting to move, neither wanting to acknowledge that the weekend was ending and reality was waiting.
Your mother and aunt were at your house right now, probably already planning how to handle DeAndre after they put De'Ariel to bed. Lewis would be packing for Amsterdam tomorrow.
Life kept moving forward.
But as you lay next to Lewis, you couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop thinking about the way he made you feel cherished and desired and seen.
My man, you thought again. My man is going to Amsterdam, and I'm going to miss him like crazy.
But he'd be back. And you'd figure out how to make this work.
Because what you had was worth fighting for.
Even with all the complications. Even with DeAndre's threats and his mother's harassment and the divorce dragging on.
Lewis was worth it.
And for the first time in years, you believed you were worth it too.
Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader
Summary: The lines between friendship and something more start to blur between you and Lewis when after invites you to his first race weekend with Ferrari.
Status: Completed
Story warnings: Angst, jealousy, anxiety, yearning. Lots and lots of FLUFF!! Eventual smut. No use of Y/N.
𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | soulmate au! namor x f! reader! part 1 [REQUEST]
𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 — in which you were hired to be a nurse by the government for an expedition to the Atlantic Ocean in search for vibranium only for your ship to be ambushed and for you to also find your soulmate. [ this is the request that was sent to me and it's better explained here so pls do check this out before reading cause my synopsis sucks!]
i loved this idea so much! tysm @kpopgirlbtssvt for sending in this request! I really loved writing it and I wanted to take my time with this request so I had split it into two parts! i hope this is okay!
reblogs , likes and shares are highly
appreciated ♡
PART 1
Soulmates. Many cultures and religions have different interpretations and stories about this concept.
The Greek philosopher Plato wrote that humans once had four arms, four legs and two faces. He stated that Zeus split us in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half,
In Japanese culture it is believed that a magical cord connects two souls. It may stretch or tangle, but never break. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances
while in Hindu culture, there's an idea that you have a karmic connection with a certain soul. It is called lehnu in the Gujarati language, which is the link with another soul that causes you to keep crossing paths, each time having a good impact on each other and improving our lives for the better.
There's many interpretation of what soulmates are truely here for, almost everyone in this world has one — a person that you could find comfort in, confined in and is your other half.
But for you, you still never found yours. Everyday you hoped to find your other half but nothing. It's been years and you passed the point of when most people found their other half, making you feel anxious and scared.
What if you never find them or what if you weren't destined to have one ? Most people start to form a marking on their wrist at 18— the marking being one that resembles something that both people have a strong connection with.
Most cases people get their soulmate marking as late as the age of 24 but you have passed that age making you worried and now almost hopeless that you weren't given another half.
The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the ship broke you from your depressed thoughts as your skin tingle, your teeth grinding agaisnt each other causing your fingers to twitch as you felt extremly sensitive to the harsh noises as you placed your noise canceling headphones on—your body instantly easing up once you connected your headphones.
You were currently on a ship in the Atlantic Ocean—to be specific a ship that consisted of CIA agents and the U.S Navy whom were utilizing a vibranium detector in search of vibranium in the ocean.
You were hired as an on board nurse, you job was to be a responder during emergencies, perform patient assessments, assist providence with clinical diagnosing, and administer medications and tests.
Everything was going smoothly, there was no serious issues just people coming in to do their daily vitality check ups.
You were surprised you are managing quite well in this new environment as you are a person who has sensory issues and find certain things to be extremly overwhelming but everything was fine, to be honest you were enjoying this new experience.
It was like a fresh breath of air away from the mundane everyday city life and the consistent searching for your soulmate.
But something also drawn you to join this expedition — not mainly money or change of life but the strong sensation to be close to the ocean.
You found comfort in the ocean. At times when the waves crashed harshly, it did cause you to feel extremly sensitive to the noise but at times when the ocean was calm, it felt like it was calling out to you, to join it.
There was something so hypnotic about the ocean to you, almost every weekend you would be at the beach— either just taking a walk on the shore and collecting sea shells or dipping your feet in the water.
So when you got the job opportunity to be on board and explore deeper parts of the ocean you could not turn down the offer ( and also the amount of money they were willing to pay you).
'If I can't have a soulmate than money should be my other half and comfort.' You thought, oddly that cheered you up as you thought of the things you want to get yourself once you are back on land as you start to unpack the medication from the stock room onto your shelves , extremly oblivious to the commotion that was occurring on the ship.
You were extremly focused on what you were doing that you didn't realize that someone else was in the room until you turned around, the medication you had in your hand fell to the ground.
Your eyes widening, the pulse behind your ear starts to throb. In front of you stood a man whom held a sharp spear like weapon but what shocked and scared you even more was his appearance. His skin a azure blue, body adorn with jewels and metals and what looked like an apparatus covering his noise and mouth.
A scream leaves past your lips, your heart beating faster. For once you extrmely regret wearing your noise canceling headphones as two people whom also had the same daunting appearance as the man came into the room after hearing your screams, their spears pointed towards you, your hands shakily take off your headphones to hear what they say and to try and communicate with them.
The sharp tip of the spear coming towards your neck, pressing against your flesh as tears start to brim at the corner of your eyes, your heart beating faster and faster as you felt like you were about to hyperventilate.
You have no experience with any combat or fighting, you could not escape this as you blinked your eyes as you start to plead for your life, tears falling from yours eyes and cascading down onto to your cheeks, your cheeks turning an apple red as you choke on your words.
"P-please I'll do anything, please don't kill me. I-I don't want to die." You cried out, your voice shaky as your legs felt weak as you fall to your knees, the spear following your movements.
"We should take her to K'uk'ulkan first, she might have insight on the scientist as the others didn't give in." one of the people said, the language was foreign to you and you didn't understand anything they said as you felt the spear coming closer to your neck once again.
There was no repsone to what the perosn said, instead a strong hand grasped onto your upper arm causing you to whimper as tears cascaded down your cheeks, the person pulling you up to your feet as they dragged you out of the room.
Your mind was jumbled up with so many questions , fear burning through out your body as you felt your senses overload. Your mind was frantically running in circles, your eyes widen when you find the corpses of CIA agents and marines , each brutally murdered and their blood splashed across the metal hallway as the bile in your throat burned, the heavy smell of blood entering your nose making you feel quisy and light headed, your hands and feet tingling as you hoped that this was all just a nightmare.
The chilled night air nips at your skin once you are on the top deck, the night sky and the moon being the witness of what was going on, the moonlight sparkled agaisnt the ocean and the tear stains that stuck to your skin.
There were more of these blue people on top and more corpses of people you have worked with scattered around making you feel nauseas as the man's grip on your forearm tightening as he walked towards a man and woman.
Your heart for some reason suddenly lurched in your chest, a cold draft falling upon you as the pulse in your neck starts to beat faster , you senses becoming even more alert.
"K'uk'ulkan" the three soliders say in unison, the man had his back facing them, a lady next to him— her skin a similar shade of blue to the men that have captured you but through your blurry eyes you noticed the man that's back was facing you— his skin was not blue rather a milky brown color. You skin pricked with goosebumps at the sight of him as he turns around.
Everything about him oozed regality from the confidence his body language gave off. He was muscluar and his chets was adorn by a large gold and jade neck plates, a necklace strung with shells and pearls hung around his neck too.
What looked like gold bracletes were cuffed around his biceps, wrists, and ankles.
He was extremly beautiful, the epitome of beauty. It made your heart haywire but his beautiful was covered with a scowl, eyes burning with anger and hatred towards you making you feel uneasy at the mixed emotions you felt towards this odd stranger.
You continued to cry, in fear of your life, you have never been in such a situation. Your breathing coming out uneasy as K’uk’ulkan comes towards you, his spear being held in a position to strike but when you look up at him again, your eyes filled with fear, tiredness and pain, your eyes that sparkled like the light that reflects off of the ocean — he hesitate.
Something warm fills his chest, his heart banging agaisnt his chest frantically as he without a second thought looked down at his wrist, a small marking was carved into his skin. It looked like someone had taken a knife and had curved the sign of the water element, his gaze moving away from this and towards you.
His gaze softens, the gaze that was once filled with hatred changed. He signals for his people to let go of you and they do without hesitation as you crumbled to the ground, loud sobs leaving past your lips as you quiver in fear.
K'uk'ulkan look down at you, he gaze at you with confusion and wonder. His heart in conflict that a surface dweller is his soulmate. The person he had been waiting for nearly 500 years. He had waited for centuries for his other half that he had almost given up on the idea of him having a soulmate.
Your loud sob breaks him out of his thoughts as his brows furrow in concern as he bends down towards you, your eyes closed shut in fear as you start to breath heavily.
Without hesitation, K'uk'ulkan placed his hand on your should— an instant surge of electricity shocked the both of you causing your eyes to open and his to widen in shock. The sensation felt amaizng, it seemed to calm you down and it made him feel a slight ease in his heart.
You look up at him with teary eyes, your gaze being met with warm brown eyes that calmed you down abit as a warm hand suddenly came and cupped your cheeks gently, your eyes widening at this sensation that made your skin tingle, your heart beat faster as the pad of his thumb gently wiped away the tears that collected underneath your eyes, you sniffles lightly.
The fear still stuck to you as your eyes move away from his and towards the people that surrounded you making you to take in a shaky breath in.
"It's okay." he spoke in english, his voice was soothing, it made your heart flutter as you start to breath normally your hands on their own moved towards the large hands that cupped your face as you placed your hands on top of his. That same electrifying sensation incapsulated the both of you, your hands felt soft against the top of his.
He gently moves his hand off of your face, as he takes your left hand in his. Your eyes still trained onto him, your soul aching as he looks down at your wrist and saw the freshly red scar marked on it — a water sign as he brushed his thumb aagisng it sending a shiver down your skin as you look down, his hand gently holding your hand as you notice the marking on your wrist, your eyes widen, heart skipped a beat as you looked back up at him but your still felt scared, the people around the two of you still made you feel uneasy as you quiver lightly.
K'uk'ulkan noticed this and without hesitation, he pulls you towards him. Your eyes widen as your body shook from fear, from everything that had just occured.
He held onto you delicately in his arms in a protective manner. You placed your hands on his bare chest, his skin was moist yet warm just being close to him made you feel safe as he gently pets your hair and soothingly whispers to you.
"I have waited for you, for so many centuries." He softly says as he gently tucks behind a strand of your hair. A warm gaze on his face as you finally calmed down.
He gently lifts you up with him, his arm securely wrapped around your waist as your side was flushed agaisnt him as he turns towards Namora and says something to her that you didn't understand, you watched as the woman warily eye you but nods her head , she indicates to the other warriors to leave as they all jump off the ship and into the water causing your eyes to widen as K’uk’ulkan notices this and gently pats his hand agaisnt your waist to comfort you.
You watched as the woman takes off the apparatus on her face and hands it to the man, he nods his head as she jumps into the water.
K'uk'ulkan turns toward you, a soft expression on his face as he holds it in front of your face . One of his hands gently placed on the side of your face as he stares deeply into your eyes.
" you have to trust me and wear this mask, I will take you to a much safer place and explain everything to you. " he gently explained, your eyes showed slightly conflict making him feel anxious for you response.
You gulped thickly and you placed your hand over his.
"I'll come with you but what is your name? " you asked him, your heart pounding agaisnt your chest.
A smile cracked on his face.
" K'uk'ulkan " he says, your brain engraving the name into your mind.
"and yours ? "
"Y/n " you said, his head tilt lightly and the smile was still etched on his features.
" y/n " he repeats, testing your name on his tongue as it rolled off with ease from his mouth, the way he said your name made your heart skip a beat.
"I'm ready, K'uk'ulkan. " you softly said, a shiver running down his spine when you uttered his name as he gently place the mask on your nose and mouth as he softly say something that slowly made you feel drowsy before everything went dark.
ABOUT — Joanna Hensley is brilliant, neurodivergent woman from a part of D.C. the world ignores. Her mind is her greatest asset and, due to a late diagnosis, her most misunderstood trait. Over the course her her story, there comes a battle between her deep-seated need for stability, quiet, and understanding versus her intense, all-consuming and chaotic love for a world (and a man) that offers none of it.
From a self-doubting, reclusive dropout to a world-renowned F1 aerodynamicist. She must learn to define success and happiness on her own terms, even if it means letting go of the love that defined her.
WARNINGS — Infidelity, toxic relationships, vague mention of the Christian Horner allegations (eventually), social anxiety, autistic!ofc, inattentive ADHD, imposter syndrome, sense of inferiority and wasted potential, financial difficulties. (if you read and feel like i missed anything please feel free to let me know)
NOTES — Hiii, i hope you enjoy the first chapter. :)) And if you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know!
Series Masterlist
The only sun Joanna Hensley saw these days was the one she could control. With a few keystrokes, she could adjust its brightness, banish its glare, and command its full, undivided attention. It lived behind the screen of her 27-inch monitor, a digital star illuminating her face in the self-imposed twilight of her bedroom.
It was 1:17 AM in Washington D.C., and she was deep in the trenches of the F1Technical forum, her fingers flying across a mechanical keyboard that clicked with a satisfying, rhythmic certainty.
User: AeroAnna
Post: Re: Sidepod Philosophy - Inwash vs. Outwash
"...the argument that the '21 regs push teams towards a primarily outwash concept is reductive. Yes, the bargeboards are simplified, but you're all ignoring the potential for a more aggressive undercut to energize the vortex shed from the forward floor edge. If you can keep that vortex attached and sealed against the floor, you create a low-pressure zone that effectively 'pulls' the outwash from the front wing down and under the car. It's not about pushing air out anymore; it's about pulling it in and accelerating it. The sidepod isn't just a radiator cover; it's the most critical conditioning element for the entire rear of the car..."
She paused, rereading her words. It was clean. It was logical. It was a closed system where every action had a predictable, beautiful reaction. A world of downforce and drag, of laminar flow and turbulent wakes. It made sense in a way people never had.
A distant siren wailed, cutting through the quiet hum of her PC's cooling fans. The sound, thin and sharp, sliced through the years and pulled her from the pristine, carbon-fiber world of Formula 1 back to the cracked pavement and humid air of her own reality. The single sodium streetlight outside her window cast a sickly, orange-yellow glow into her room, the same color it had been her whole life. The color of caution.
The taste of a half-and-half—half lemonade, half sweet tea—flooded her memory, so vivid she could almost feel the cold plastic cup in her hand. It was the taste of walking home from school, the styrofoam container from the carryout warm in her other hand. Three-piece chicken wings, extra crispy, with fries thrown in the same box so they’d get soft from the steam and grease. Mumbo sauce on everything. That was the rule.
She’d been a quiet kid, a ghost that drifted between the orbits of louder, more gravitational friends. One week she’d be with the girls who debated the merits of Beyoncé versus Rihanna on the Metro ride home, the next with the boys who practiced dribbling drills on the cracked court behind the school. Joanna was the constant, the listener, the one who was always there but never quite part of it. She was known for keeping to herself, yet drama always seemed to find her, clinging to the clothes of her more outgoing friends like secondhand smoke. She’d offer a quiet opinion, a logical solution they’d usually ignore, and then retreat back into the safety of her own thoughts.
Her days ended early. The D.C. she lived in wasn't the one of monuments and museums on TV. It was a D.C. of neighborhood beefs that simmered for generations, of lines you didn't cross and corners you didn't turn after dark. The occasional pop-pop-pop of gunshots in the deep of night was a familiar, unwelcome lullaby, a stark reminder of why the sodium glow of the streetlights was the only sun she felt safe under. Home was a sanctuary. School was a mission. The world outside those two places was a variable she couldn’t control.
She shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. Back to the forum. Her post was getting replies already. Quick, incisive agreements from screen names she recognized—engineers, amateur aerodynamicists, obsessive fans. Here, she wasn't the quiet girl on the edge of the drama. She wasn't a Georgetown dropout with an abandoned Instagram profile still claiming a future that had evaporated four years ago. Here, her thoughts weren't awkward or stilted. They were elegant. They were powerful.
Here, she was AeroAnna.
And she was about to post an idea about floor-edge wing geometry that was so radical, so counterintuitive, it just might work. She leaned forward, the glow of the monitor catching the intense focus in her eyes. The siren faded. The past receded. There was only the problem, and the beautiful, elegant physics of its solution.
can we get more of the cinnamon couple w/ yoongi? I adore how you wrote them and I neeeddd more
This is inspired by a true story that happened to me: My aunt used to beat me when my mom would leave me with her.
Broken Boundaries
Masterlist
Bold writing is Korean. This came out longer than I thought it would be. Hope you like it 😊
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Haeri hates pictures. Yoongi hates anyone who makes her cry. When a night out ends with hurt feelings and old-fashioned discipline, Yoongi proves there’s nothing quiet about the way he protects his family.
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Min Yoongi x Black!reader (married!au, parents!au)
𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 4.4k
Warnings! ANGST!! protective!Yoongi, child discipline/cultural clash themes, mentions of spanking (not graphic), anger, crying child, familial conflict, hurt/comfort, FLUFF!! good parenting, healing, lots of family feels, tender father-daughter bonding, reader comforting both Yoongi and Haeri.
Haeri sits curled on the couch, arms crossed so tightly against her chest you half expect them to fuse there, lips pressed into a stubborn pout that looks far too grown for her six years.
The couch swallows her small frame, but she makes herself even smaller, knees tucked up, chin pressed into the soft fabric of her shoulder. Her curls—glossy and thick, the shade of midnight she inherited from Yoongi—frame her face like a halo that doesn’t quite match the thundercloud brewing in her expression.
“I don’t want to go.” Her voice is muffled, quiet but firm, carrying the conviction only a child can muster when they’ve made up their mind.
You lower yourself into a crouch in front of her, knees creaking against the wooden floor as you reach to tug gently at her little ankle until she uncurls enough to look at you. “Baby,” you murmur, soft but coaxing, “we’ve talked about this. It’s just dinner. Eomma and Appa will be back before you even notice we’re gone.”
For a second, she looks like she might fold, but then her bottom lip begins to tremble—not enough to spill into tears, just enough to warn you that she’s holding the line. “Why can’t I come with you?”
Her eyes dart to Yoongi, who has already finished tying his tie and is leaning against the armrest of the couch, hands buried in his pockets. He looks maddeningly calm, suit jacket perfectly pressed, expression unreadable. His patience is quieter, more measured.
He looks at her, steady and calm. “Because it’s boring.”
Haeri’s head pops up, eyes narrowing. “Boring?”
“Mm.” Yoongi nods once, slow and deliberate. His face is flat, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that betrays him—amusement as he waits for her to take the bait. “Lots of old people talking. Food that doesn’t even taste good. No cartoons.”
That earns him the tiniest crack in her pout. “No cartoons?”
“Not a single one,” he says, his voice dipping low, conspiratorial. He leans closer, close enough that she blinks at him, suspicious but curious. “Not even the funny ones. Just people talking about work and money until you want to fall asleep.”
A reluctant giggle bubbles up from her chest before she can catch it, slipping through the cracks of her frown. She slaps her hand over her mouth as though that will erase the sound, eyes wide with betrayal at herself.
You glance at Yoongi, one eyebrow arched. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look back at you, but his lips twitch—just the smallest tug at the corner, a smile he refuses to give in to.
You smooth your hand gently over Haeri’s curls. “Besides, sweetheart, you get to hang out with Auntie tonight. She’s been so excited to see you.”
That wipes the hint of amusement right off her face. The storm clouds gather again as quickly as they had parted. “I don’t like when she pinches my cheeks,” she mutters darkly, eyes cutting toward the floor.
You stifle a laugh and trace your thumb along her hairline. “Then tell her nicely, hmm? Use your words.”
“She doesn’t listen.”
At that, Yoongi sighs and you know he’s run out of patience for the circular back-and-forth of six-year-old logic. He pushes off the armrest and crouches down beside you, knees bending with practiced ease, eyes fixing squarely on his daughter's. Identical to his own.
“Haeri-ya,” he says, calm but firm, voice pitched low enough to demand attention without force. “We’ll be gone for a few hours. That’s it. You can handle that, right?”
The directness in his tone makes her pause. She looks at him, then at you, her little shoulders rising and falling with a long, exaggerated sigh of defeat. Finally, she mumbles, “Fine.”
Yoongi studies her for a second, then nods once, satisfied. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to the top of her forehead before straightening to his full height again. “Good.”
You take over from there, brushing your hands down the front of her dress. The soft lilac cotton is already a little wrinkled from her curling herself into knots on the couch, but it’s still sweet—the tiny embroidered flower near the collar was the very reason she picked it out in the first place. She’d twirled in front of the mirror that morning, announcing it made her feel like a princess.
“Pretty as ever,” you say, kissing her cheek and earning a small hum in response. She won’t look at you directly, but she doesn’t fight you when you coax her off the couch and toward the door.
Yoongi is already there, one hand adjusting his cufflinks, the other reaching instinctively to steady Haeri as she shuffles past him with the tiniest, most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard.
“Come on, troublemaker,” he says quietly, ruffling her curls as she passes. This time, the corner of his mouth does tilt up.
-------------------
Your aunt greets you at the door with her usual whirlwind of warmth, pulling you in before you can even get through the door. Her hug is enthusiastic, all squeeze and sway, rocking you both back on your heels. Her perfume hits you instantly—floral, sweet, just a little overpowering—and it lingers in your hair when she finally lets go.
“There’s my pretty girl!” she coos, bending down with a theatrical gasp to gather Haeri into her arms.
But Haeri doesn’t move. She stiffens, tiny body pressing hard against your side, her smile nowhere to be found. Instead she burrows into you, half her face hidden against your leg, her little hands gripping the fabric of your dress until her knuckles turn pale.
“Don’t be shy,” your aunt chides gently, reaching as if to pull her forward. But before she can, Yoongi steps in smoothly, his hand resting lightly on Haeri’s back.
“She’ll warm up,” he says in English, his voice polite, even, but clipped enough that you know the edge is there. His eyes linger a fraction too long, steady on your aunt. Protective.
Your aunt’s smile falters for half a beat before she waves her hand as if brushing it off. “Of course, of course. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Go, go—enjoy yourselves.”
You kneel in front of Haeri, smoothing her curls with your palm until she peeks out, her big eyes shimmering with reluctance. “Baby,” you murmur, voice soft just for her, “remember what we said. We’ll be back soon. Be good for Auntie, okay?”
Her response is immediate, desperate. She throws her arms around your neck, clinging like you might slip through her fingers if she doesn’t hold on tight enough. Her lips press against your cheek, warm and damp, a kiss that feels more like a plea. When she pulls back, she pivots toward Yoongi, climbing onto his lap without hesitation.
He bends easily to her, catching her as he’s done it a thousand times. She presses her mouth to his ear and whispers something in Korean, so quiet you can’t catch the words.
But you don’t need to understand them. You see it in the way his face shifts—the guarded lines smoothing, the corners of his eyes crinkling with tenderness and pure unconditional love (he would die/kill for her). He kisses her temple, lingering there a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing once against her cheek.
When you finally stand, smoothing down your dress, Yoongi is already watching. His gaze is thoughtful, carrying something you can’t quite pin down. The moment hangs for just a second—then, as if sensing your heart stumbling, he tilts his head slightly and extends his arm. Just like he did on your wedding day.
“Ready?”
You slip your hand through the crook of his arm, letting his warmth steady you. “Ready.”
And just like that, the door closes behind you.
You catch one last glimpse of Haeri’s little figure standing in the hallway, curls haloed by the porch light, before the house recedes into the distance.
The California evening stretches wide ahead of you, sky painted in shades of pink and orange, the hum of the car filling the silence between you as the night begins.
---------------------
Dinner is exactly what Yoongi promised: boring.
A long table, full of industry people and local connections, all of them more interested in shaking hands and exchanging business cards than in the food itself. You sit beside him, your hand resting casually against his knee beneath the white tablecloth, grounding him as much as yourself.
The meal is slow, every course dragged out with speeches and toasts. Yoongi plays his part well—cordial nods, the occasional chuckle at someone’s half-funny joke, answering questions when he’s directly addressed. But you know him too well. The way his jaw tightens ever so slightly when conversation drags. The way he glances toward his watch when no one’s looking.
At one point, a woman across from you leans forward, smile wide. “So, Mr. Min, how are you finding America this time?”
Yoongi takes a measured sip of water before answering. “Busy.”
The table chuckles politely, though you know he isn’t joking and you know he wants to roll his eyes. You squeeze his knee under the table, hiding your smile.
The courses blur together—salad, fish, steak, something chocolate for dessert. You nod and smile your way through small talk, all while watching Yoongi do the same. When the final toast wraps up and people start rising from their seats, you can feel his relief without him saying a word.
“Ready to go?” you murmur, sliding your hand into his as you stand.
He hums, low (and secretly eager to get back to his little girl). “More than ready.”
Outside, the night air is cool, a gentle contrast to the heavy warmth of the restaurant. You breathe it in like a reprieve. Yoongi slips his jacket off, draping it over your shoulders without a word. And even though the evening wasn’t exciting, wasn’t glamorous, there’s a comfort in the simplicity: the two of you, side by side, heading back to where Haeri is waiting.
The car isn't fully parked before Haeri is sprinting toward it.
She barrels down the driveway, curls bouncing, little legs moving faster than you thought she could manage. She doesn’t stop until Yoongi honks the horn and she freezes in her tracks, her head snapping toward the car.
As soon as her eyes lock on the source of the sound, her face twists into something that guts you—relief mixed with heartbreak, her small mouth trembling, eyes wide and wet. She doesn’t wait for the engine to turn off, doesn’t wait for either of you to open the door. She just runs again, arms out, as if the only safe place in the world is in her father's arms (which it is).
Yoongi’s door isn’t even fully open before she throws herself at him. He catches her effortlessly, one arm sliding under her legs, the other bracing her small back, holding her tight against his chest. She buries her face into his neck as if trying to disappear into him.
It takes a second for your brain to process the scene.
You’d been expecting her usual shuffle of tiny feet, the sleepy grin she always saves for late evenings, maybe a ramble about the cartoons she watched while you were gone. But instead…
“Whoa, whoa—Haeri-ya,” he murmurs, the words low, careful, as though he’s trying not to spook her more than she already is. His brows are furrowed, sharp lines cutting into his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
You’re still climbing out of the passenger side when you hear her voice, muffled against his shirt, cracking down the middle. “Auntie hurt me,” she says, so small and broken that it feels like a blow straight to the gut.
“What?” Yoongi pulls her away from his chest, holding her with both arms, eyes raking over every inch of her tiny frame, frantically looking for signs of damage. “How?”
She shakes her head, curls sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks, and her little fists ball up in Yoongi’s shirt. “She—” her voice hitches, a sob rising up in her chest cutting her off. Yoongi smooths his hand over her curls, his jaw working, eyes darkening by the second, desperately trying to calm her down while simultaneously fighting his own mounting fury.
You look up just in time to see your aunt standing a little ways back, arms crossed, mouth pressed thin. She looks… annoyed—put out, like she’s been inconvenienced.
Your stomach twists, heat rushing through you. “What the hell is she talking about?” you ask her, your voice tighter than you mean it to be.
Before Haeri can answer, your aunt jumps in. “She’s being dramatic. I just wanted to take a picture to send you, but she kept turning away, making faces, acting spoiled. So I spanked her a little.” She waves her hand dismissively, as if that’s the end of the conversation.
“You what?” Yoongi’s thick accented voice slices through, sharp enough that your aunt actually falters.
He adjusts Haeri on his hip, his hand steady against her small back, the other coming up to smooth her damp curls away from her sticky cheeks. His eyes don’t leave your aunt’s face, not once. “You hit my daughter?”
Haeri whimpers, small and quiet. She hides her face in Yoongi’s shoulder again.
Your aunt recovers quickly, huffing as though she’s the one owed an explanation. “It wasn’t even hard. Just a little tap to let her know she can’t act up with me. Kids need discipline—”
Yoongi cuts her off, his voice low and even but lethal. “She is not your child, and you don’t touch her.” He glances down at Haeri, his touch softening, thumb brushing along her cheek. He murmurs something too quiet to hear, then adjusts her on his hip. By the time he looks back at your aunt, his eyes are hard, cold. “We’re leaving.”
Your aunt frowns, the edges of her mouth pulling down into a pout, as though she can’t comprehend how she's in the wrong. “She wasn’t listening,” your aunt insists, crossing her arms tighter. “Every time I told her to smile, she turned away. I asked nicely at first. But she just kept saying no. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Respect it.”
The word lands with the weight of a hammer. Yoongi doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t move an inch closer, but the air between them sharpens. Haeri stirs in his arms at the sudden coldness in his tone, but he kisses the side of her head almost absentmindedly, soothing her even as his gaze stays locked on your aunt.
“She’s a child,” your aunt argues, voice rising a notch. “She should do as she’s told. Especially by her elders. Back when I was raising mine, if they talked back—”
“She didn’t talk back,” Yoongi interrupts, flat and firm. “She said no. She’s allowed to say no.”
Your aunt blinks, thrown off by the sharpness in his tone. She opens her mouth again, but Yoongi cuts her off before she can get another word out.
“No one—” he adjusts Haeri, his hand tightening protectively around her as though emphasizing the point—“no one puts their hands on my daughter. Ever.” He fixes your aunt with one last hard look. “Are we clear?”
The silence that follows is heavy, thick enough to smother.
Your aunt tries for one last jab, a mutter under her breath: “You’re just spoiling her. Soft parenting doesn’t work in the real world.” Her eyes flick toward you, then back to Yoongi. “Mark my words—she’ll learn the hard way.”
Yoongi finally moves then—just one step forward, enough that your aunt stiffens. He adjusts Haeri’s weight on his hip, the only thing giving away his anger is the tightening of his jaw. “Spare me the lecture,” he says, calm as stone. “I’d rather raise a child who knows her body is her own than one who learns to stay quiet when someone ignores her ‘no.’” He looks at Haeri, brushes his lips across her hair. “Understood?"
Haeri doesn’t lift her head from his shoulder, but you see her nod once, the tiniest movement.
Yoongi nods back, his cheek resting on her forehead for a split second. He looks back to your aunt, eyes flat and hard. "We’re done here.”
He turns without another word, carrying Haeri back toward the car.
You linger half a second longer, anger buzzing hot under your skin, but Haeri’s small, hiccuping breaths in the night air push you after them. You can’t bring yourself to look at your aunt—not right now. Not when every cell in your body wants to stay and fight.
Instead, you climb into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary.
------------------
The drive back is thick with silence.
Not the comfortable kind you’re used to—those stretches where the three of you hum along to the radio, or where Haeri fills the air with questions about the moon and why the streetlights “follow” the car. This silence is heavy, weighted down by the sound of her soft sniffles from the back seat.
Yoongi’s hands stay at ten and two, his knuckles pale against the wheel. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even reach to change the music. His eyes are fixed on the road, jaw clenched tight enough that you know he’s replaying every second of what just happened, probably imagining what could’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.
You twist in your seat, reaching back to rest a hand against Haeri’s knee. She’s curled in her booster, face turned to the window, but her small hand immediately latches onto yours. Her palm is damp, fingers trembling.
“Baby…” you whisper, smoothing your thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her lips press together, another sniffle escaping before she whispers, “I told her no.”
Your chest aches. “And you were right to.”
Yoongi’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, catching hers for a brief second. His voice is low, deliberate. “You never did anything wrong.”
Something loosens in her face at his words. She leans her cheek into your hand, still staring out at the blur of passing streetlights.
-------------------
By the time you make it back to the hotel, she’s half-asleep, her little body heavy with the kind of exhaustion only crying can cause. Yoongi lifts her from the back seat without a word. She clings instinctively, wrapping her arms around his neck, curls falling into his collar.
You follow them up to the suite, your heart still buzzing with adrenaline, your own hands shaky with leftover anger. Yoongi sets her gently on her bed, crouching down so their faces are level. He doesn’t start with questions. He just holds out his hand, palm up. She places hers in his without hesitation, small brown fingers resting against his pale ones.
“Haeri-ya,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over her knuckles. You don’t move closer, don’t want to intrude on the quiet of the moment. But you hear his voice, soft as it is, carrying in the dim room. “Look at me.”
She does. Her eyes are still damp, the corner of her mouth quivering as she looks up at him. But she holds his gaze, her small hand steady in his. She trusts him. With everything.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” His voice is soft, coaxing, but gentle. He doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. He simply waits.
And after a few seconds, she starts talking.
Her voice is quiet, but clear as she lays it all out: how your aunt had tried to take her picture, how she’d said no, how your aunt kept trying until finally, in frustration, she’d grabbed Haeri, yanking her until her wrist ached. How, when she still refused to smile, your aunt had spanked her, hard enough that the spot on her skin is still red when she shows you.
By the time Haeri gets to the spanking, Yoongi has to drop his eyes for a second. You watch his shoulders rise and fall, a slow breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. His jaw works, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to march right out and demand to know why your aunt felt she had any right—any right at all—to 'discipline' your child like this. But you keep your feet rooted, your fists clenched at your sides as Haeri tells her story.
When she finally finishes, she looks at Yoongi. Not you.
Her face crumples all over again, tears threatening. “I’m sorry, Appa.” The words crack as they come out, splitting at the seams.
Yoongi frowns immediately, deep furrows cutting into his forehead. He smooths his thumb across the back of her hand. “Why are you sorry?”
She sniffles hard, rubbing her free hand across her nose, but the words still stumble over her tongue. “Because… I didn't listen. You and eomma said to be a good girl and—” Her voice falters, trembling along with her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
She looks at him with a kind of desperation that breaks you—her wide eyes, cheeks flushed pink with fresh tears, lips wobbling even as she tries to catch them.
Yoongi goes completely still for a second, heart snapping in two in his chest. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving Haeri’s. “Hey, hey—no.” He leans forward to wipe her tears. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong.”
Her eyes swim, lips quivering, but she holds herself together as Yoongi tilts her face up, brushing away her tears with his thumbs.
“You did nothing wrong,” he repeats, firm enough that she holds onto the words. “Not one thing.”
Haeri swallows hard, the tears finally easing a bit. She looks at him, then down at her lap, small fingers fidgeting. Her voice is small when she finally speaks. “Appa?”
“Mm?”
“I don’t like pictures ‘cause I look weird.” The confession is whispered, shy.
Yoongi’s brow furrows. “Weird?”
She nods, cheeks heating. “Not pretty like you and eomma.”
Something flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. He’s quiet for a few seconds, his thumb brushing back and forth across the back of Haeri’s hand, his gaze dropping to her feet before returning to her eyes. “Who told you that?”
Haeri shrugs one shoulder, looking away. “My friends at school.” She picks at her sleeve, eyes downcast. “They say I look funny.” Her voice wavers, quiet and shy. “That’s why I don’t want pictures.”
Your heart breaks at the quiet confession. You can feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes. You’ve never noticed her turning away from photos before—she’s always been so confident, so carefree. But now you can see the way she curls her shoulders when a camera turns to her, the way she hides her face behind her curls. It's so small, so easy to miss. But it's there.
You can't hold back any longer. You step forward and kneel next to Yoongi, reaching to smooth the curls away from her forehead.
“Haeri-ya.” Your voice is so quiet, so gentle that you’re not even sure she hears you. But your hand moves up, cradling her cheek, and she turns to look at you, eyes shimmering with fresh tears. “Do you know who you look like?” You say, deciding to take a different approach.
She shakes her head, looking at the two of you.
Your thumb traces her cheekbone, her chin, the curve of her ear. All a replica of his. “Your appa.”
Her eyes flick from yours to his, back again.
“He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever met,” you say softly. “And every time I see you, I see him.” You brush your hand over the soft cotton of her dress, over her little shoulder, over her curls. “Your eyes, your nose, your stubborn face when you don’t want to listen.” You nudge gently at the tiny frown between her eyebrows, then his, and despite herself, a tiny, watery giggle escapes her.
Yoongi seizes on it, his lips twitching. “So if you look funny, that means Appa looks funny too. Is that what you’re saying?” He raises a single brow, leaning forward a fraction. “You gonna tell me I look funny?”
She giggles again, and this time, it's a little freer. “No.”
Yoongi feigns shock, clapping his hand to his chest. “Oh, thank god. I thought you were gonna tell me my face is weird.”
Haeri snorts a little, her hand covering her mouth as she giggles. "No, your face is pretty."
He nods sagely. "Ah. Good. So you look just like me, and I'm pretty. What's the problem, then?"
She smiles shyly, ducking her head as she mumbles, “You really think I’m pretty like you?”
Neither of you hesitates. “You're so beautiful, babygirl.” Your voice is soft, gentle, a hand resting on her shoulder. “So beautiful.” Yoongi leans in, brushing his nose along hers, his hand resting on the back of her head. "Prettiest girl in the world."
Her face lights up, bright and beautiful. Her gummy smile is wide, showing off the tiny gaps where her baby teeth used to be. Her eyes are bright, crinkling at the corners the way they always do when she's really, really happy. She presses a kiss to Yoongi's cheek, quick and sticky, then does the same to you.
“Can we take a picture now?” Haeri asks a little shyly, glancing between the two of you, a smile still playing on her lips. "So we can all be pretty together."
You and Yoongi exchange a glance, both of you still riding the high of her smile, her giggles. She’s so light in that moment, so full of joy, that the thought of saying no doesn’t even cross your mind.
“Sure.” You slip your phone out of your pocket, tapping on the camera app as you straighten. “Yoongi, come here.”
He stands, coming around the bed to sit beside you. Haeri climbs into your lap, curling up in your arms, her cheek pressed to yours, one arm thrown around your neck. Yoongi sits close, one arm resting along the back of your shoulders, his own cheek pressed to Haeri’s other one, as his free hand rests lightly on your thigh. The three of you together, fitting together like a puzzle.
“Ready?” you murmur, angling the camera to fit all three of you in frame. You catch Yoongi’s eye and smile at the same time Haeri does. “Cheese!”
The flash goes off. The screen flickers, the picture saved.
That picture sits on Yoongi's desk now, propped in a small wooden frame that Haeri picked out herself. Sometimes, when she's at school and you're at work, he glances at it and can't believe how lucky he is. The three of you, all in one. His girls. His world.
Summary: Finally after marrying the love of your life everything is coming together. Now it's up to the two of you to tackle the biggest step in your life. Parenthood. Will it open old wounds or will it bring everyone closer together?
A/N: Here we are, the third and final installment of my Whispered Series. Expect updates about every other weekend with this one.
Enjoy!
SMUT WARNING
Tilting your head back, you take in the most beautiful scenery that you think you have ever seen. The sunset that splashed across the sky created the most beautiful yellow and orange tones that reflected off the soft ripples of water. The large fluffy clouds above have taken on a purple hue that looked so magical. It looked like something out of a painting. One that you yourself would love to paint one day. Yoongi's arm was thrown over your shoulders as his thumb ran back and forth over your exposed skin. The slight blowing breeze cools your skin from the warm Italian air. You want to close your eyes and bask in this experience, but you were afraid that you might miss something.
“This is nice,” he murmurs softly into your ear.
You hum in agreement as the gondola glides smoothly through the water. You arrived in Italy four days ago. The both of you had been exhausted when you landed at the airport, but your growling stomach forced the two of you to find a restaurant on the way to your rented house. You don't think that you have ever had such delicious pasta before, and you know that boxed kind would never be comparable. Yoongi had ordered the two of you wine to celebrate your first night there. You had grown nervous looking at the red liquid sloshing around the clear glass. You had fumbled through some excuse as to why you didn't want to drink it. He gave you a look that screamed he didn't believe you, but he didn't push it. After dinner, he ran across the street for a coffee as you ran quickly into a small boutique. You had lied once again saying you needed to get something for Lisa, and he didn't question you. Instead, you bought him a little something. A little something to break the news of the little secret you were carrying. A little something that was going to change your lives forever.
“It might be more beautiful than Paris,” you say, trying to take everything in and imprinting it to your memory as you pass the beautiful architecture.
“I didn't think anything could top Paris for you. Maybe we can make this a yearly thing,” he suggests. “We can celebrate our anniversaries here. Maybe we can go somewhere new every year. We can eventually make our way across Europe. Ireland, Iceland, Switzerland, we could go anywhere.”
“I'd like that,” you say, knowing that definitely will not be a possibility.
At least, not just the two of you.
Subtly, you bring your hand to your stomach. You have tried to tell him your little secret. You swear you have, but the words just don't come out. They get stuck in your throat, forcing you to swallow them back down. You're scared of his reaction. You're scared that telling him will make it a reality. You could tell him right now. Telling him right now would be so memorable and romantic. The two of you on the water with a beautiful sunset, no one on their phones getting distracted. No one thinking about work or family drama.
It would be perfect.
“Yoongi?” You say, looking down at your lap then up at him when you feel him look down at you.
“Yeah, baby?” He asks, waiting for you to say what you need to say. Your throat feels thick, and your palms start to sweat. “What is it?”
“I…I just love you so much,” you say, chickening out and swallowing your confession back down.
“I love you too,” he smiles. “Are you sure that's all?”
You nod your head, leaning further into him. Yoongi wraps you up more securely in his arms. You'll tell him. Not tonight, but you'll tell him. You have another week and a half here. You'll tell him before you leave to go back home. You swear you will. Eventually …. maybe …. hopefully.
The sheer white curtains were blowing gently into your bedroom. The french doors were completely open to the balcony, bathing the bedroom in moonlight. An ethereal glow that paints your naked, panting body as you lie spread out on the bed. The slight cool nighttime breeze that hits your skin does nothing to help the heat spreading over you.
“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers, leaning back between your legs, swiping his tongue against your dripping core. The menace has been at this for what feels like hours. Getting you to the brink of falling apart to just back off at the last minute. “I'll never get tired of this.”
“I can't take it anymore,” you pant, hands grasping at the pillows by your head. “Please.”
Yoongi reluctantly pulls away from you and kneels between your legs. Undoing his belt, he unbuttons his pants and beckons you with his finger. You bite your lip, moving to sit in front of him as he removes his clothes. His perfect skin seems to glow in the pale blue moonlight. Taking him in your hand, you bring your mouth down onto him, licking the tip of his very hard cock. His salty taste coats your tongue before you fully take him into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you slowly bob your head letting your tongue run across every throbbing vein of his shaft. Your hand twists and pulls working along with your mouth.
“I love watching you do this,” he groans, eyes glued to your every movement. “I never get tired of it.”
Yoongi takes your free hand, bringing it up to his face to kiss the large diamond ring on your finger. Wrapping his hand in your hair, he pulls you off him and gently pushes you back onto the bed. You lie back, running your hand over his chest and neck, pulling him to you, connecting your lips. Your body twitches with anticipation as he drags his fingertips up the skin of your inner thighs before he reaches his destination, sinking his middle finger into your hot core.
“Yoongi,” you whimper and press your head back into the pillows with closed eyes. As you open them, you notice the way he was staring at your body much like he had on your wedding night. “Yoongi?”
“Hmm?” His eyes snap to you.
“Stop staring at me like that,” you whimper as he dips a second finger into you.
“Like what?” He asks, kissing across your chest. “Like my wife is fucking beautiful,” kiss to the top of your swollen breasts. “Sexy,” his tongue sneaks out to flick against your nipple. “Like you're my whole world?”
“Your whole world?” You ask breathlessly, your hips grinding down on his fingers, bring you closer and closer to the delicious drop over the edge.
“My whole world,” he confirms, kissing a path back up to your lips. With a press of his thumb against your clit, you moan, squirming against the bed. “My whole world who, needs to come on my fingers because I'm about to fucking lose it.”
Snapping his wrist, his fingers pick up speed as his mouth attaches to that little sensitive spot just below your ear. Sucking lightly, grazing it with his teeth as the sound of your wetness fills the quiet room. Gripping his hair, you tug, feeling yourself start to tighten around his pumping digits.
“Fuck, I can't wait,” he growls.
Moving quickly, Yoongi pulls his hand from your dripping core and plunges himself all the way into you with one thrust. Gasping loudly, you fist the blankets underneath your body as Yoongi shoves his hips into you, naked skin slapping against one another. Toes curling, you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on every glide of him inside of you as he sets of tiny sparks that race across your skin.
Your hips try to meet his thrusts, but the hold he had on them was too strong. You whimper as beads of sweat start to form at your hairline, threatening to fall down the side of your face while your body races to the finish line. Yoongi shifts, tilting your hips, hitting that special spot inside of you. The tip of his cock, kissing it with a slap of his hips. Throwing your head back into the pillows, you chant his name as the tiny sparks ignite the fireworks deep within.
“Fuck, yeah, baby,” he groans, feeling you clamp down onto him. Pulsating walls desperately wanting to bring him over the edge with you.
“YOOONNNGIII,” you cry out, the fireworks explode all over your sensitive body.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, pushing his hips right up against you as he spills himself into you. “Oh, fuck!”
You open your eyes and take in the way his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Grabbing his arms, you pull him toward your tired body. Carefully, he falls forward onto you, resting his head against your chest. You run your fingers through his perspired hair, moving it off his face as his hand blindly reaches for the towel that threw on the bed earlier to clean up with.
You could tell him right now. It was quiet, and you both were relaxed, but as you stare up at the ceiling, you couldn't. You were terrified. You were terrified that this was going to change your relationship for the worse. You were terrified he would resent you for getting pregnant. He will resent you for affecting his career. How could you let this happen?
“Are you sure you're okay?” He asks, gently looking up at you as he rests his chin on your sweating body.
“Why?” You ask, looking down at him.
“You feel really tense right now,” he explains, moving to his hands, hovering over you. “You've been tense for days now.”
“Have I?” You ask, trying to play dumb.
“Yes,” he answers. “I've been trying to wait it out and see if you would open up to me, but you're not. What's going on? I thought we had agreed to communicate with each other.”
“I don't want you to be mad,” you whisper, sniffling.
“Mad?” He asks, sitting up now. A look of worry crosses his face as he studies you. “Why would I be mad at you? Did something happen?”
Moving, you sit up and reach for a white silk robe that was gifted to you by Jisoo and Seungkwan. Throwing it on, you tie it tightly around your waist and jump out of bed. Yoongi doesn't say anything as you go to your suitcase and grab the little yellow striped bag that holds all the answers to his questions. The one that you got on your first day here when he went to get that coffee.
Sitting on the end of the bed, Yoongi scooches down to sit right next to you and puts on his pajama pants. Your fingers fiddle nervously with the literal secret in your hands. Looking over at him, he patiently waits for your move. Sighing, you hold the bag out to him.
“I got this for you,” you tell him, licking your lips nervously.
“What is it?” He asks, laughing a little at how nervous you were. Taking the bag from you, he eyes it curiously. “When did you have time to get me something? Why would I be mad that you got me a gift?”
“Our first day here, and you ran to get your coffee,” you explain and motion for him to open the bag. “It will…. explain everything. It's why I've been so tense these past few days.”
Yoongi finally opens the bag, reaching in he pulls a pale yellow onesie out with the words ‘Hello Daddy’ written in italian across the front. Ciao Papà. He holds the small garment up at eye level, arms fully extended and….nothing.
He's quiet, unmoving, unblinking.
It was unnerving.
“Yoongi?” You say cautiously as you watch his expression closely.
“I'm fine,” he croaks, focus still unwavering from the newborn onesie.
“Yoongi?” You try again.
“I'm not sure….I….I…ummm,” he stammers, finally looking over at you. “It's baby clothes.”
“Yoongi,” you breathe his name softly.
“You're pregnant?” He asks, looking over at you, making you nod your head. “We are going to have a baby?”
“We’re going to have a baby,” you repeat after him.
Clutching the small pale yellow material in his hand, he scoops you off the bed and into his arms. Spinning you around, he holds you tight before the two of you fall onto the bed together with him on top of you.
“WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!” He exclaims, full smile on his beautiful face. Suddenly, it was like a light bulb went off, and he quickly moved off of you, falling to his knees on the floor at the end of the bed. His face turned serious as he stared at you. “Did I hurt you? I went a little rough. Oh, shit!”
“No!” You proclaim, trying to calm him as you rub his shoulders. “You didn't hurt me at all. I'm completely fine.”
You see him literally exhale a breath of relief at words. Running a hand through his hair, he bites his lower lips before turning his intense eyes to your covered body. His brows furrow, and his eyes squint in a glare.
“What are you thinking about?” You ask nervously.
“I knew your tits were bigger,” he blurts. “How long have you known? How far along are you?”
“The reception and probably just a few weeks,” you answer, trying to pull him from the floor and back up to the bed to sit next to you.
Giving in, he moves to the bed and swings your legs over his, running his hands gently across your skin. Looking at him, it looks like his mind is running a mile a minute. When his hand runs up your leg, you capture it with your own, knotting your fingers together.
“That's why you forced me to talk to Mingyu,” he nods his head in understanding. “Why Lisa and Jisoo were acting like they were obviously up to something. I just knew something was up when I saw them. They weren't very subtle.”
“Yeah,” you answer. “You're not mad? I tried telling you that night, but I just couldn't do it.”
“Why would I be mad,” he asked, confused. “You know I want a family with you. Do you….not….want this?”
“I do,” you say quickly, disputing his question. “I just…it all happened really fast. I mean, we didn't get to enjoy our engagement…”
“I'm sorry about that. I'll never forgive myself for that whole mess,” he says, looking down at your entwined hands. “I wish for nothing more than to get that time back. I would change everything and give you the engagement that you deserve. I wish I would have been more present.”
“I'm not mad anymore,” you assure him. “I got to marry you….twice. That's all that I ever wanted. I just didn't expect this to happen so soon. I thought we would be able to enjoy being newlyweds and whatever that entails.”
“Baby,” he whispers gently. You look over at him, eyes watering. He lifts his hand to your face, running his thumb in smooth circles against your cheek. “I'm so happy. I didn't see us having kids so soon either, but I am not mad.”
“I'm scared,” the dam breaks, and tears roll down your face, and he tries to keep up with wiping them away. “I don't know how to be a mom.”
“Hey,” he says, pulling you directly into his lap to face him. You try to hide your face away from him, but he won't you. He cups both sides of your face in his hands, making you look at him. “I don't know how to be a dad. We are a team, and I think as long as we work together….we can do anything. It makes me less nervous knowing that I have you there with me through this.”
“Really?” You ask.
“I will never let you down. I will never let our children down, baby,” he kisses your lips as he moves his hand, placing it delicately on your stomach, between the two of you. You place your hand right on top of his. “We are not your parents.”
“I know,’ you say.
“I mean it,” he says. “We are not your parents. Not only that, we have such an amazing group of people surrounding us for support.”
“Are you sure you're ready for this?” You ask. “Diapers, no sleep. You work so late into the night…”
“Hey,” he says, cutting you off. “That won't happen anymore. Fuck, I'll even make it so I only do the final edits of albums. I'll let myself only be available during a certain time.”
“But Joon…” you try, but once again, he stops you.
“Don't forget I own half of that company. Joon can't stop me,” he tells you. “We have enough producers that I won't even be missed. Hobi, Kook, and Jihoon they are all more than capable of taking my spot. They are all just as, if not more talented and hard working than me. Trust me.”
“We have so much to do,” you tell him and nod in agreement. “We have a whole nursery to get around.”
“Good thing we have nine months to prepare,” he replies and wraps his arms around your back, pulling you completely against him. “Until then, we are going to enjoy it just being the two of us. No, worrying and fussing. No rushing around. We will get everything done.”
“I'm going to be too heavy to be in your lap soon enough,” you say, smiling at him.
“Never,” he whispers against your lips.
“That's what you say now, but wait until I have my big belly and you don't want to touch me,” you tease.
“Are you kidding me?” He asks, moving you so you’re laid back on the bed, and he hovers over you once more. “I won't be able to keep my hands off you.”
“What are you doing?” You ask as his fingers toy with the tie on your robe. He smirks, undoing your tie, and opening the fabric. Kissing your stomach, he makes his way down your body. “Yoongi?”
“Shhh,” he says. His lips kiss your inner thighs lightly, and his eyes stare up at your face, watching you closely. “Just lay back and let me take care of you.”
“Oh god, did I unlock some pregnancy kink?” You joke watching him get closer to your still sensitive core.
“Not sure,” he teases back. “Possibly, but I think it's just you.”
You swallow thickly and sigh when he reaches his destination. Closing your eyes, you were going to enjoy this. Not just THIS but everything. You can do this. WIth Yoongi by your side, there was no need to worry.
You can do this together
“What about this?” Yoongi asks, holding up a beautiful mobile with hot air balloons in different shades of oranges and yellows hanging off its wooden frame made a expensivefeeling soft felt. “Do you like this?”
“Yeah, it's pretty,” you say, tilting your head to the side. “But, how are we going to get it home?”
“Right,” he says, putting back down. “I wonder if we can buy it and have it shipped home.”
“Probably,” you say, looking at the baby clothes on the racks.
“Or we could just move here, and we wouldn't have to worry about getting anything shipped home,” he says, moving to the blankets.
“I would normally be all up for that, but I think we kind of need the support right now,” you laugh.
“I'll hire a nanny,” he says simply like he solved all your problems.
“Absolutly not,” you turn to him. “I will not let some stranger raise my baby.”
“OUR baby,” he says, picking up a yellow knitted blanket with white lace trim. Inspecting it, he nods and tucks it under his arm. “I'm just joking. I wouldn't hire a nanny.”
“Good, besides, I can't speak Italian anyways,” you laugh.
“Well, I know enough to get us by,” he assures you. “However, I know our parents would never forgive us for taking their first grandchild away from them.”
“Our parents?” You question, grabbing a cream blanket identical to the yellow one under your husband's arm. “Lisa would have my head.”
“Don't ruin our honeymoon,” he groans, taking the blanket and holding it for you. “We will be seeing her soon enough. I want to enjoy my peace and quiet. What about bibs?”
He picks up a frilly set of beige bibs with lace embroidery. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you look it over.
“Those look pretty expensive for something that they are going to spit up food all over,” you comment.
“We can get them for memories, at least,” he tosses them over his arm where the blankets were before moving on to another part of the baby boutique.
“Are we going to have enough room in our luggage?” You ask him. “We had to get everyone souvenirs too.”
“I saw a place that sold luggage down the street,” he replies. “We will get another one to be safe. Besides, we just got everyone a scarf.”
“Should we get Mingyu and my sister something special for their wedding while we are here in Italy?” You ask, fingering a pair of baby shoes.
“Didn't you order something off their registry?” He asks back.
“Yeah, but I feel bad that I got married and pregnant before her,” you look guiltily at him.
“Why?” He throws you a look. “Do you want the shoes?”
“No,” you shake your head. “I don't know, I guess I'm just used to her always getting things first. I still think we should get them a little something extra.”
“Okay,” he agrees, then smirks. “How about he get them a nice luggage set. It will only be lightly used.”
“Very funny,” you laugh.
“She's been supportive, right?” He raises an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Yeah,” you nod. “She has.”
“Then stop worrying about it,” he tells you, grabbing the pair of baby shoes off the rack. “We're not going to be able to carry everything.”
“Then put stuff back,” you laugh, but he shakes his head.
“Our baby deserves the best,” he argues.
“Our baby isn't even going to wear those shoes,” you shoes.
“Memories,” he tells you and moves on.
Sighing, it was going to be a long day.
“I'm going to miss it out here,” you sigh, looking up at the quiet countryside sky as you lie back in a lounge chair in the garden.
“My offer still stands,” Yoongi jokes.
You look around at the garden lights and the stone pathways winding through the flowers. You shake your head at the thought. Although tempting, it wasn't feasible. You didn't want to start your whole life over in a foreign country.
“Maybe I can recreate our backyard to look like this,” you think out loud.
“The kids would probably ruin the flowers,” he comments, reaching over to take your hand. “Besides, we need to put up a gate around the pool. Probably get some sort of swing set. They need room to run around.”
“You've really thought about this, huh?” You look over at him.
“I have,” he nods. “I'm going to make damn sure that they are going to be happy.”
“Yoongi,” you sigh. “All you need to do is love them, and they will be happy.”
“Then our family will be the happiest fucking family in the world, baby,” he smirks before looking back up at the sky.
“How do we tell my mom about this?” You ask him. “How do I make sure we keep our boundaries with her?”
“We just hold firm,” he answers. “Just because she's a grandma doesn't give her a right to our child. She needs to prove to us that she won't intrude or throw a fit when she won't get her way.”
“I'm just worried that when my sister has kids that she will end up loving them more,” you admit quietly. “I don't want our children to ever feel what I did. They don't deserve to feel that pain.”
“I will never allow her to put our children in that situation. She either loves our children equally or not all,” he tells you. “Now, let's enjoy this night. We will worry about this hard stuff if it happens.”
You nod as he untangles his hand from your own and drifts down to rest on your stomach. You close your eyes and take in the last of the Italian air. He was right. He was usually right.
You don't think it could get any better than this.
Summary ━━━ In a world where everyone is born with a soulmate mark, most people live their entire lives without ever finding the one person it binds them to. Some are lucky enough to discover their match in old age, often in their 70s or 80s. A blessed few find theirs early in life—and when they do, it’s considered a miracle. The universe offers no promises, only the mark itself.
Throughout all of recorded history, not a single person has ever rejected their soulmate.
But Y/N believes she will be the first to be rejected.
When Y/N, a shy but fiercely guarded woman haunted by childhood trauma and deep insecurities, discovers that her soulmate is Lando Norris—one of the most famous, charming, and emotionally unreachable men she’s ever met—she makes a decision that changes everything. She tells no one. Not even him.
For fourteen months, she carries this devastating secret while Lando unknowingly breaks her heart over and over again. He flirts with other women in front of her, maintains ties with his ex-girlfriend, and treats Y/N with a casual cruelty that cuts deeper than he could ever imagine.
What Y/N doesn’t know is that Lando feels something too—something that unnerves and confuses him. So he buries it beneath sharp words and cold shoulders, lashes out, and pushes away the one person he can’t seem to get out of his head.
He feels the pull. He just doesn’t understand what it means.
Until one moment, by pure accident, he sees the mark on her body.
The universe stops.
Suddenly, the girl he’s spent over a year pushing away is no longer just another name in his orbit—she’s his. His soulmate. The one fate carved into him before he was ever born.
As realization crashes down on him, Lando finally understands why she always looked at him like he was both everything she wanted and everything she feared.
And Y/N—fragile, angry, and terrified—must face the one thing she’s spent months trying to avoid: the truth that he knows.
But the cruelest truth of all? She still doesn’t believe he could ever want her back.
Because while no one in history has ever rejected their soulmate, Y/N has spent her entire life being rejected by everyone else.
And she’s convinced that not even cosmic destiny can make her worthy of love.
Pairing ━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader
Overview:
soulmate AU
enemies to lovers trope
loads of angst
loads of sexual tension and frustration
fuck boy Lando
complicated relationship with emotionally abusive parents (Y/N)
hyper-independent and emotionally guarded Y/N
jealous Lando
“I don’t need anyone” Y/N vs “I’d give her everything” Lando
protective Lando once he finds out the truth
unrequited love (but not really)
Y/N hiding her trauma behind success and control
slow burn
Y/N putting up walls Lando desperately tries to break through
yearning and longing
smut (at some point)
mutual pining
idiots fighting fate (mostly Y/N)
Lando falling first and harder
touch-starved but terrified Y/N
moments of softness that wreck them both
“I’m not good enough for you” trope
Each chapter contains its own content warnings.
Chapter 1: Fight
| 10.9k | Summary: A brutal fight erupts between Y/N and Lando at a friends' gathering, where he unknowingly destroys his soulmate in a way no one thought possible. His attack confirms every fear she’s carried alone for years, shattering the last piece of hope she had. That night, overwhelmed by heartbreak and years of buried trauma, Y/N suffers a panic attack more severe than anything she’s ever experienced.
Chapter 2: Breaking
| 4.8k | Summary: After the fight with Y/N, Lando is left reeling in guilt and self-loathing, realizing too late that his cruelty came from fear of how deeply he cared for her. Meanwhile, Y/N suffers a severe panic attack and is hospitalized, feeling irreparably broken and unloved.
Chapter 3: Spain
| 11.9k | Summary: Pietra persuades a reluctant Y/N to join a vacation in Spain, where a booking mix‑up forces her to share a room and a king‑size bed with Lando. All week, she must keep her hidden soulmate mark concealed from him while wrestling with her nerves and his unexpected closeness.
Chapter 4: Tension
| 16.8k | Summary: Y/N panics when she breaks her foundation, and Lando unexpectedly spends an entire day helping her search Spanish shops to find a replacement. Despite growing attraction and moments of connection, both misinterpret each other's signals—Y/N thinks Lando finds her repulsive while he's actually desperately attracted to her but hiding it.
Chapter 5: Realization
| 11.6k | Summary: Y/N secretly masturbates while listening to Lando jerking off in the shower. Later, he says something that completely devastates her.
Chapter 6: Truth
| 14.8k | Summary: Lando and Y/N see each other for the first time since the Spain trip—and the truth is finally revealed in a single, accidental moment.
