#self doubt

Before Baelor officially courted you, you spoke to him about your struggles. About how some days were harder than others, and how sensitive you could sometimes be. You told yourself you didn't want to become an unnecessary burden to a man who was both heir to the throne and Hand of the King. Baelor already had more than enough on his plate, and you refused to become another weight on his shoulders.

When you warned him during one of your walks through the godswood, you were certain he would stop pursuing you. Baelor was a kind man, but he would always choose his duties above all else. And if you were to prevent him from fulfilling them properly, then surely the Prince of Dragonstone would have no choice but to let you go.

You had made peace with that thought, even as tears gathered beneath your eyes.

Everybody knew duty was the death of love.

Baelor took your hands in his before you could discreetly wipe your eyes with your sleeve.

"Do I strike you as the kind of man who would abandon you so easily over something beyond your control?"

It took you a moment to regain your composure, fighting back the sob desperate to escape your throat.

"I don't want you to regret pursuing me instead of someone whose mind isn't so troubled."

The moment the words left your mouth, your thoughts began to spiral.

"He's going to leave you.""He only pities you.""You'll be forbidden from ever seeing him again.""How could you ever think you were worthy of him?"

You tried to steady yourself, fidgeting with your sleeves to ground your racing mind, avoiding his gaze for fear that looking into his eyes would make you burst into tears. The more you berated yourself for making a fool of yourself in front of him, the less you managed to calm down.

Baelor gently took your wrist and guided you to sit on a nearby stone bench.

"Breathe, my love. You're alright," he murmured, keeping your trembling hand safely enclosed in his.

You let out a sad little laugh.

"This is what I was trying to tell you... I cannot, in good conscience, inflict my moods upon you when you already have so much to carry. I refuse to become a burden you could so easily avoid."

The sudden touch of Baelor's handkerchief against your cheek made you realize you had started crying.

"You're pathetic."

"Do you truly think that, after spending months courting you, I hadn't noticed your nervousness?"

That caught your attention enough to slow the stream of tears.

"What?"

"I know you retreat into your thoughts whenever something troubles you. You scratch your arm when you're uncomfortable, and you can't meet someone's eyes when you have something important to say."

He gently slipped a finger beneath your chin, lifting your face until you were looking at him.

"Like right now."

You scoffed and looked away, only proving his point.

"It amuses me that you thought you were telling me something I didn't already know."

"I'm glad my anxiety was so entertaining to you, Your Grace," you shot back, trying desperately to keep your composure.

His hand cupped your jaw before you could turn away again.

"I am entirely and hopelessly in love with you, silly one. If anything, your concern for my well-being only proves that you love me just as deeply."

You narrowed your eyes, but you couldn't pull away from his teasing smile.

It started with a shift. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.

But Charles felt it in his bones. The change in her.

At first, it was the tone of her texts—shorter, more clipped, missing that warm, teasing lilt that had once been unmistakably hers. Where there had once been endless banter, paragraphs gushing about something she’d seen or heard or done, now there were just… one-word replies.

“Good.” “Fine.” “Yeah.”

Sometimes just a thumbs up.

And the calls?

The ones he looked forward to every night, even if he was halfway across the world and the timing was never convenient?

They stopped.

He’d ring her, heart skipping just like it always did when her name lit up his screen, only to be met with a quick decline. A silence. A void.

She’d text back, sometimes. Hours later. “Sorry. Busy.”

Busy.

That was the word that haunted him.

Busy doing what? Busy avoiding him? Busy falling out of love?

The thought made something in his chest twist tight. He tried to tell himself it was fine.

Maybe she was just busy. Maybe something had come up. Maybe she was tired, stressed, burnt out.

But he knew her.

He knew the way she breathed on the other end of the phone when she couldn’t sleep. He knew the sound of her laugh when she was trying to be quiet in public and failing miserably. He knew the way she texted when she was smiling to herself, how she'd always add a stupid emoji just to annoy him.

And now?

Now she barely felt like his at all.

He scrolled through their messages during a quiet moment in the paddock, sitting in his motorhome with his phone resting heavy in his hand.

She hadn’t messaged him first in three days. She hadn’t said I miss you in a week.

And Charles—

He missed her so much he couldn’t breathe.

The distance between them used to be a challenge they laughed about, something they flirted their way through. Texts, FaceTimes, voice notes at 2 a.m.—they made it work. They wanted to make it work.

But now he was wondering if she still did.

If maybe the long distance, the late nights, the traveling, the time zones, the damn rumors in the media… maybe it had all finally become too much.

He’d heard it in the paddock the other day—some asshole journalist whispering about how Charles Leclerc had a “mystery girlfriend,” and how she’d probably vanish like the rest. Someone else had asked if she was clout-chasing.

He’d clenched his fists. Bit his tongue.

He knew her. He trusted her.

Didn’t he?

But now he was starting to wonder if maybe she had decided it wasn’t worth it. That he wasn’t worth it.

And the idea of losing her, it hollowed him out.

He leaned back against the couch, dragging a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his eyes. His head was pounding.

He would’ve taken anger. He would’ve taken a fight.

But this slow, creeping silence—it was worse.

He didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want to push.

But God, he missed her.

And if he was honest, he was scared.

Scared that she was slipping away.

Scared that whatever had bloomed between them—so real, so intimate, so theirs—was now dying in the quiet.

He opened their thread again.

No reply.

He stared at it until his vision blurred.

Then typed: "I don’t know what’s going on. But I miss you. I’m worried. Just… let me in. Please"

He hit send. And waited.

Just like always.

____________________________

The hallway was quiet, save for the soft hum of electricity running through the bulbs overhead.

Charles stood in front of her door, flowers in one hand, suitcase in the other, heart hammering so hard in his chest he swore he could hear it echoing off the walls.

He had flown to Monaco the second the race weekend ended. Straight from the track to the airport. No PR obligations, no media—just her. Because the silence had stretched long enough. Too long. And something in his gut told him it wasn’t just distance anymore. Something was wrong.

She hadn’t answered his last message. Not even read it. And that had never happened before.

So now here he was, outside the apartment they’d spent so many sweet, sleepy mornings in together.

The one that still smelled like her vanilla candles and fresh coffee. The one that still had her fuzzy socks tangled up with his race-worn hoodies near the door. His key was in his hand, ready to twist the lock and go in.

But then—he heard it.

A choked sob.

It stopped him cold.

And then, her voice.

Not loud. Not clear. But unmistakably hers, muffled through the wall.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to breathe, it’s like I’m… I’m stuck. I can’t lose him, but I don’t want to trap him—God, what if he hates me for this?”

Charles froze, the air knocked clean from his lungs.

Then came another voice—her best friend, the one who always side-eyed him like she was still deciding if he was worthy.

“You’re not trapping him, Y/N. That man would burn down the world for you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched in a sob. “But what if he doesn’t want it? What if he thinks I ruined everything?”

Charles’s brows drew together, confusion flooding him like ice water.

What?

Her voice cracked on the next words, raw, barely holding together.

“His baby is in my stomach, and what if he hates me for that?”

The world tilted.

His fingers slackened, the flowers slipping from his hand and landing soundlessly on the hallway floor. His heart stopped, crashed against his ribs, and tried to restart itself.

Pregnant.

She’s pregnant.

With his baby.

She was crying inside, broken and scared and overwhelmed—and she thought he wouldn’t want her?

That he wouldn’t want the baby?

“No, no,” he whispered to himself, stepping back from the door like the weight of the moment was physically pushing him. His ears were ringing, his pulse thundering.

“I’m scared,” she said again. “What if he tells me to get rid of it?”

He didn’t wait a second longer.

The key slid into the lock with a soft click.

The door swung open.

And both women turned in sync, wide-eyed, startled—her best friend halfway through a sentence, and Y/N still crying, hair pulled up in a messy knot, her face flushed and blotchy, wearing the oversized hoodie he left behind months ago.

His eyes found hers immediately.

He couldn’t speak.

There were too many emotions in his chest—relief, heartbreak, joy, fear, disbelief. All tangled together. All surging at once.

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, hands instinctively pulling the hoodie tighter around her body.

“Charles…” she whispered.

He took a step forward.

And suddenly, he was kneeling in front of her, suitcase forgotten behind him, the weight of everything crashing down.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, breathless, voice breaking.

She blinked, still frozen. “I—I was going to tell you, I just… I didn’t know how—”

His hands reached for hers. They were shaking.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Her lip trembled. “I was scared you’d think I did it on purpose. That I’d ruin your career. That you’d think I was—”

“Stop,” he said softly, tugging her hands to his chest, over his heart. “Just stop.”

She swallowed a sob. “I didn’t know if you’d still want me.”

“Want you?” He laughed, and it was broken and cracked, and thick with emotion. “Y/N, I’ve been going insane thinking I lost you. I thought I did something wrong. I thought you were gone.”

She shook her head, tears falling freely. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting. I need you. And now I need both of you.”

Her breath caught.

He looked down at her stomach, still flat, still quiet. Still unbelievable.

Then up again. “We’re going to figure this out. You don’t have to be scared. Not alone.”

“But your life is so… full already. You didn’t ask for this.”

He leaned in and kissed her knuckles.

“No,” he whispered. “I didn’t ask for this. But it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Her sob was instant, loud, her whole body curling into him as he pulled her in, holding her tight, grounding her.

“I love you,” he said against her hair. “I love you, and I love this baby, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She clung to him like she was afraid he’d vanish, and maybe some part of her still feared it was a dream.

Her best friend quietly slipped out, leaving them in the low light of the living room, wrapped in each other, tears staining both their cheeks.

And for the first time in weeks, Charles felt like he could breathe again.

Because she was still his.

And now—they were starting something new.

__________________________

“It’s a girl.”

Silence.

The words echoed, bounced around the tiny room like they were alive.

A girl.

Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, and Charles—

Charles felt the entire world tilt.

A girl. A daughter.

A tiny, fierce, radiant little soul who’d probably have his smile and Y/N’s laugh and a spirit far too wild for either of them to contain.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until Y/N reached up and brushed the tear away from his cheek with trembling fingers.

“A girl,” he whispered again, like saying it twice would help it sink in.

Y/N let out a watery laugh, nodding. “We’re having a daughter.”

He kissed her then. Right there in the middle of the sterile, softly lit room. One hand in her hair, the other still gently curved around her belly. It wasn’t rushed, or dramatic. Just soft. Full. Reverent.

“I’m going to spoil her rotten,” Charles said against her mouth.

“She’s going to have you wrapped around her tiny finger in five minutes flat,” Y/N replied, grinning through her tears.

“She already does.”

Y/N laughed, and he swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

They left the appointment hand in hand, ultrasound pictures tucked safely in Y/N’s bag. Charles kept glancing over at her every few seconds, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real. Like she was a miracle he got to keep living over and over.

Back in the car, he slid one hand over her belly, thumb brushing over the place where their daughter was growing.

“Our girl,” he murmured. “She’s going to be the best parts of both of us.”

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder. “God help us.”

He laughed, warm and full.

_________________________

The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting golden streaks of light across the karting track. The air still smelled faintly of burnt rubber and gasoline, but none of that mattered. Not today.

Because today—

his little girl won her first Karting Championship.

Charles stood at the edge of the podium platform, heart stretched full in his chest, like it couldn’t possibly hold any more pride.

He was still in his pants that people liked to groan about, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, his hand tightly holding onto the only other person in the world who knew exactly how this moment felt.

Y/N.

His wife. His anchor.

The mother of the tiny champion now scrambling up the steps in an oversized racing suit with the number 16 sewn into the back.

She had her curls.

Her smile, though? That was all Charles.

And God, when she turned around and lifted that little trophy—first place—over her head with both hands and a gap-toothed grin that split her whole face wide open, Charles felt like his heart just detonated.

That was his baby.

His daughter.

The one they almost didn’t think they could do.

He remembered it all.

The fear.

The silence.

The crash of it all, and the aching tenderness that followed.

But now—

Now he stood in the golden light of the life they built.

And it was everything.

Y/N’s fingers laced tighter through his, and he looked down just as she looked up. Her eyes sparkled, glassy with joy.

That same look she'd had when they whispered vows barefoot in a garden outside Monaco, and when they held their daughter for the first time, skin-to-skin, crying into each other’s shoulders.

She hadn’t changed. Not really. Just more radiant. Wiser. Warmer.

He turned his hand, palm up, and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing the soft gold of her wedding ring. She smiled, pressing her forehead into his shoulder as they both laughed and started clapping wildly.

Their daughter looked out at the crowd, cheeks flushed from adrenaline, and when she spotted them, her eyes lit up.

“MAMAN! PAPA!” she squealed, trophy wobbling dangerously in her grip.

Charles shouted her name back, voice hoarse with emotion. “CHAMPIONNE!”

People were cheering, music was playing, someone was already trying to give her a bottle of sparkling grape juice for a “podium celebration,” and she—God help them—was trying to spray it at the second-place kid like she'd seen her papa do on TV.

Y/N laughed so hard she had to hold onto Charles’s arm to stay upright. “She’s definitely your daughter.”

He grinned. “Obviously. She already knows how to win.”

“She gets that from me,” Y/N teased, eyes dancing.

He leaned in, kissed her cheek, her temple, her jaw. “She gets the heart from you. That’s why she wins.”

And standing there—hand in hand, cheering until their voices cracked, their daughter lifting her trophy with all the ferocity and joy of someone who knew she was loved—Charles felt it in every inch of his soul.

They made it.

The silence, the fear, the “what ifs”—all of it had led here.

To this life. To this love.

To a tiny race suit with a stitched-on LECLERC and a little girl who had no idea that she was already everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Charles leaned close, voice soft over the roar of the crowd, his hand warm at the small of her back.

“I used to think the best journeys I’d ever take would be behind the wheel,” he murmured. “But then I met you.”

Y/N looked up at him, eyes already misty.

“You were the road I never saw coming,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And the destination I never want to leave.”

________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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This was a pretty long one. I originally planned to make it one part, but Tumblr didn't like that. So here you go. I really hope you all liked this one. Thank you once again @quinquinquincy for requesting this one!

Jules♡

You reach across the couch to grab your phone, scrolling through social media. He tends to talk about Dick a lot, more absentminded than he actually realized.

The first thing that pops up is a picture of a cute Dog. “Haley.” You utter, glancing at the caption. “That’s a cute name.” But you honestly don’t think this is going to work. “I need a more direct approach.” So you waited until Jason came back home.

“Hi baby.” You kissed his cheek, welcoming him home with a hug. “Hi.” He hugged you back, tightening his grip for a split second. You rest your head on his shoulder, glad that’s he’s home in one piece.

“I need to see your phone, Jay.” He lofted a brow, confused but still fished for his phone. He trusted you.

“Why?”

“Nothing too important. I just have to do something really quick.” You answer, turnung away. “What are you planning?” You heard him ask from behind.

“Nothing that concerns you.” It actually does hut he doesn’t need to know that. “We actually need groceries. I’m cooking spaghetti tonight. Can you go get the stuff we need, please?”

Jason huffed. “I just got back from a near death experience and you’re already sending me back out.” He joked. “What did i do to deserve such a woman like you?” He kissed your head before heading out the door.

“Yes!” You cheered, opening his contacts. He had a few questionable people but you payed no mind to that. You clicked on Dick’s profile.

This was more direct than you had hoped but there’s turning back now! Commit to the bit!

The phone rung once. Once. When Dick picked up. “Jason? I was starting to think you’d never call.” His muffled voice rang out from the other side.

“Um, sorry, this isn’t Jason. I’m his partner—“

“PARTNER?” You lifted the phone from your ear as he screamed. “Like actually? This isn’t a prank call?” He threw questions at you like the speed of light.

“Okay—first, slow down!” Dick seemed to quiet down. “And second, i thought you would have knew!”

“…Jason tells us close to nothing about his personal life.” Estranged is the word you would have used. He has a rocky relationship with Bruce, leading him to avoid the family all together.

“Well, i’m trying to help him become more closer with Bruce…and i was hoping you would help me? He talks about you sometimes, so i figured you were the person i should call.”

He was silent. Jason talks about him? Dick couldn’t stop the soft smile rising on his face. “He talks about me?” You hummed in response, walking in circles. “He does. More often than not. Sometimes it’s good, other times bad but he admired and respected you at one in his life.”

You smiled just talking about it. What Jason was like…before everything and his death. It was an interesting conversation.

“Okay, i’ll help you. But just so you know, i haven’t seen Jason in years…not since he came back anyway.” You cheered silently. “Great! I’ll text you my number!” You hung up the call, immediately typing your number.

|Be quick about it! I can’t let Jay know i’m doing this!

|(***)*******

Dick’s reply was almost immediate. After hearing a ding from your phone—assuming it was Dick, you deleted the text messages.

“Why is his phone always on the verge of dying?” You said out loud, moving to place his phone on the charger. “I’m back!” The door opens and the first thing he does is kick off his shoes.

You try to take the bags from him hut he promptly moves them out of your way. “I’ll cook tonight.” You puffed, crossing your arms. “I told you i’d cook.” Jason moved you out of the way. “Yeah, and i said i’d do it. So you—can go sit down and rest.”

You shifted your stance in protest but could really find the words. “I hate you.” You finally say.

“You love me.” He retorted from the kitchen. The sizzling from the meat in the pan calmed your nerves. You sunk more into the couch, eyes closed. Repetitive sounds always seemed to lull you to sleep, or maybe it was the peace? Or the silence of it all.

Whatever it was, did something to your brain and before you knew it, you slipped into dreamland.

“Hey, baby!” Jason came storming into the living room. “I was wondering if you want the mild taco seasoning—“ he looked up to see your sleeping form, eyes immediately softening. “Oh.”

His voice went quiet, staring at you for approximately 6 minutes before remembering there’s meat cooking. “Shit.” He whisper-yelled, running back to the kitchen.

It took a few minutes but the spaghetti was done—finally. Instead of eating, he put it in the fridge, he should really fix the fridge light. He took note and proceeded to the couch.

“Come on, Sweetheart.” He took in his arms with ease, carrying you to the bedroom.

The morning was met with very loud and excited knocks. You mumbled, nuzzling into Jason’s chest. In which the man in question was actively ignoring the knocks.

You shifted, mumbling some more. “…Jay…get the door.”

“…” He was quiet, mentally debating to either get up and answer or pretend he was asleep. He went with the second option. “I know you’re awake Jay. Get the door.” You demanded, turning over.

Jason sighed, swinging his legs over the bed. He rubbed his head, he could feel a headache forming already…headache? He normally only gets headaches with Dick, his non-existent sixth sense. A new irritation formed over his face.

“It’s too early for this.” He muttered. Opening the door he was met with a bright smile that could rival the sun. “Look who it is, Boy Wonder.” Jason commented, eyes narrow. He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here, Dick?”

Dick laughed, invited himself in. “You should thank your partner really. They invited me here.”

“What?” Jason shut the door behind him. Normally he would’ve told him to get out right about now but today he was feeling oddly generous. “They did what?”

Dick leaded on the back couch and started listing things off. “But mainly just your relationship with Bruce…” then he went silent, clearly thinking over something. Which is something Dick rarely does. “Y’know…we do miss you Jason. You’ve hardly talked to any of us since…y’know.”

“I do know. And I’m hurt. No one came to my rescue. No one avenged me. He let me die with that sick bastard still on the loose. Those are fucked priorities if i’ve ever seen it. And you, oh Boy Wonder, the example of justice-“

“Jay.” He stopped to look at you. Disappointment across your face. “That’s not what Dick is here for. He’s trying to help.” Dick couldn’t help but watch as the two of you went back and forth.

Maybe he wasn’t helping as much as he thought he was. Dick was excited to see his baby brother again, the brother he lost, the brother he couldn’t save.

Only having one interaction with him after his resurrection, that ultimately ended in violence. He was supposed to be a role model to his youngest siblings and he knew that.

But what happens when you fail one? Do the rest go down that path too? Will they stop relying on you? Stop coming to you for everything?

He didn’t want to admit but that thought hurt more than Jason dismissing him because that’s exactly what Jason had done.

He took a deep breath.