THIS IS DARK FIC DO NOT READ IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTO DARKFIC!
CL x Chiara!fem!fictional character
warn: sensitive topic, mentall illness, insecurity, body shaming, harsh words, gaslighting, abus*ve relationship, s*xual abused, very-hard NSFW content, mention to r*pe, violence, very - very angst, sad end, bullying, cheating, manipulation, victim blaming, ab*rtion, pregnant!kaia and (i will updated the warn).
CHAPTER 1 / 2
THIS IS DARK FIC DO NOT READ IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTO DARKFIC!
THIS IS DARK FIC DO NOT READ IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTO DARKFIC!
The sharp rhythm of hurried footsteps echoed down the sterile corridor. Julian’s jaw was clenched tight, his arm wrapped protectively around Abby as she held Alaia close to her chest. The little girl was fast asleep, unaware of the chaos that had just unfolded hours before.
The moment the ER doors opened, it felt like time stopped.
There, sitting on the cold hospital floor, was Charles.
His shirt was soaked in blood. His hands were trembling. His face, drained of color, was blank. Blood smeared across his neck and fingers, a haunting red reminder of the woman he loved.
Abby gasped, her body lurching forward. “Oh my God…”
Julian froze. His stomach twisted at the sight. “What the hell—Charles?!”
Charles looked up, slowly, as if waking from a nightmare. His eyes were swollen, red, unfocused. His lips parted but no sound came out.
Abby shoved Alaia into a nearby nurse’s arms and stormed forward.
SLAP!
Her hand landed hard across Charles' cheek. His head snapped to the side.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO CHIARA?!” Abby shouted, voice cracked from both fear and fury. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t look back at her.
His lips trembled. And then he whispered—soft, broken, barely holding together,
“Chiara’s pregnant…”
“She’s pregnant, and I… I hurt her…”
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault…”
The guilt clung to him like a second skin. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just looked utterly destroyed.
Julian stepped forward. His fists clenched.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH.”
THUD.
His fist smashed into Charles’ jaw, sending the man stumbling back.
“SHE IS LIKE MY SISTER. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE HER.”
THUD. Another blow.
“I THOUGHT YOU HAVE CHANGED!”
THUD.
Charles didn’t fight back. He took every hit like he deserved all of it—because in his mind, he did.
“I trusted you,” Julian hissed through his teeth, grabbing Charles by the collar. “I trusted you with her life.”
Charles didn’t reply.
He just whispered again, dazed and cracked, “It’s my fault… she’s pregnant… I ruined everything…”
Four Days Later
Alaia sat on Abby’s lap, her small hands fiddling with the ears of her bunny plushie as her big eyes watched her mother sleep behind oxygen tubes and quiet machines. She didn’t cry, but she understood something was wrong.
Abby stroked her hair gently, brushing strands behind her ear as she leaned in closer.
“Alaia…” her voice was low, full of warmth.
“I want you to remember something, okay?”
She held Alaia a little tighter.
“Your mommy… is the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Alaia blinked slowly, listening.
“Not just beautiful… she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”
Abby’s voice cracked slightly as she smiled through her tears.
“She carried you with everything she had, even when no one helped her. She fought through nights alone, through pain no one saw, and she still chose to love you more than anything.”
“She’s fighting now too. Fighting to come back to you.”
Alaia leaned against her chest, breathing softly.
“You should be proud to have a mom like Chiara. Don’t ever let anyone tell you she’s weak. Even I—I don’t know if I could’ve survived what she’s been through.”
“One day, you’ll understand just how much she gave up. How much she endured.”
Abby kissed Alaia’s head softly.
“Your mommy is a hero. And she’s going to come back. For you.”
And in that quiet hospital room, the machines continued their steady rhythm… a fragile heartbeat still fighting.
Let me know if you’d like the next part—maybe Chiara waking up and meeting Alaia again, or Charles finally seeing her conscious after days of guilt. I can keep the tone emotional and cinematic.
****
The sterile hum of the hospital room was the only sound that filled the space, until the monitor beside the bed gave a soft, steady beep.
Chiara’s fingers twitched.
Her eyelashes fluttered slightly. Her body, still bruised and fragile, felt heavy under the weight of reality. But her eyes opened.
Beside her, Abby gasped quietly, tears instantly spilling down her cheeks. She stood from the armchair where she’d been sitting for hours, clutching the thin hospital blanket draped over Chiara's legs.
“You’re awake… Oh my God—Chi…”
Chiara blinked, her lips dry, her throat sore. But when she saw Abby’s tear-filled eyes, something in her heart cracked open. A dam of emotions she’d held for too long suddenly flooded in.
And then she whispered, voice soft and hoarse, “I’m sorry.”
Abby froze, confusion written all over her face. “Sorry? For what?”
“I’m sorry I was jealous of you… of you and Julian,” Chiara said, her voice trembling, almost too weak to get the words out. “I realized I shouldn’t have felt that way. You two… you have your own story. Your own love.”
Abby’s bottom lip quivered, but she couldn’t speak. She listened.
Chiara forced a soft smile, tears already gliding down her cheeks. “I just wanna say thank you. To you. And to… Julian, too. Thank you for taking care of me. And Alaia.”
“I’m sorry if I haven’t been a good cousin. Or a good friend. I’m sorry if I was ever envious of you…”
She paused. Looked away.
Then turned back to Abby and asked, almost in a whisper, “Do you know why I was jealous of you?”
Abby shook her head slowly.
Chiara smiled bitterly. “It's not just because you're pretty. I just love the way Julian and you love each other. I’ve never seen love like that… never felt loved like that. Not by someone I loved.”
“I just wanted to be loved. To be cared for. And ever since I met you all… I felt something for the first time. Like… ‘Oh, this is what it means to be loved? This is what it feels like to be seen?’”
“You two love each other so much… I can tell.”
She paused again, her voice now barely more than a breath.
“But me? I gave up. I really gave up on all the love I’ve been holding. People say loyalty can beat attraction, right? Well… I’ve been loyal for almost seven years. And look what I got.”
“Nothing.”
“Seven years and I still not enough for Charles. So I’m letting him go.”
Abby reached out, but Chiara gently pulled away, eyes fixed on the ceiling now.
“I’m done holding on. Not because I stopped trying. But, because I realized… anything that’s forced will never end well.”
“I had dreams while I was unconscious… so beautiful I didn’t even want to wake up. I dreamed of happy days with him and our babies. That’s why I didn’t want to wake up…”
“I used to imagine a perfect family with Charles. Me, taking care of our kids. Him being the man of the house. But all of that was just a dream.”
She turned her face to Abby again.
“He likes beautiful things… beautiful people. And I’m not beautiful enough for him.”
There was silence.
Then Chiara added quietly, “One time he said to me, ‘You’re not even pretty. People only want you because of your body, including me.’ And that’s when I realized… I have nothing he’d ever be proud of.”
“Not educated and I am 21 when I was pregnant with Alaia. And now I have to carry another baby.”
Chiara exhaled shakily. “But it’s okay. I already told myself. ‘I am not living for myself anymore; I am living for my babies.’ And I’m ready, Abby.”
Her voice cracked again.
“Even if I’ve carried his baby more than once… he’ll never look at me the way I used to pray he would.”
“I just think… maybe it’s time to love myself. For me. For the babies. I’ve planned everything. I’m gonna build a new life.”
Abby finally found her voice. “Chi… no. Don’t say—”
“I’m leaving tomorrow night,” Chiara said with a small smile.
“Please don’t tell Charles yet, okay? Tell him after I’m gone.”
Abby’s voice trembled. “You don’t have to do this… You can stay here. Even if it’s not with Charles, you can still stay…”
But Chiara shook her head gently, finality in her eyes.
“Everything in this city reminds me of him. I can't. I’m sorry.”
Abby wiped her tears roughly, her heart aching. “Chi…”
Chiara looked at her with the softest, saddest smile.
“It’s time I choose myself… even if I’m choosing alone.”
****
Hospital Room — 2:47 a.m.
The room was dimly lit, sterile and silent, save for the soft beeping of the heart monitor beside Chiara’s bed. Her face was pale, fragile, with bruises still blooming across her jaw and temple. A bandage covered the left side of her head, and her arms were riddled with IVs and healing cuts.
Charles sat beside her, head bowed, hands trembling over hers. His fingers were stained with dried blood. His heart pounded like thunder in his chest, but everything outside her… was muted.
She stirred.
He lifted his head, eyes wide with disbelief as her lashes fluttered slowly.
"Chi…?" his voice cracked, raw from days without sleep. “Chiara, baby…”
Her eyes opened, barely.
She turned to him. And despite everything, she smiled.
“You came…”
“Of course I came,” he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips. “I’m so sorry… I’m—”
Chiara let out a weak breath, almost a laugh.
“Don’t cry, Charls…”
He wiped his tears, shaking his head. “I hurt you. I ruined you. I—how could I…”
“Charles.”
Her voice stopped him.
“I want to say thank you.”
He blinked, confused.
“Thank you… for being my first love. The kind of love that lasted too long, maybe longer than it should’ve. Thank you for letting someone like me fall for you, even if I was never enough…”
“Don’t say that. You were everything.”
She smiled again, eyes barely open. “I had so many things I wanted to tell you. But I guess… I’ll just say the most important ones.”
Charles squeezed her hand tighter, fighting the burn in his throat.
“First, do you know how stupidly handsome you are?”
That made him huff out a breath, a bitter almost-laugh. “Chi…”
“I mean it. Look! It’s illegal. You’re too handsome. It’s not fair.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against her knuckles.
She continued, slowly, her voice fragile but steady.
“Do you still remember back in high school? When I walked up to you and shouted, ‘Charles, I like you!’”
“God, I was so bold. You started watching me ever since that… and I thought it was because you liked me back.”
Her smile faded.
“Turns out… your friend dared you to.”
Charles clenched his eyes shut.
“You were right about one thing… I’m not pretty. Not interesting either. Maybe I never was. I was just some dumb girl who fell in love with the idea of being loved by you.”
“No—stop—Chiara, please, don’t do this—”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For making you uncomfortable. For loving you so hard that it became a burden. For breaking our agreement… to stay on birth control.”
Charles looked up at her, his chest tight. “I should’ve protected you…”
“I didn’t tell you… because every time you finished with me, my body hurt. I bled. I am in pain. I was terrified something was wrong.”
“So, I stopped taking the pills.”
She looked away, shame coloring her eyes.
“And guess what? On your birthday… I found out I was pregnant.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I was so happy, Charles. I imagined our baby would look just like you. And now… look at Alaia. Doesn’t she?”
He nodded, barely breathing. “She does. She’s perfect. Just like you.”
“You didn’t know it that day… but when you hit me because I told you I was pregnant, I almost gave up on her. On everything. I was only 21. My body wasn’t ready. My heart wasn’t ready.”
“But Allie… she was strong. She held on. Through every blow, through every cold night. I kept whispering to her in my belly, ‘You’re all I have. Stay. Please, stay.’”
Charles broke.
He let the sob out, burying his face in her hand. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know…”
Chiara didn’t cry. She just watched him, her fingers gently brushing his knuckles.
“I lost everyone, Charles. All my friends. No one wanted to be near me after what happened. You remember? I never denied it… I was raped, Charles. And no one ever looked at me the same again.”
“But when I was with you, I forgot that. I thought… maybe, maybe I was worthy. Even when I was bleeding, even when you shouted, even when you hated me. I held on.”
“Chi…”
“Seven years.”
She said it softly, like a prayer.
“I held on for seven years.”
He looked up. Her lips were trembling now.
“Can I complain a little?”
He nodded wordlessly.
“Being pregnant without you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I worked everywhere. I couldn’t go back to school. My stomach felt like it was being stabbed when I moved too much. Even showering became impossible.”
“You know I have asthma. I couldn’t breathe.”
“My legs were so swollen I couldn’t stand.”
“But if the baby was healthy, I was happy.”
She paused.
“Even when I saw you with Alex.”
Charles froze.
“She’s beautiful, Charles. You two… you look perfect together. Meanwhile, I’m just a 21-year-old rape victim and pregnant.”
He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a look.
“I’m not angry anymore. I just wanted to say… I understand.”
He reached out to touch her face, and she let him.
“No. Stop it Chi. You are enough. I love you, I am sorry.”
****
Hospital Room — 8.30 a.m.
Chiara was gently rocking her baby in her arms when Charles suddenly appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling the crook of her neck in a slow, affectionate inhale.
“Morning,” he murmured against her skin.
Chiara turned her head slightly, smiling sweetly at him.
“Morning, Daddy,” she replied softly, her voice warm and full of love.
The two of them, two souls trying to rebuild something fragile into a family, shared a quiet moment filled with affection.
“Wanna try holding her?” Chiara asked, glancing at their baby.
Charles nodded. Without hesitation, Chiara carefully passed baby Alaia into his arms. Charles, holding her for the first time that morning, looked so effortlessly handsome that it made Chiara’s heart ache.
I hope this time, you’ll find your happiness. I’m sorry, she whispered silently in her heart, her hand brushing over her now-flat belly.
Charles noticed her drifting off in thought and immediately pulled her closer, wrapping her and the baby in his arms protectively. He held her gently but firmly—like he never wanted to let go.
Chiara, feeling the warmth of their embrace, leaned up and placed a tender kiss on his shoulder.
“Let’s be happy, okay?” she whispered suddenly, voice barely above a breath.
Charles didn’t say a word. He only nodded, eyes soft.
****
The silence was oddly loud when Charles blinked awake.
The bed beside him was cold.
His brows furrowed instantly. The plush hospital suite, once humming with warmth and quiet breathing, felt strangely hollow. He sat up quickly, eyes darting to the crib across the room—empty.
Panic.
“Chiara?” his voice broke into the dimness, hoarse from sleep.
No reply.
He shoved the blanket aside, bare feet hitting the polished floor. Every breath got shallower, every step more frantic.
“Chi?” he called again, walking toward the ensuite bathroom.
Empty.
He turned on every light, checked every closet, every shadowed corner of the VIP room as if she might’ve been hiding behind a curtain. But the crib was empty. The baby bag gone. Her purse. Her hoodie. Even the necklace she never took off was no longer on the nightstand.
He yanked open the wardrobe.
No clothes.
All of her things, gone.
As if she had never been there to begin with.
His heart raced, palms damp and trembling. “Chiara… no, no, please.”
He spun in circles, desperate to wake up if this was just another nightmare. But the quiet was too real. The cold in his chest too sharp.
“Chiara?!”
When no answer came, he staggered backward and accidentally bumped into the side drawer, knocking it open.
A single white envelope slid to the floor.
His name written in her familiar handwriting.
“To Charles”
He stared at it. Shaking. Terrified.
He picked it up with hesitant fingers and slowly unfolded the letter, heart slamming against his ribs.
“If you found this letter, it means I’m gone.”
Charles’s lips parted, but no sound escaped.
“About the baby… I never meant to tell you. I didn’t want to make things harder for you than they already were. But after everything that happened, the truth just… spilled. I’m sorry.”
He clutched the letter tighter, tears brimming.
“I’m letting you go now, Charles. Completely. You’re free to live however you want, to love whoever you choose. I’m rooting for your happiness, always.”
His breath stuttered, a broken sob catching in his throat.
“And the last thing… I’m taking our babies with me. So you can finally live the life you want. No more burden. Just peace.”
Charles’s heart shattered.
“Be happy, okay? I love you. Now, tomorrow, and always.”
He couldn’t breathe.
The sob that finally escaped was guttural, wrenching, a sound only made by someone who realized far too late that they had lost everything.
His whole body curled into itself on the cold floor, the letter crushed to his chest like it was the only thing tethering him to her ghost.
THIS IS DARK FIC DO NOT READ IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTO DARKFIC!
CL x Chiara!fem!fictional character
warn: sensitive topic, mentall illness, insecurity, body shaming, harsh words, gaslighting, abus*ve relationship, s*xual abused, very-hard NSFW content, mention to r*pe, violence, very - very angst, sad end, bullying, cheating, manipulation, victim blaming, ab*rtion, pregnant!Chiara, and (i will updated the warn).
THIS IS DARK FIC DO NOT READ IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTO DARKFIC!
CHAPTER 1 / 2
ONCE AGAIN I WARN YOU THIS IS DARK FIC DO NOT READ IT IF YOU ARE NOT INTO DARKFIC!
The laughter from the dining room echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the cold walls like a cruel reminder of a warmth she couldn’t feel. The clinking of dishes, the clash of glasses raised in cheer, and the occasional low rumble of Charles’ voice blending with Julian’s chuckles painted a picture of a home filled with joy.
But for Chiara, it was anything but that. For her, this house never really felt like home. Not in the way it should. The air around it always hung a little heavier, like it knew her sorrow and carried it with every breath she took. She could hear the sounds of merriment, but it felt distant, like she was underwater, watching a life she was never truly a part of.
She moved toward the kitchen, her steps silent, almost uncertain. The smell of warm vanilla hung in the air like a ghost of comfort, but even that couldn’t pierce the numbness that clung to her. Abby stood by the counter, her back turned, humming faintly as she plated dessert. Her soft curls bounced with each movement, and her smile, so effortless, was a kind of beauty that didn’t need attention to be noticed.
Chiara paused at the threshold, her eyes quietly scanning Abby’s form. That kind of beauty, not just in appearance, but in presence, felt so distant from what Chiara had become. Once upon a time, maybe she had it too. But somewhere along the way, she lost it. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left but fragments.
She stood there, her voice a whisper.
“Abby…”
Abby didn’t turn. She smiled at the sound, her hands still busy.
“Yes?”
A breath.
“…Can you give me tips on how to be pretty?”
The spoon stilled. Abby turned slowly, confusion drawing her brows together. She set the utensil down and faced her, her eyes already filled with concern.
“What? Out of nowhere?”
Chiara gave a weak laugh, more breath than joy. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“I want to be pretty too… so maybe Charles would look at me for once.”
The sound of her laugh was hollow, trailing into silence far too quickly. Her lips lifted, but her eyes, they were glass. Fragile. Cracked.
Abby’s smile dropped. Her heart clenched at the sight.
“Chi… are you okay?”
Chiara nodded, even as the tears betrayed her. Still, she smiled.
“Abby… you’re the prettiest and kindest person I’ve ever met. You should know that, okay?”
Her voice wavered. She sniffled and pushed on, as though afraid the words might vanish if she stopped.
“I bet you dont know… about Charles liking you. And I swear… I was so mad. I was furious. I was hurt.”
Her breath caught. Fingers clenched tightly by her sides.
“How could that happen?”
“I’ve been by his side for seven years. Seven years. And not once… not once did he look at me the way he looks at you.”
Her voice cracked. The kind of crack that echoed from a soul that had been shattered and stitched back too many times.
“And the craziest part? You didn’t even need to be there. He saw a photo of you that Julian sent… and he kept it. I found it by accident in his phone. The photo was saved in his phone… and he wrote one word, pretty.’”
The truth hung heavy between them. Chiara didn’t flinch. She stood like a soldier bracing for another blow.
“That broke me. it broke me…”
Abby’s lips parted in disbelief, tears gathering despite herself. But before she could speak, Chiara raised a hand.
“No... listen, please. I don’t… I don’t hate you. I swear I don’t. You’re not the problem. You never were.”
Her voice softened, a haunting tenderness in the way she said it.
“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve come this far. If I give up now, it’s like letting Charles take away something that should’ve belonged to Julian… because you’re his.”
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, twisted by pain.
“I saw it, when you’re cooking downstairs, I see him.”
“He looks at you. With that smile… that smile I’ve never seen once in our seven years together. And the next thing he always says is: ‘Pretty.’”
A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, almost ashamed to show it.
“You are… you are pretty, Abby. So, so pretty.”
Her voice fell to a whisper.
“I’m jealous. I wonder… when will someone ever look at me like that?”
Silence filled the space. The kitchen light buzzed faintly above them, a dull, useless sound compared to the storm in the room. Abby’s tears finally spilled over, but she didn’t interrupt. She couldn’t. Chiara wasn’t done.
“…But I know it will never happen. And that’s okay. I know where I stand. I know my worth.”
“…At least I try to.”
A shaky breath followed. A beat of hesitation.
“Alaia will grow up knowing she’s the child of a 21-year-old girl who was getting raped and abused.”
Abby gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her heart split in two.
“Maybe she’ll hate me for keeping her. Maybe she’ll leave me. But I wanted her to have someone to call ‘daddy.’”
“I let Charles do everything he wanted to me. Every slap, every scream, every time he touched me without care—I let it happen.”
Her voice crumbled.
“Because I thought… after Alaia was born, maybe he’d change.”
She tried to swallow back the sob, but it escaped anyway.
“But he didn’t. He looked at me, just after I gave birth, and said:
‘I’m not marrying you. Get that through your head.’”
Abby took a step forward, tears running down her face now, falling freely. Her whole body shook.
“And I stayed. I stayed. Because I kept thinking:
Maybe if I just love him harder, he’ll see me.”
That was it. Abby couldn’t stand still anymore. She surged forward and wrapped Chiara in her arms, pulling her close, holding her like she was trying to put all the broken pieces back together.
“You don’t deserve this, Chiara. Oh my God… You don’t deserve any of this.”
Chiara collapsed into her, burying her face into Abby’s shoulder. Her body trembled as years of silent agony finally clawed their way out. She wept. Quietly.
“I’m tired. I’m really tired… but I can’t stop. Not yet. Not until Alaia has someone who stays.”
So they stood there, two women, crying in the warmth of a kitchen that had never felt colder. There were no knives between them. No blame. Just pain. Shared and seen.
Outside, the house still buzzed with laughter. Somewhere down the hall, Charles probably grinned at something Julian said, maybe threw his head back in joy.
He would never know what it meant to love someone so much that it killed you inside.
But Chiara did.
And maybe that was the cruelest thing of all.
****
The laughter had long faded. Julian was now outside, pacing through the garden with his phone pressed against his ear, his voice hushed. The evening had grown unnaturally still, like the calm before a storm. Inside the house, the air had turned heavy, thick with something unspoken, like everyone could feel it, but no one had the words.
Chiara had gone upstairs to put Alaia to sleep, humming softly as she stroked her daughter’s hair. The child had finally drifted off, her tiny fingers curled around her mother’s shirt. Chiara didn’t know it, but the silence brewing downstairs was the kind that splits hearts open.
Abby stood frozen in the hallway, her back straight, jaw locked tight. Her heart was racing, the skin under her fingernails raw from digging her fists into her palms. She didn’t even know how she got here, just that something inside her had snapped. And it led her to him.
There he was. Charles. Leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of red wine in hand, the stem twirling between his fingers. His posture was careless, his smirk arrogant, as if the world had never touched him. As if he hadn't torn someone else’s apart just moments ago.
She stepped forward.
“Stop liking me,” she said coldly.
Charles raised an eyebrow, amused, not even turning to face her fully. He took another sip, savoring it.
“STOP putting attention on me.”
“What?” he chuckled, the sound like nails scraping glass. “That’s weird.”
“Enough.” Her voice rose. Her throat tightened. “It’s enough, Charles. I thought I was going crazy thinking I was imagining it, but you’re a fucking asshole.”
His laughter deepened, like this was all a game.
“What the hell’s wrong with you now?”
Abby stepped into the light, her expression twisted in disbelief.
“Stop looking at me like that. Don’t you realize where you’re throwing all that disgusting attention? On your own cousin’s partner?”
He just grinned. A sharp grin that sliced through the air like a blade.
“Partner? Since when? Was there a wedding I missed?”
“Shut the f**k up, you sick bastard.”
“Says who?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Oh… is it Chiara?”
“This has nothing to do with Chiara!”
“If it’s not her, then who else? I mean… someone has to whisper lies into your ears.”
“She wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t treat her like sh*t!”
He shrugged, swirling the wine.
“What do you even know about how I feel about her?”
“You’re a devil. You’re f**king heartless!”
“Great. If she’s the one who told you that, I’ll make sure she regrets it.”
“What are you going to do to Chi?!”
“Love her. Real hard.”
He laughed then, a cold, unfeeling sound that made Abby’s stomach lurch.
“You’re insane. Aren’t you afraid of losing her?”
“Lose what? She’s a rape victim. Damaged goods. Who would even want her?”
Abby recoiled as if slapped. Her chest cracked open. Her breath stilled.
“You f**king monster.”
“Truth hurts, huh?”
“But all of that… all of it… was because of you.”
“I’m not the only one at fault. She listened. If she had said no, maybe she wouldn't be here.”
“...What do you mean?”
He leaned closer, and the glint in his eyes was terrifying.
“You really think this is her first pregnancy?”
She blinked.
No. He wasn’t, he couldn’t be.
“She was pregnant before. And guess what? I told her to get rid of it. I wasn’t ready, and she… obeyed. Always so desperate to keep me, she’d do anything I said.”
He scoffed, stepping away.
“We agreed on protection. But turns out, she secretly stopped using it. She wanted to trap me. So tell me, who’s really at fault?”
“But that’s not a reason to keep rejecting her like this—”
“I don’t love her. I never did. She’s not even that pretty. It’s just her body. That’s all she’s good for.”
****
Chiara stared quietly at her reflection inside the soundproof room, eyes clouded with melancholy. she slowly lifted her shirt to just below her chest, running her fingers along the thick, dark scar that stretched across her lower abdomen. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.
The scar was still remarkable, understandable. After all, it had only been three months since she gave birth to Alaia.
That the most painful times in Chiara’s life. She had been forced to have a deal with a kind of pain she had never known before. The sleepless nights brought by relentless cramps, the quiet yearning for comfort or understanding that never came, the gut-wrenching contractions that tore through her during the third trimester, she had endured all of it alone.
Charles hadn’t been there.
Chiara and Charles could technically be called lovers, but their intentions were never aligned. One longed for commitment, while the other despised being tied down by anything romantic.
Chiara knew she was never the type of woman who could truly match someone like Charles, who was effortlessly charming and seemed to shine in every room he walked into. She was just... ordinary. Just a woman who wanted someone like him to love her back.
After spending a moment staring at her reflection, so small and sorrowful in the bathroom mirror. Chiara finally lowered her gaze, checking to make sure her stitches were healing properly. She didn’t know what Charles was going to do tonight, whether it would be the usual violence, pulling her hair, slapping… or something far more brutal, like the times he had forced himself on her, or kicked her with such cold, detached cruelty.
Click.
Lost in the spiral of her own thoughts—contemplating what fate awaited her tonight—Chiara hadn’t even realized Charles was already standing in front of her, silent and looming.
In his hands: two leather whips.
She had no idea what he intended to do with them.
“Charl…” Chiara whispered softly, her voice barely audible.
But Charles, with his rigid posture and expression carved from fury, didn’t respond with words. His sharp gaze was cold, void of empathy, void of love. He stared at the woman in front of him as if she were something he intended to destroy.
Slowly, deliberately, he took long strides toward her, each step laced with intimidation. His tall frame towered over her, casting a shadow of dread.
Then his hand, those long fingers lined with veins that pulsed with restrained rage, wrapped tightly around Chiara’s pale neck.
Her breath hitched.
He squeezed.
And the younger woman gasped, struggling to breathe as the pressure on her throat grew unbearable.
“I-iii… can't tt… breathhh…”
Chiara choked out, her voice cracking as she pleaded in desperation.
But instead of loosening his grip, Charles only tightened it further. Her eyes widened in panic, darting around helplessly as her lungs screamed for air. Her vision began to blur, the pressure on her neck unbearable.
“I told you what the rules were while you’re under my roof, didn’t I? Hmm?” Charles growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Finally, his hand loosened, slightly, but Chiara was left trembling, too shaken to respond. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Fear anchored her voice deep in her chest.
Charles, unfazed, turned his attention to the leather whips he had been preparing since he walked in. His fingers adjusted the handle with practiced ease.
“Answer me,” he ordered flatly, his back still to her.
Understood. Here's the English translation of your scene, kept as close as possible in tone and meaning, but with language that remains clear and faithful to the emotional weight of the original:
“I-I can’t… breathe…”
Chiara gasped, her voice shattered in desperation.
But instead of letting go, Charles only tightened his grip around her neck, until her eyes darted wildly in fear, vision blurring from the lack of air.
“I told you the rules while you're here, didn’t I?”
His hand eventually loosened slightly, but Chiara—too terrified—couldn’t even respond. She could only stare at him, trembling.
Meanwhile, Charles busied himself with the leather whip he had brought in.
“Answer me,” he growled.
Chiara shook her head in fear, her voice trembling. “P-please don’t hit me, Charles… please—”
But before she could finish her plea, the sting of leather struck her back—despite the shirt she still wore, the pain seared through her skin like fire.
“Haaakhhh… it hurts, Charles… please…”
Closing off his ears to her cries, Charles shoved her frail body hard against the wardrobe’s headboard.
THUD.
He slammed her head against the glass behind her, silencing her whimpering lips. Without pause, he delivered a series of slaps to her face, again and again, until Chiara vomited dark red fluid. Her temple was now gashed badly, worsened by another blow to her head against the wardrobe—this time leaving a long crack in the surface and an even deeper wound.
“STUPID. YOU STUPID USELESS BITCH. WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ABBY, HUH?! TRYING TO GET ATTENTION FROM WHO? YOU WHORE!”
His voice thundered in her face as Chiara could only gaze up at him with weak, swollen eyes. Her head and body throbbed in unbearable pain, she felt like she’d been slammed against rocks over and over again. Only three months postpartum, and now she had to endure this violence.
She realized then, fate had never been kind to her.
“I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED. BUT YOU’RE JUST A DOG, AREN’T YOU?!”
Another harsh scream came as Chiara tried to get up and wrap her arms around the taller man.
“I-I can explain, just… please don’t hit me again. My body’s not as good adn strong enough after giving birth—”
Without a flicker of emotion, Charles stepped hard on the surgical scar on her abdomen. He yanked her hair until the woman, crumpled beneath the table, was forced to look up at him—straight into his blinding rage.
“HA-AAHHHHHH… it h-hurts,… please stophh… I’m in pain… hiks, hiks…”
“I already told you. Don’t ask me for anything unless it’s about my daughter. Know your place, you shameless bitch. You think you matter? Huh? Look at yourself!”
Tightening his grip on her hair, the Taurus man dragged her until she was face to face with the shattered mirror that now stood as the only witness to his cruelty.
“LOOK AT YOU! YOU’RE NOT EVEN PRETTY. Not at all.”
Chiara looked. She saw what he saw.
A woman, broken. Bruised. Bloodied. Humiliated.
She saw how her face had turned blue from all the blows. Charles right she is not pretty.
With her free hand, Chiara gently reached for Charles’ hand, the one still gripping her hair, and stroked it softly. A bitter smile touched her lips.
“I’m not pretty like Abby. I can’t compete… I’ll never matter to anyone. But Alaia needs to know she has an amazing father… even if her mother is just a whore.”
She said it honestly, eyes locked on Charles through the cracked mirror.
And Charles, still unmoved, just listened to her coldly, unflinching.
“You done talking?”
Chiara nodded weakly. “Yes.”
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Another series of blows to her head—this time against the headboard—blood gushing dark and heavy from her left temple.
“Fucking WHORE! GOD, why did I ever meet you?! WHY?!”
Chiara, tasting the bitter iron of blood on her lips, smiled faintly again.
Fate never sided with them. Never.
As her consciousness faded into the cold of the night, she reached out one last time, her fingertips brushing across Charles’ face, whispering with her failing breath.
“Charles… I love you…”
The words stopped him.
Something about her tone, her eyes.
Charles blinked and turned to her, suddenly noticing how faint her pulse had become.
“Chi? Chiara?!”
Panic overtook him as he lightly slapped her cheeks, trying to keep her awake. Hastily dressed her in anything he could find and ran through his house like a man possessed.
Lando was just lying comfortably on the couch, his head resting on the armrest, one leg up, the other dangling off the edge. His eyes were fixed on the TV, but in reality, his attention was more on his two little boys playing with their toy cars on the floor beneath him.
Noah and Leo were unusually peaceful today, laughing and racing their cars across the floor. Noah, being the good big brother, even let Leo borrow one of his cars for a bit. But, of course, peace never lasts long when you have a two boys at home.
The problem started when Leo spotted the orange car—his favorite—in Noah’s hands. His big round eyes locked onto it like he had just found treasure. He stayed still for a moment, seemingly strategizing, then he made his move.
"Noah," Leo called sweetly, using the softest voice he could manage. "Leo want o-wenj cal..."
Noah, completely engrossed in his play, pretended not to hear. He knew exactly what his little brother was trying to do.
Leo wasn’t giving up. He started to act cute, leaning against Noah’s shoulder with a wide, innocent grin. "Pwease, ... Leo want the cal..."
Still no response.
Leo thought for a moment. He needed a better strategy. And in just a few seconds, he turned around, rummaged through his pocket, and pulled out a single banknote with a rather high value for a three-year-old.
Lando, who had been watching everything from the couch, immediately grinned. Oh, this was getting interesting.
With full confidence, Leo held out the money and offered it to Noah like he was negotiating a major business deal. "This money, Noah. Give o-wenj cal."
Noah eyed the money, then squinted suspiciously. "Where did you get that?"
Before Leo could answer, Lando interupt him, "That’s Noah’s money, Leo."
Lando immediately burst into quiet laughter, covering his mouth with his hand to keep himself from laughing too hard. Oh, this was golden.
Noah, who had almost considered the offer, instantly snapped his head toward Leo. "HEY?! That’s MY money!!"
Leo, completely unfazed, kept holding out the money. "Buy o-wenj cal?"
"NO WAY!" Noah snatched his money back.
Leo blinked innocently. "Why not?"
"Just NO!"
Leo paused, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, he spread his arms wide and, with the saddest puppy eyes, said, "Then hug? Hug?" as he tried to wrap his little arms around Noah.
Noah immediately backed away, his face a mix of annoyance and amusement. "I DON’T WANT A HUG!"
But Leo wasn’t giving up. He lunged forward with his arms wide open. Noah, who was secretly fond of his little brother but also stubborn, quickly pushed Leo’s head back with his palm to keep him at arm’s length.
"I WANT THE CAL!" Leo shouted excitedly, his tiny hands reaching out for the orange car that Noah was holding tightly.
Noah immediately pulled back, dragging the car away with a scowl. "No way!"
Leo blinked a few times, stunned. Why wouldn’t Noah let him have it? "Why can’t I have it?" he asked innocently, tilting his head slightly.
Noah remained unfazed, his expression as cold as a finance minister reviewing an annual report. "Because."
Leo was still unsatisfied. "Why?" This time, his voice had that distinct whiny tone that little kids used when they weren’t happy.
Lando, who had been watching the two boys from the couch, finally couldn't hold back his laughter. Poor Leo, but honestly, this was hilarious, Noah was acting like some big boss refusing to lend out his prized possession. Eventually, Lando chimed in. "Leo, if you want to borrow something, you have to ask nicely. You can’t just force it."
Leo immediately turned to Lando, his big round eyes filled with hope. He thought for a moment, then his face lit up as if he had just discovered the perfect solution. "But Noah likes blue! I’ll trade the orange one!" he declared confidently.
But Noah didn’t even flinch. "No."
Leo wasn’t giving up yet. "Okay… but you like red-"
"NO!" This time, Noah shouted before Leo could even finish.
Leo froze for a moment, then let out a tiny sigh, like an adult who was completely exhausted with life. His eyes welled up, but not because he was about to cry, it was more like frustration because he just couldn’t understand why Noah was being so stubborn. In the end, he walked over to the couch, climbed onto Lando’s lap, and dramatically complained, "Daddy, why is Noah like this?" His voice was soft, weak, and full of theatrics, as if he was the most unfortunate victim in the world.
Lando, who had been holding back his laughter, finally chuckled while stroking Leo’s head. "Because you keep pushing, that’s why Noah’s acting like that."
Leo immediately looked up, shocked. "But I didn’t do anything…" his voice was barely above a whisper, like a freezing little kitten.
Lando laughed even harder. "Leo, Noah already gave you two cars, plus Venom. Why are you still trying to take his orange car?"
Leo went quiet for a moment, as if strategizing his next move. Eventually, he slumped against Lando’s chest with a pout, his lips sticking out by at least two centimeters. "But the orange one is cute…"
Lando facepalmed, still laughing. Meanwhile, Noah, who had been silently standing guard, hugged his orange car even tighter, his face full of suspicion, just in case Leo tried to snatch it.
"Noah, come here!" Noah walked to lando and sit beside him.
Lando gently rubbed Noah’s head. "Noah, if you don’t want to share, you have to tell Leo nicely, okay? No yelling."
Noah still looked grumpy. "But Daddy, Leo keeps bothering me…"
Lando nodded, completely understanding Noah’s frustration. "I know, buddy. But if Leo keeps pushing, just say no politely. Don’t yell or threaten to hit him, okay? Siblings shouldn’t fight, you should take care of each other."
Leo, still snuggled against Lando, turned to Noah with his wide, innocent eyes, acting like the sweetest little angel who had never done anything wrong.
Noah sighed, still looking annoyed, but since Lando had told him to be nicer, he started to soften. "But Daddy… Leo is really good at being annoying."
Lando stifled another laugh. "Yeah, I noticed. But now, let’s make up, okay? Noah, give your little brother a hug."
Noah hesitated for a second, then finally stepped forward. "Fine…"
Leo immediately threw his arms wide open. "Noaaahhh!" He lunged at Noah with a big hug, nearly knocking his older brother over.
Noah was startled at first but eventually hugged him back, though he still had a little pout.
Lando smiled, satisfied. "See? Isn’t it better to get along instead of fighting all the time?"
Leo nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Now, can I trade the orange car?"
"NO!" Noah instantly backed away, his face full of horror again.
Lando burst out laughing. "Leo, you just made up, and you're already starting again."
END
This one's been sitting in my drafts for ages so I just posted it, I hope u guys like it. 🤍
KICKING MY MAN OUT WHILE IM CHANGING | F1 DRIVER EDITION
F1 Driver x Fem!reader
lil bit 18+
insp by tiktok video (I forgot to save the vid 😭)
● Carlos Sainz
It was a slow Sunday morning in Madrid, the kind where the sunlight spilled gently through the curtains and the scent of coffee drifted through the apartment like a warm hug. You had a lunch reservation in just under an hour with both your families, his parents, your parents, a table too long for a normal day, but just right for a semi-formal “yes we’re married and still very much in love” celebration.
You were in the bedroom, standing in front of the wardrobe in a robe, biting your lip as you tried to choose between the two dresses laid out on the bed. Carlos was sitting behind you on the edge of the mattress, shirtless, hair still damp from his shower, scrolling on his phone, occasionally glancing up to shamelessly ogle you.
He wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it.
“You’ve been staring at me for five minutes, you creep,” you teased, looking at him through the mirror.
He didn’t even deny it. “I’m admiring my wife,” he said nonchalantly, eyes locked on yours, smirk tugging at his lips.
You turned with a half-playful glare, pointing a manicured finger at the door. “Out. I need to change.”
Carlos blinked. “Why?”
“Because I’m changing. Go.”
“But I’ve seen you naked like... a million times,” he said, setting his phone down and raising an eyebrow. “You literally sat on my lap naked this morning...”
You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “Different energy. This is the ‘trying to look hot in front of your mother’ kind of change. I need silence. Focus.”
Carlos groaned dramatically and fell back on the bed like you’d just broken his heart. “You’re so mean to me.”
“Carlos,” you warned, trying not to laugh. “Go.”
“I just want to sit here and support you emotionally while you change clothes.”
“You want to see my butt.”
“…Can’t it be both?”
You rolled your eyes, walking over and tugging his arm to get him up. He made himself extra heavy on purpose, flopping like a child resisting bedtime.
“Don’t make me call your mom and tell her you’re being a menace.”
He sat up with a gasp, clutching his chest. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You’re evil,” he said with a grin. “Sexy and evil.”
“Out,” you said again, opening the door for him.
Carlos stood, towering over you just a little, and leaned in close like he was going to kiss you—but instead, he kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re really kicking me out?” he asked, lower lip slightly out in an exaggerated pout.
“I’ll call you back in when I’m done.”
“Can I peek?”
“No.”
He walked toward the hallway, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. “I’m just saying... if I hear a thump, I will come running in. What if you trip and fall? Or your zipper gets stuck and you need my strong husband arms?”
You laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”
Carlos paused in the doorway, smirking as he said, “You love me.”
You closed the door with a click. “Too much.”
He shouted through the door seconds later, “You know I’m standing here until you call me back, right?! I’m not going far. I’m gonna lean on this wall dramatically like I’m in a telenovela!”
You could hear him slide down the wall and sit outside the door with a little groan. “Mi amor... estoy perdido sin ti...” (My love....I am lost without you)
“Carlos, shut up!”
“I’ll shut up when you let me back in!”
___
● Lewis Hamilton
You stood by the closet in your robe, eyes darting between two dresses as you weighed the pros and cons in your head. Meanwhile, Lewis was comfortably sprawled across the bed, shirt half-buttoned, barefoot, casually scrolling on his phone and humming under his breath.
You glanced at him. “Baby… can you step out for a minute?”
Lewis blinked, then looked up from his phone slowly, lips parting. “Huh?”
“I need to change.”
He blinked again. “Change like… outfit change? In front of me? Your husband?”
You gave him a pointed look. “Yes. So... out.”
Lewis sat up, absolutely scandalized. “You’re kicking me out of our own bedroom? This is betrayal in its purest form.”
You laughed. “I just need like… five minutes to get dressed in peace.”
He placed a hand on his chest like you’d stabbed him. “You don’t want an audience? A little hype squad energy?”
“Absolutely not. You make it worse. You do that thing where you just stare and smirk.”
Lewis looked offended. “I do not smirk. I admire. That’s called love, darling.”
You walked over and tugged at his hand. “Come on, Sir Seven-Time World Champion, off you go.”
He got up dramatically, sighing the whole way like a Shakespearean prince banished from his kingdom. “This is so sad. I used to be allowed to see things.”
You laughed, pushing him gently toward the door. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll call you when I’m decent.”
At the threshold, he paused, turning back to flash you that signature Lewis grin. “Just so you know… I’ll be out here sulking. Alone. Cold. Emotionally bruised.
You raised an eyebrow.
He added in a mock-whimper, “...probably in need of cuddles later to recover.”
You rolled your eyes, closing the door in his face. Through it, you heard:
“You’re lucky I love you, woman!”
And then, quieter.
“Five minutes. Tops. Or I’m sneaking back in.”
___
● Lando Norris
Lando was sprawled on your shared bed like a starfish, head dangling upside down off the side, phone held above his face. He was wearing your pink silk robe because he said it was "comfy" and refused to give it back. The sleeves were way too short for him, and one side kept slipping off his shoulder, but he proudly claimed it was “his now” and walked around the house like he was in a fashion ad.
You held up your dress and glanced at him. “Lando, can you get out for a sec? I need to change.”
He didn’t even move. Not a twitch. “Why? I’ve literally seen every part of you. Including that one time you fell getting out of the shower and cried over a stubbed toe.”
You narrowed your eyes, but he continued like he was on stage. “I was traumatized, you know. You wailed like it was the end of the world. I still hear that scream in my dreams.”
“Lando.”
“But whyyy?” he whined like a sulky kid, flipping onto his stomach and hugging your pillow like it held the answers to the universe. “You’re my wife. Your boobs are basically my emotional support system. They calm me.”
You raised your voice a little. “Lando!”
He let out a guttural groan as if you’d just told him he was banned from racing forever. With the world’s most exaggerated sigh, he rolled onto the floor and lay flat on the carpet, dramatically clutching his heart like you’d just ripped it out.
“Wow,” he gasped. “First you steal my robe, now you steal my right to exist in my own bedroom. Is this what marriage is? Is this what I signed up for? Lies? Betrayal? Nudity I’m not allowed to witness?”
You were trying so hard not to laugh as he rolled over and stared at the ceiling like a broken man.
Then he started crawling toward the door like he was dying in a war movie, dragging himself an inch at a time. “Fine,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded. “I’ll just go suffer. Alone. Unloved. Cast aside like yesterday’s socks.”
He reached the doorframe and leaned his head against it as if it pained him to leave you behind.
“And cold,” he added, sniffling. “Because someone stole my silky warm robe.”
At the door, he peeked back over his shoulder with the saddest puppy eyes imaginable. “But if your dress has one of those slits, just know I’ll be trying to unzip it with my eyes all night.”
You tossed a scrunchie at him, which he caught with a smug little grin, clearly proud of himself.
And then he closed the door slowly, still clinging to the drama of the moment like an Oscar-worthy actor. As he disappeared into the hallway, his voice echoed theatrically:
“This is marriage abuse!”
Then after the pause:
“I hope you trip over your shoe. Just a little. Not like... hospital trip. Just... mild embarrassment.”
You laughed so hard, you had to sit down, still holding the dress, as Lando’s muffled voice kept drifting through the hallway walls like a very sassy ghost.
___
● Charles Leclerc
Charles was buttoning his crisp white shirt, humming something in French under his breath, when you stood with your gown in hand.
“Can you leave for a sec, love? I want to change.”
He paused mid-button. “Wait… leave? Why?”
“I just wanna change in peace.”
He tilted his head, confused. “But I always help you with your zipper. Or your heels. Or picking your earrings.”
You smiled. “I know. I just want to try the full reveal this time.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly lowered his hands from his buttons like you’d just told him you were moving to another continent.
“But…” he said, stepping closer, already forming a dramatic argument in his head, “what if you trip on the fabric and fall? What if the zipper gets stuck? What if you choose those earrings I don’t like—”
You raised an eyebrow, and he stopped, giving you a helpless little shrug like a boy being told to leave his favorite toy behind. “I’m just saying,” he mumbled, “it feels illegal to kick your fiancé out of the room. I am the fiancé. I come with backstage privileges.”
You rolled your eyes with a laugh, but his pout only deepened.
He tried again. “But I always see you first. I love seeing you first. I—I live for that moment when you do the twirl and say, ‘What do you think?’ and I stand there like an idiot with my jaw on the floor.”
“Exactly,” you teased. “Let’s give your jaw a reason to actually drop.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed dramatically, flopping back a little like his soul had just left his body. “Okay… but I don’t like the idea of someone else helping you. Is your sister here? Or is it that makeup artist who flirts too much?”
“Charles.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll wait outside. But just know… if the dress is too pretty, I might not let you leave the house.”
As he walked out, he lingered in the doorway like a sad little ghost, still watching you with narrowed eyes.
“You sure you don’t need me to zip it? Or buckle your shoes? Or emotionally support you through a wardrobe crisis?”
You giggled, shaking your head, and he finally exhaled in surrender.
Then, just as he stepped into the hallway, he glanced back over his shoulder, voice quieter, more serious this time. “Tu es à moi, d’accord? ”(You’re mine, okay?)
You laughed. “Always.”
He grinned softly, but before the door clicked shut, he peeked one last time and added, “Even if the dress makes you look like a goddess, you still belong to me. Surtout si tu ressembles à une déesse.” (Especially if you look like a goddess.)
And then came his final mutter from behind the door:
“Unfair. So unfair. My fiancée is too beautiful and now I’m banished like a criminal.”
___
● Max Verstappen
Max was fixing his watch by the window when you spoke.
“Max, can you go outside for a bit? I need to change.”
He turned slowly, staring at you like you’d just asked him to retire mid-season. Brows slightly furrowed, jaw tensing like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
“What for?”
“I want to change privately.”
He blinked, stunned. “We share a bed every night. I’ve literally helped you wax your legs.”
You shot him a look. “That was one time and you screamed more than I did.”
He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “Yeah, well, that was trauma. I wasn’t mentally prepared.”
You pointed toward the door. “Out, Max.”
He sighed, muttering in Dutch as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Fine. Whatever. But you’re being weird.”
As he dragged his feet toward the door, he paused dramatically in the doorway. “Don’t wear anything uncomfortable. I’m not carrying you when your heels start hurting.”
He stood there a second longer, glancing over his shoulder, voice dropping with that familiar edge he used when he was both annoyed and extremely curious. “You always kick me out when it’s the sexy dress. Unbelievable.”
And then quieter, under his breath, as if you couldn’t hear, but you definitely did: “Like I haven’t seen it all. I live for the sexy dress.”
You rolled your eyes.
But Max wasn't done. He leaned back into the room, gripping the doorframe with one hand, tilting his head with that cocky little smirk. “You know, I could close my eyes. Be a gentleman. Just sit quietly on the bed while you change. I won’t even peek. Promise.”
He was definitely going to peek.
“Max.”
“What? I’m offering compromise!”
You crossed your arms, unmoved.
He groaned. “You are so mean to me.”
Another dramatic step backward. “Imagine kicking out your own boyfriend, your big strong boyfriend, who just wants to help you zip up your dress and maybe kiss your shoulder once or twice—"
“Out, Max!”
He held his hands up in surrender but grinned like a devil. “Fine. But just know—if I hear even one click from a high heel, I’m kicking the door down.”
He opened the door halfway, then peeked back again, lower voice now rougher, playful. “Actually... if it is the sexy dress, I’m canceling our reservation. We’re staying in.”
“MAX.”
He finally stepped out, but not before adding, “This is emotional damage, by the way. Deep wounds. I hope you feel guilty.”
The door closed with a thud. But you could still hear him outside, loudly muttering in Dutch, followed by a sigh that sounded way too dramatic to be real.
___
● George Russell
George was standing by the mirror, sleeves rolled just past his forearms, tie undone, shirt still open at the collar. The kind of man who looked like a daydream without even trying. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his reflection as you stepped in with your dress folded over your arm.
He turned instantly when he heard the soft rustle of fabric. Eyes dragging down, then back up to your face.
“What’s that?” he asked, already suspicious.
You smirked. “My dress. I’m changing.”
George tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable, voice velvet-smooth. “In here?”
“In our room?” you teased. “Yes. But… can you step out for a second?”
He blinked. Once. Slowly.
Then,
“I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “Did you just ask me to leave our bedroom so you can undress in peace?”
You nodded innocently.
George looked absolutely offended.
“Have you lost your mind?” he whispered dramatically, stepping forward like he was about to deliver a dramatic monologue. “I have personally unzipped every dress you’ve worn in the last twelve months. I’ve seen you wrapped in towels, tangled in sheets, standing half-naked demanding to know where your lip liner went.”
You shrugged, amused. “Yeah, well… I want to do a surprise reveal.”
“A surprise reveal,” he repeated like you’d just told him you were joining RedBull. “I live in a constant state of being emotionally unprepared for your beauty. There is no surprise. Every day is a bloody reveal.”
He stared at you a moment longer, jaw clenched, eyes dark. Then he let out a long, suffering sigh, tossing his phone on the bed like he was being banished from the palace.
“Fine,” he muttered, walking slowly toward the door. “I’ll just... go. Into exile. Like some forgotten prince. I hope your dress is worth the heartbreak.”
You rolled your eyes. “George.”
He turned around just before stepping out, his voice low and dangerous. “Just so you know,” he said, eyes locked on you, “if I’m not the one helping you zip it up… I will be the one unzipping it later. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”
Your breath hitched, but you held your ground.
He lingered one more beat, then groaned under his breath like he physically couldn’t believe you were doing this to him.
As he opened the door, he tossed one last look over his shoulder. “You’ve seen me cry watching a dog food commercial, and you’re telling me I can’t watch you put on a dress?”
Then, more petulantly:
“I kissed you while you were wearing a face mask that smelled like seaweed, and you want privacy now?”
“Out,” you laughed.
He stepped into the hall, but not without drama. You heard his voice from the other side, full of dramatic agony:
“Your makeup brushes are judging me. Your Dyson airwrap just called me pathetic.”
Then, quieter.
“God help me if this dress has a slit.”
___
● Oscar Piastri
You held the hanger in one hand, your gown draped over your arm, and stared at your husband, who was currently lounging across the edge of your shared bed in nothing but sweatpants, scrolling his phone like he wasn’t the single most dangerous man in the room.
“Oscar,” you said slowly, cautiously. “Can you step out for a second?”
He didn’t even glance up. “Why?”
“I need to change.”
Now he looked up.
Deadpan. Sharp. Amused.
“We’re married,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow, his tone far too casual. “I’ve seen you change. You’ve changed in front of me a hundred times. Hell, I’ve *undressed* you more times than I can count.”
“Yes. And every time, you turn into a menace.” You narrowed your eyes, gesturing toward the door. “So out.”
Oscar’s lips curled, like he knew exactly where this was going. He set his phone down on the nightstand and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze lazily trailing down your body, even though you were still in your robe.
“You mean to tell me…” he started, that teasing lilt in his voice, “…that if I sit right here, quietly, not even moving a muscle, you still want me to leave?”
You folded your arms. “Yes.”
He tilted his head. “What if I turn around and cover my eyes?”
“You’ll peek.”
“Will not.”
“You always do.”
Oscar smiled slowly, like you’d just proved his point. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so hot, then.”
You threw a pillow at him. “Oscar.”
“Alright, alright,” he laughed, catching it easily, standing with a stretch that very unfairly showed off his toned torso. “But for the record, I’m protesting this. Morally. Emotionally. Physically.”
“I’m giving you thirty seconds.”
He walked toward you, stopping just inches from where you stood, gown still clutched in your hands. You could feel the heat from his skin, the way his eyes dropped for a millisecond to the hint of bare collarbone visible beneath your robe.
“And what if I decide not to leave?” he murmured, voice lower now, eyes darkening the way they always did when he was two seconds from chaos. “What if I sit back down and wait until that dress comes off instead?”
You stared at him, heat crawling up your neck. “Then you won’t see the dress at all. I’ll change in the bathroom and lock you out.”
He groaned dramatically, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Cruel woman.”
You laughed, trying to push him away gently. “Out, Piastri.”
But he didn’t budge, instead, he dropped a kiss just under your ear, warm and slow, like he knew exactly how weak that spot was.
“You know I’m not just being wild for fun,” he murmured. “It’s this robe. It’s illegal. You in it? Criminal. You expecting me to be sane? Impossible.”
“I need to change, Osc.”
“Five more minutes,” he pleaded, lips brushing your jaw now. “Just five.”
You shoved him lightly. “You’ll turn five into twenty-five and we’ll be late.”
He sighed, dramatically again, pulling back with a cheeky grin. “Fine. But just know, the second that dress is on, I’m coming back in and you’re doing a full spin. Slowly. With commentary.”
You gave him a look. “Out.”
Oscar kissed your cheek, your nose, your forehead, and finally, with a groan of defeat, dragged himself toward the door like it physically pained him to leave.
As he stepped out, he turned, walking backward, grinning. “Just yell when you're ready. Or don’t. I’ll sense it. Instinct.”
You slammed the door in his face.
From outside, his muffled voice called, “Still hot, by the way!”
You smiled to yourself, heart full, face flushed, gown pressed to your chest like it might burn from the heat in your body. Married to Oscar Piastri, and he still looked at you like he’d never get enough.
And yeah, you’d need a full five minutes of peace.
Because when that door opened again… chaos was coming.
END
HELLOOOOOOOO I AM BACK YALLL. HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT. 🩷
Lando Norris was a lot of things—an F1 driver, a McLaren superstar, a grown man who played way too much golf—but above all else, he was the clingiest husband on the planet.
Unfortunately for him, ever since they had two adorable little monsters named Noah and Leo, Lando had dropped from First Priority to Third Place in Y/N’s heart. And he was absolutely not okay with that.
So, as usual, the war between Father and Sons continued.
It started at breakfast.
Y/N was sitting at the dining table, feeding Leo tiny bites of his pancake while Noah sat beside them, swinging his little legs and rambling about the dinosaur book he was reading. Lando was right across from them, sulking dramatically, watching his wife and kids like a sad puppy.
Y/N, of course, didn’t even notice her husband’s suffering.
“Mamaaa, more pancakeee,” Leo mumbled, blinking up at her with big, sleepy eyes.
“Awww, my baby is still sleepy, huh?” Y/N cooed, ruffling his soft curls before bringing another bite to his mouth. “Here you go, bub.”
Lando gasped. Out loud.
“Oh? So he gets fed, but I don’t?”
Y/N finally looked up, raising an amused brow. “You have hands, babe.”
Lando placed a hand over his heart, looking absolutely wounded. “I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own wife.”
Noah giggled, chewing on his pancake. “Daddy, you’re not a baby. You can eat by yourself.”
“But I wanna be a baby,” Lando shot back, pouting.
Noah made a face. “But you’re old.”
Lando dramatically clutched the air. “I’m Y/N’s baby, actually. Right, babe?”
Y/N snorted. “You were my baby. Then we had actual babies.”
Lando gasped again. “So that’s it, huh? Used and discarded. Thrown away like an old toy.” He wiped an imaginary tear.
Noah laughed, and Leo, still chewing, tilted his head. “Mamaaa, Daddy cryin’?”
Y/N leaned over and kissed Leo’s forehead. “No, bubba, he’s just being dramatic.”
Lando narrowed his eyes. “You love them more than me.”
Y/N smirked. “Obviously.”
“WHAT—”
“Daddy, share Mama,” Noah said, giggling.
Lando scowled playfully. “You share Mama.”
“Nooo, she’s my mama!” Noah argued, wrapping his little arms around Y/N’s waist protectively.
Leo, not understanding but wanting to be included, immediately clung to Y/N’s other side, glaring at his dad. “Mineee!”
Lando gaped at them. “EXCUSE ME. That’s MY wife.”
“OUR Mama,” Noah corrected.
“MY wife,” Lando argued.
“Mamaaa, tell Daddy stop,” Leo whined.
“Tell them to stop taking my wife!” Lando shot back, crossing his arms. “She was mine first!”
Y/N, now laughing, leaned into her giggling sons. “Sorry, babe. Looks like I’ve been stolen.”
Lando huffed, narrowing his eyes at his children. “You two little thieves.”
Noah stuck his tongue out. “Hmph! We win.”
Lando grumbled under his breath, stabbing his pancake with unnecessary aggression. “I’m calling the police.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “For what?”
“To report two tiny criminals who stole my wife.”
Noah and Leo giggled uncontrollably.
But Lando wasn’t done.
If they were going to steal Y/N, then he was going to steal her back.
***
Later that afternoon, Y/N was sitting on the couch with both Noah and Leo snuggled up beside her. Leo was sleepily sucking his thumb, curled up on her lap like a little kitten, while Noah rested his head against her shoulder, humming quietly as she ran her fingers through his hair.
Lando stood by the doorway, watching with pure, unfiltered jealousy.
No room for him. Again.
Enough was enough.
With a determined look, he marched over, squeezed himself onto the couch, and shoved Noah aside—gently, of course, but enough to make space.
“Daddy!” Noah whined.
“Shhh. I’m taking my wife back.”
Lando wrapped his arms around Y/N and dramatically buried his face in her shoulder. “I miss you.”
Y/N, amused, simply ran her fingers through his curls. “I was literally with you all morning.”
“Not enough.” Lando lifted his head, glaring at the two small humans beside her. “They hogged you.”
Noah pouted. “Mama is ours.”
“No, she’s MINE,” Lando corrected, tightening his grip around Y/N like an overgrown koala.
Leo, still sleepy, mumbled, “Daddy…no fight Mama…”
“I’m not fighting Mama, I’m fighting you two,” Lando muttered.
Y/N laughed, wrapping an arm around her overly clingy husband. “Aww, my poor baby.”
Lando peeked up. “Am I your baby again?”
“Always,” she assured, placing a kiss on his forehead.
Lando smirked victoriously at Noah. “Ha. Told you.”
Noah huffed. “Hmph. Mamaaa, don’t kiss him.”
“I’ll kiss Daddy if I want to,” Y/N teased, pressing another kiss to Lando’s cheek.
Lando grinned like a little kid. “Heard that, Noah? Mama wants to kiss me.”
Noah made a face. “EW.”
Leo, still sleepy but watching everything, suddenly declared, “Mama kiss Leo too.”
Y/N cooed, immediately showering kisses on Leo’s chubby cheeks. “Of course, my love.”
Leo giggled, satisfied.
Noah gasped. “ME TOO, MAMA.”
Y/N laughed and kissed Noah too, making him giggle and hide his face in her shirt.
Lando watched in horror. “Wait, what about me?!”
Y/N smirked. “You already got yours.”
Lando gasped dramatically. “But I need MORE.”
Noah smirked. “Daddy, you said we were stealing Mama, but you are the clingiest.”
Lando blinked.
Noah grinned.
Y/N burst into laughter.
Leo, still sleepy but wanting to participate, softly mumbled, “Daddy lose.”
Lando groaned, slumping against Y/N. “I hate it here.”
Y/N kissed his cheek again, making him perk up instantly. “Better?”
“Hmm. Maybe one more.”
Y/N laughed but obliged, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.
Noah and Leo groaned in unison. “EWWWW.”
Lando smirked at his sons. “Heh. MY wife.”
And with that, the war for Y/N’s attention continued.
Lando may have lost some battles, but he would never surrender.
your writing is truly magical. the fact that i got to experience 3 different emotions from 3 different fics is the proof. you made me want to cry with fighting together. knowing damn well what was going to happen at the end but still couldn't help it. you made me shiver with run rabbit, run, the dark smut was just so scarily well written. and you made me want to roll around with accidentally, forever, the amount of fluff in that fic was so illegally high for my heart. thank you for your hard work feeding our f1 fandom with tons of wonderful fics <3 <3 <3.
- 🍉
SENDER THANK YOUU SO SO SOOO MUCH FOR SENDING ME THIS MESSAGE 🥹. This message just made my entire day ❤️. The fact that you felt every moment, every word, every feeling I poured into those fics is the greatest compliment I could ever receive. I’m beyond grateful for your support and I promise to keep feeding our F1 fandom. Sending you the biggest hug and all my love! ❤️❤️.
Lando Norris and Y/N had been best friends for as long as they could remember. Their love story wasn’t one of grand confessions or slow-burn realizations—it was pure chaos, endless laughter, and the kind of bond that made people around them question how they hadn’t gotten together sooner.
Lando had spent years calling Y/N every ridiculous nickname under the sun—idiot, gremlin, monkey, even “bro” sometimes—but never anything remotely romantic. Not seriously, anyway. But now, standing in their dimly lit bedroom on their first night as husband and wife, the reality of their new titles suddenly hit them both at the same time.
“Honey?” Lando tested out, his voice soft but uncertain, like he was tasting a new flavor of ice cream.
Y/N, already sitting cross-legged on the bed in her oversized pajamas (because there was no way she was spending her first night as a married woman in some cliché silk nightgown), looked at him with wide eyes.
Lando swallowed. “Baby?”
Silence.
They stared at each other.
Then, as if a switch flipped, they both BURST into uncontrollable laughter. Lando bent over, clutching his stomach, while Y/N fell back against the pillows, gasping for air.
“NO, NO, NO,” Y/N wheezed, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “YOU DID NOT JUST CALL ME BABY.”
“I THOUGHT—” Lando tried to defend himself between fits of laughter, his face turning red. “I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CUTE!”
“IT’S NOT!” Y/N practically screamed, smacking him repeatedly with a pillow. “YOU’RE DISGUSTING. GET AWAY FROM ME.”
“I’M YOUR HUSBAND NOW, YOU CAN’T ESCAPE!” Lando yelped, grabbing another pillow and weakly swatting her back. He wasn’t even trying to fight back properly because he was still laughing too hard.
Y/N rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow like a lifeline. “No, but actually, it’s so WEIRD hearing you say that! Like—YOU? Calling ME that?”
Lando flopped onto his back beside her, dramatically throwing an arm over his forehead. “Oh my god. We’re actually MARRIED. Like, legally.”
“Yeah,” Y/N snorted, wiping her tears. “And you just ruined our first night by calling me BABY.”
“Would you rather ‘darling’? ‘Love’? ‘Sweetheart’?” Lando turned his head towards her, raising an eyebrow.
Y/N fake-gagged. “Don’t you DARE.”
Lando smirked, shifting onto his side to face her. “What if I called you ‘Mrs. Norris’?”
Y/N’s whole body tensed. Her mouth fell open. And then she let out an earsplitting squeal before grabbing a pillow and SMACKING him in the face.
“OH MY GOD, NOOOOOO,” she shrieked, kicking her legs. “I HATE IT. I HATE IT SO MUCH.”
Lando was crying with laughter now, barely able to hold onto the pillow in his hands. “STOP HITTING ME, WIFEY.”
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP,” Y/N yelled, still flustered beyond belief. “WHY DID I MARRY YOU? I REGRET EVERYTHING.”
“No you don’t.” Lando grinned, tossing his pillow aside and yanking her into his arms despite her weak protests. “You love me.”
Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, finally giving up as she melted into his embrace. “Unfortunately, yeah. I do.”
Lando kissed the top of her head, his voice teasing yet impossibly soft. “Good. Because I love you more.”
Y/N groaned. “Gross.”
Lando chuckled. “Better get used to it, Mrs. Norris.”
“STOPPP.”
But despite her exaggerated protests, she snuggled closer into his arms, feeling a kind of happiness she’d never known before. Because as ridiculous as he was, Lando was hers. Forever.
A comfortable silence settled between them, their laughter finally dying down, replaced by the quiet hum of contentment. Lando turned his head, looking at Y/N with the softest, most heart-melting smile she had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that felt like home, like warmth, like he had never been happier in his life.
“I’m so happy it’s you,” he whispered, voice laced with pure sincerity. “I don’t think I’d ever want to do this with anyone else.”
Y/N felt her heart squeeze, her breath hitching at the overwhelming adoration in his gaze. She didn’t even think before she smiled back, mirroring the softness in his eyes. And then, she leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss against his lips, slow and sweet, as if sealing the words he just said into her heart forever.
Lando melted instantly, his hands slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, his voice nothing more than a whisper.
“I’m so, so in love with you.”
Y/N let out a small, breathless laugh, cupping his face. “Good. Because I’m so, so in love with you too.”
—
The morning after their utterly chaotic first night together, Y/N woke up earlier than Lando. She was still comfortably wrapped in his arms, his body pressed snugly against her from behind. His warmth, the soft rise and fall of his breathing, the way he unconsciously nuzzled into her—it was all so new, yet oddly familiar.
She didn’t dare move too much, afraid of waking him up, so instead, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and started scrolling through social media. Lando, blissfully unaware, remained buried in the crook of her neck, his face slightly smushed against her shoulder. Every now and then, he’d unconsciously tighten his arms around her, as if making sure she wouldn’t disappear.
Y/N bit back a small smile, finding his clinginess endearing. She continued scrolling, her screen now playing an edit of Gojo Satoru—white hair, blue eyes, smug little smirk. She watched, completely engrossed, until she felt the slightest shift behind her.
A low, playful voice broke through the quiet morning air.
“Good morning, baby,” Lando mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, yet teasing all the same.
Y/N, caught off guard, let out a small laugh and immediately swatted the hand that was still wrapped around her waist.
“Ew, stop—so cringe,” she giggled, scrunching her nose.
Lando only chuckled, his arms refusing to let go. Instead, he pulled her even closer, his lips pressing lazy kisses into her hair. His voice was huskier now, laced with amusement. “You love it. Admit it.”
Y/N only hummed in response, too distracted by the video still playing on her phone. Lando, finally cracking open his eyes, blinked groggily at the screen in front of her. It took him a second to process before he groaned dramatically.
“Wow. Nice. Watching edits of another guy first thing in the morning.”
Y/N grinned before turning in his hold to face him. She looked up at him, eyes playful, and simply said, “Hehe… Gojo’s hot.”
Lando’s reaction was immediate. With a scoff, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him as he started attacking her face with kisses. “Excuse me? Say that again? Go on, I dare you,” he teased between kisses, his hands already trailing down to tickle her sides.
Y/N burst into laughter, squirming under him. “No, stop—Landooo!”
But Lando wasn’t done. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening as he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.
“You know… do you ever just—realize how insanely beautiful you are?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Like, what kind of dream did I wake up from to actually end up with you? I don’t even know what I did in my past life to deserve you. I must’ve saved the whole damn world or something.”
Y/N felt warmth bloom in her chest, her teasing smile faltering just a little. Instead of answering right away, she reached up, cupping his cheek gently.
“Do you ever realize how insanely handsome you are?” she countered, voice soft. “Like… what kind of dream did I wake up from to have you?”
Lando stared at her for a moment before groaning, dropping his head against her shoulder dramatically. “Okay, yeah, that was unfairly cute. My heart can’t handle it. I’m literally never letting you go.”
And, well—he didn’t. At least, not for the next several minutes.
Because one second, they were teasing and giggling like the best friends they had always been… and the next, the air shifted, laughter turning into something softer, something warmer. The way Lando’s lips brushed against her skin, the way his fingers skimmed lightly along her waist—it was slow, unhurried, almost like he was memorizing every inch of her.
And before either of them realized it, the playful morning cuddles turned into something a lot more heated.
—
After spending the whole day holed up in their honeymoon suite, Lando and Y/N finally decided to step out for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. It was one of those fancy, candlelit places—low lighting, soft music playing in the background, the kind of atmosphere that practically screamed romance.
They were seated at a cozy little corner table, the flickering candlelight making everything feel a little more… intimate. Y/N was skimming the menu when Lando, in the softest, most honey-drenched voice, leaned in slightly and asked, "What do you want to order, baby?"
Y/N’s head snapped up instantly.
Their eyes met.
There was an immediate spark of amusement in both their gazes. They tried to hold it in, but their lips twitched as they struggled not to break into laughter.
Y/N pressed her lips together, dropping her gaze slightly, while Lando squinted at her with a knowing smirk, as if daring her to say something. But neither of them spoke—they just sat there, exchanging barely contained giggles like two idiots in love.
Finally, when the waiter arrived, Y/N took the lead, clearing her throat before speaking. With a sweet smile, she said, “My husband will have…”
Lando froze.
She didn’t even say anything crazy. Just husband. A completely normal term for a newly married couple. But oh, that didn’t stop his entire brain from short-circuiting on the spot.
Poker. Face. Activated.
He was sitting up straighter, lips pressed together, and staring ahead like he had just been personally attacked. But it was useless—because right after, his lips twitched, and before he could stop himself, a slow, completely flustered smile stretched across his face.
Meanwhile, the waiter nodded, completely unaware of Lando’s internal crisis. Y/N, as if nothing was wrong, continued, “The Filetto di Manzo with truffle sauce, please. And for me…” She went on, placing her own order effortlessly.
His wife—HIS WIFE—just called him her husband so casually. And not to him, but to someone else. Out loud. Publicly.
The moment the waiter left, Lando exhaled, looking down with a bright smile and—without even thinking—reached up to fix his hair. His perfectly neat hair.
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he unnecessarily smoothed a hand through his curls, biting back a grin.
“Did you just—”
“Shut up.”
Y/N smirked, tilting her head teasingly. “Are you blushing?”
Lando scoffed, shaking his head, but the growing pink tint on his cheeks told another story. “No.”
Y/N leaned in with a knowing grin. “Mhm. Sure.”
Without another word, Lando suddenly cupped her cheek and pressed a quick, warm kiss to it. The simple gesture made her entire face heat up, and now she was the one frozen in place.
By the time he pulled away, Y/N’s face was on fire. “Lando!” she squeaked, hands instinctively flying to her warm cheeks.
“What?” he asked, feigning innocence, though his smirk completely betrayed him. “I just wanted to thank my wife for ordering for me.”
That did it.
They both burst into nervous giggles, laughing into their hands, kicking each other lightly under the table, both way too overwhelmed by the sheer cringe and cuteness of it all.
Best friends to lovers was a really, really adorable mess.
—
The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of soft gold and warm amber. Gentle waves rolled onto the shore, their rhythmic hum blending seamlessly with the occasional distant laughter of seagulls. The air smelled of salt and coconut, a perfect blend of nature’s embrace and the luxurious scent of sunscreen.
Lando stretched his arms above his head, tilting his face toward the sun as he relaxed into the plush lounge chair. His fingers idly played with the end of Y/N’s beach sarong, a teasing habit he’d picked up over the years of knowing her. They had been talking about the most random things for the past hour—why crabs walk sideways, whether pineapples belong on pizza, and the absurdity of seagulls looking like they always had an attitude.
But then something clicked in his head.
His brows furrowed, a sudden realization making him sit up slightly. Five days. They had been in this private beach villa for five whole days. Five days of stolen kisses, shared sunsets, lazy mornings tangled in sheets, and yet—
“Wait a sec,” Lando blurted out, turning to her with an exaggerated look of betrayal. “You haven’t called me ‘baby’ once this entire honeymoon.”
Y/N, who had been sipping on a fresh coconut with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it, nearly choked. “Huh?”
Lando crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a pout. “You heard me. Not even a ‘babe’ or a ‘love’ or—or—I don’t know, a cute little nickname. It’s been five days, Y/N. Five. Days.”
Y/N’s face warmed instantly, and she shifted uncomfortably, staring out at the waves as if the ocean might offer her an escape route. “What are you even talking about?” she mumbled, trying to sound unbothered.
Lando scooted closer, his face inches from hers now, grinning like the little menace he was. “Don’t ‘what are you even talking about’ me,” he teased, nudging her shoulder with his. “You’re telling me you can’t call me something cute? You call Max ‘dumbass’ more affectionately than you call me anything.”
Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Lando, shut up.”
“Oh-ho, no, no, no. This is important. This is a honeymoon emergency.” He turned on his side, propping his head up on one hand as he smirked at her. “Alright, we’re gonna do this step by step.”
Y/N peeked at him through her fingers. “What?”
Lando grinned mischievously. “Repeat after me. B—A—B—Y.”
Her jaw dropped as she immediately shot him a glare. “Lando, stop.”
“Nope. C’mon, love, humor me.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “B—A—B—Y.”
Y/N sighed heavily, clearly regretting every life choice that led her to this moment. But under his persistent, teasing gaze, she finally relented. “B—A—B—Y,” she mumbled.
Lando beamed. “And what does that spell?”
Y/N hesitated for half a second before deadpanning, “Bro.”
Silence. Then—
Lando’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief before he burst into uncontrollable laughter, collapsing onto the lounge chair in a fit of giggles. Y/N, unable to hold it in anymore, joined him, her laughter ringing through the private beach like music.
“Oh my god, you’re actually the worst,” Lando wheezed between laughs, wiping at his eyes. “You really just friendzoned me on our honeymoon?”
Y/N nodded, her shoulders shaking. “Bro, I guess I did.”
Lando groaned dramatically before pulling her into his arms, nuzzling into her shoulder. “Unbelievable. Actually unbelievable.”
She hummed, resting her chin on his tousled curls, still giggling. “You’ll live.”
“Oh, will I?” Lando huffed before tilting his head up, pressing his lips to her jaw. Then another kiss—on her cheek, then her nose, then the corner of her lips. “What if I never recover from this heartbreak?”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned under his touch. “You’ll be fine.”
“Hmm.” Lando sighed dramatically again before wrapping his arms tighter around her, pulling her onto his lounge chair so she was practically half on top of him. “Guess I’ll just have to cuddle my way through the pain.”
Y/N smiled against his chest, inhaling the scent of salt and sun-warmed skin. “Such a tragedy.”
“The worst.”
They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the sun began its slow descent into the horizon. The sky transformed into a masterpiece of pinks, oranges, and purples, casting a warm glow over the private beach. The waves continued their endless dance, whispering secrets to the shore, but in that moment, nothing else existed but them.
Lando tilted his head slightly, peering down at her. “You’re really not gonna call me baby, are you?”
Y/N grinned sleepily against his chest. “We’ll see, bro.”
Lando groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. “I hate you.”
She chuckled, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone. “No, you don’t.”
“…Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed happily, his fingers drawing mindless patterns along her back. “I love you, actually.”
Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze, something soft and unspoken passing between them. “I love you too, bro.”
Lando let out an exaggerated whine before flipping them over, caging her beneath him with a playful growl. “You are the absolute worst!”
Y/N shrieked, laughing as he tickled her sides, their laughter mixing with the sound of the ocean. And just like that, under the golden glow of a perfect sunset, Lando kissed her breathless—because even if she was the worst, she was his worst.
The house was a prison dressed in luxury. Marble floors, towering glass walls, expensive chandeliers casting golden light over spaces too grand to feel like home. No neighbors. No roads leading in or out. Just endless trees and the man who owned them all. It was beautiful—but suffocating.
Carlos had made sure of that.
Unless she made one.
Y/N knew she had to leave.
It wasn’t just guilt—it was something deeper, something that gnawed at her, keeping her awake at night as she lay tangled in silk sheets that smelled of Carlos. She wanted to be happy. To have a real life. A husband, children, a future where she wasn’t someone’s dirty secret.
She couldn’t be his secret anymore.
Rebecca existed. She was real. A flesh-and-blood woman who deserved better than to have her fiancé sneaking off into the night to fuck someone else. Y/N had tried to ignore it, tried to silence the voice in her head that screamed at her every time Carlos pressed her against the walls of his mansion, but she couldn’t anymore.
She had to get out.
But escaping Carlos Sainz was easier said than done.
Security cameras in every corner, high walls, guards at the entrance. Carlos wasn’t careless—he was meticulous. Y/N knew he kept an eye on her even when he wasn’t home, watching her through the screens in his private office. Even the staff in the house—guards, maids, chefs—answered only to him. There was no way out. She was his, and he would never let her go willingly.
So she planned. Carefully, meticulously.
Every step had to be calculated, and every move executed perfectly. One mistake, and he’d find out. And if Carlos found out?
She didn’t want to think about what would happen.
—
For weeks, Y/N observed everything. The way the guards changed shifts, which doors were locked at night, which ones weren’t. The windows that didn’t have alarms. The places in the house where the cameras had blind spots. She memorized every inch of the house, looking for an opening.
And finally, she had a plan.
She had been playing the perfect role for a week now—sweet, submissive, eager to please. She smiled when he touched her, melted into his arms when he pulled her close, and whispered soft praises against his skin, all while hiding the raw desperation pooling in her chest.
Because she knew.
She knew that Carlos watched her like a hawk, his dark eyes tracing her every movement, his presence a constant shadow pressing against her skin. He had rules and expectations. And if she misbehaved and dared to push against the invisible walls he built around her, he would make her regret it.
She had seen his anger before.
She wasn’t foolish enough to provoke it again.
Which was why she had spent seven days keeping him satisfied. Keeping him distracted. Letting him believe that she had finally settled into the life he had crafted for her.
But tonight—tonight was her only chance to run.
And she was going to take it.
—
The evening was heavy with heat, the scent of burning wood from the grand fireplace curling through the massive bedroom. Carlos stood near the window, his bare chest illuminated by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the glass. He looked every bit the predator he was—broad shoulders tense, muscles rippling under his tanned skin, the scar on his abdomen a brutal reminder that men like him had fought for everything they owned.
And Carlos? He owned her.
Or so he thought.
“Come here, cariño,” he murmured, his voice thick with the kind of authority that left no room for argument.
Y/N obeyed. Because that was what he expected. Because tonight, she couldn’t risk raising suspicion.
She stepped between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed, his large hands immediately finding her waist, fingers pressing into her softness with unmistakable possession.
“You’ve been good this week,” he mused, tilting his head as if studying her, his lips ghosting over the pulse in her throat. “Too good.”
Her breath hitched.
Carlos knew.
Or at least, he suspected.
She forced a small smile, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair, pretending she wasn’t trembling inside. "I just… wanted to make you happy," she whispered, hoping he would buy it.
A slow smirk curled on his lips as he pulled her onto his lap, forcing her thighs to straddle his. "You always make me happy, mi amor," he murmured, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone. His voice darkened. “But you’ve never been this obedient before.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Do you know what that makes me think?” he continued, his hands sliding up her back, his grip unrelenting.
She swallowed hard. “What?”
“That you’re hiding something.”
Her breath stuttered, but she forced herself to laugh softly, leaning in to brush her lips against his jaw. “What would I be hiding, Carlos?”
His hands flexed around her hips. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Y/N’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She needed to distract him. Now.
So she kissed him.
Hard.
It was desperate, feverish, an act of submission that she knew he would take as proof of her devotion. Carlos growled against her lips, one hand tangling in her hair, the other gripping her hip so tight she knew there would be bruises tomorrow. But that didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except keeping his guard down.
His tongue slid against hers, demanding, possessive, hungry. He kissed like a man who needed to consume like letting her go would kill him. And maybe, in some twisted way, it would.
Carlos ripped her silk nightgown off in one swift motion, tossing it somewhere behind them. His hands roamed freely, mapping the curves he already knew by heart, his breath hot against her skin. “Tell me, cariño,” he murmured, voice thick with desire as he nipped at her jaw. “Do you love me?”
Y/N's nails dug into his shoulders. “Yes,” she breathed because he wanted to hear that.
Because lying was the only way to survive.
Carlos groaned, flipping her onto the bed in a blur of movement, his body pressing her down into the silk sheets. His eyes were dark—ravenous. “Dímelo otra vez,” he demanded, lips brushing against her ear. “Tell me again.”
“I love you,” she whispered, hating how easily the lie slipped from her lips.
Carlos rewarded her with another bruising kiss, his hands trailing down, fingers teasing, claiming, possessing.
And Y/N let him.
Because tonight was the last time she would ever let him touch her.
—
His mouth was on hers before she could respond, his kiss so deep—claiming. He didn’t just want her—he wanted to remind her that she belonged to him.
His hands made quick work of the dress she was wearing, sliding it down her body until it pooled at her feet. His touch was rough, desperate, like he could sense something was off but didn’t know what.
Y/N let herself sink into it one last time.
One last time, she let him ruin her. Let him mark her with bruises that wouldn’t fade by morning. It wasn’t easy to do—he had an almost inhuman amount of energy when it came to taking what he wanted. But tonight, she had given him everything he asked for. She had let him break her, let him claim her in every way he could, let him fall into the heavy, satisfied sleep of a man who believed he owned her.
Carlos growled her name as he came, pressing his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. His hands stayed on her, holding her close like he never wanted to let go.
Like he never would.
Y/N’s heart clenched painfully as she ran her fingers through his damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
“Te amo,” he murmured against her skin, half-asleep, completely unaware that she was about to disappear from his life forever.
Y/N closed her eyes.
Then, she whispered, “I love you too.”
And when Carlos finally drifted off to sleep.
She slipped out of bed, heart pounding so violently she thought it might burst from her chest.
She had memorized every creaking floorboard, every security detail. She had spent weeks gathering what little supplies she could.
And now? Now it was time.
—
She grabbed the small backpack hidden under the dresser, slipping into dark clothes and silent footsteps. The cool night air hit her as she cracked the bedroom door open, her stomach twisting when she saw the security cameras positioned along the hallway.
But she had planned for this.
Her escape route was through the back—one of the kitchen doors had a faulty lock. She had overheard a maid complaining about it. The security team hadn’t fixed it yet.
She didn’t look back. She moved quickly, sticking to the shadows, staying out of the cameras’ view as she made her way toward the broken door she had found.
Her heart pounded as she stepped out, cool night air kissing her skin. She had only seconds before someone noticed she was gone.
She made it past the garden. Reached the outer gates, before she heard it.
A voice as smooth as silk but laced with something far more dangerous.
“Where do you think you're going, mi amor?”
Her heart stopped.
Every part of her froze.
Slowly—terrifyingly slow—she turned. And there he was.
Carlos.
Standing in the dim glow of the estate’s lights, his sharp features shadowed, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. He was still in his dress shirt from earlier, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone, revealing golden skin and the hint of defined muscles.
But it wasn’t his beauty that terrified her.
It was his eyes.
Dark. Wild.
Burning with something lethal.
A slow smirk curved his lips. But there was no amusement in it—only cold, simmering fury.
“You look like you've seen a ghost, cariño.”
Y/N stumbled a step back.
Carlos tilted his head, his expression eerily calm.
“Go on,” he murmured, voice soft. “Run.”
Her stomach dropped.
Panic exploded in her chest, but before she could take another step—
He moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
A choked gasp tore from her lips as his hand shot out, gripping her wrist in a punishing hold. She yelped as he yanked her forward, her body slamming against his with bruising force.
“Did you really think you could escape me?” Carlos whispered against her ear, his voice deadly.
Y/N trembled, her breath coming in frantic little gasps.
“Carlos—"
But she couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t breathe.
Because his fingers wrapped around her chin, forcing her to look up. His dark eyes bore into hers, unreadable, terrifying.
“Let me go, Carlos,” she gasped, struggling, but his grip only tightened.
“Let you go?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. His free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so she had no choice but to look up at him. His jaw was clenched, veins bulging against his skin. “You belong to me, Y/N. There is no leaving. You know that.”
Tears burned in her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore—"
“Yes, you can.” His voice was sharp, demanding. “You can and you will.”
She shook her head. “I want a life, Carlos. A real life. I want to get married, have kids—"
His eyes darkened. “You want a husband? You want kids?” His fingers traced down her jaw, deceptively gentle. “Fine. Then I’ll marry you. I’ll give you my children. I’ll give you everything—except freedom.”
Her breath caught.
“Carlos—"
He crushed his lips against hers.
The kiss was nothing like the ones before. It wasn’t sweet or coaxing. It was punishment. Desperate, angry, claiming. His hands slid down her body, gripping, owning, as if he wanted to remind her that no one else would ever touch her like this.
He lifted her effortlessly, throwing her over his shoulder as she gasped and pounded against his back.
"Carlos, stop—!"
He carried her inside, past the staff who had quickly disappeared, knowing better than to get in his way.
The bedroom door slammed behind them.
She barely had time to breathe before he pinned her against the wall, his body flush against hers.
“You wanted to run from me?” His voice was low, dangerous. His fingers traced down her arms, making her shiver.
Y/N trembled, her breath coming in frantic little gasps.
“Carlos—"
But she couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t breathe.
Because his fingers wrapped around her chin, forcing her to look up. His dark eyes bore into hers, unreadable, terrifying.
“Answer me. Did you think I would let you go?” he murmured. “That I would just let you slip through my fingers like some fucking mistake?”
A shiver ran down her spine.
“Please—”
Carlos’s grip tightened.
“Shhh.” His thumb traced her trembling bottom lip, his touch deceptively gentle. “I want to hear you beg, but not for that.”
Y/N whimpered as he leaned down, his breath warm against her ear.
“Listen to me, corazón,” he whispered, his voice turning rough. “Even if you run until your legs give out, even if you die trying—I will still chase you. Even if you leave this world, I will follow you to the next.”
Her breath hitched.
“You are mine. No one else’s. No one ever fucking touches you, do you understand?”
She swallowed hard, her body caught between fear and something far more dangerous—something she didn’t want to name.
Carlos’s lips brushed against her jaw, sending a sharp, electric shock through her system. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh possessively.
“Look at you,” he murmured, trailing kisses down her throat, “so fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful.”
A deep, guttural sound rumbled in his chest as his hands slid down, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him.
“Carlos, please—"
“Please what?” He kissed her jaw, her neck, biting down just enough to make her whimper. “Please remind you who you belong to? Please fuck you so hard you forget why you ever wanted to leave?”
Heat pooled low in her stomach.
“Carlos, stop—"
But he silenced her with a kiss.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Devouring.
It was teeth and tongue, a bruising, punishing clash of mouths that left her gasping. His hands roamed her body, fingers tangling in her hair, gripping her waist like he needed to mold her against him.
“You belong to me,” he growled, pulling back just enough to nip at her bottom lip. “Say it.”
She shook her head, her breathing ragged.
Carlos’s eyes flashed.
He threw her onto the bed, his body following immediately after, pinning her down beneath his weight. His dark eyes burned into hers, his hand sliding up her thigh, hiking up the flimsy dress she had dared to run in.
“You tried to leave me,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous. “That means you need to be punished, cariño.”
His lips trailed down her neck, hot and unrelenting. His fingers toyed her clothes with his breath heavy, burning.
“You’re mine, cariño,” he murmured against her skin. “And I am going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”
His hands ripped her clothes apart.
And then there was no more running. No more thoughts of escape.
summary: When Y/N’s cancer worsens despite treatment, the doctor says there’s no cure—only time. She begins to lose hope, but Charles refuses to let her give up, promising they’ll fight together, no matter what.
The world around Y/N blurred, the sterile white walls of the hospital room closing in as the doctor’s words settled into her bones like ice.
“The treatments aren’t working as we hoped. Instead of slowing it down, the cancer is progressing faster than expected.”
She couldn’t breathe. Her hands trembled on her lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as she forced herself to listen. To understand. But the words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s story, not hers.
“At this stage, aggressive treatments will only prolong your life. There is no definitive cure.”
No cure.
Y/N’s heart clenched so tightly it physically hurt. She wanted to scream, to ask how this was even possible. They had caught it early. They had started treatment immediately. Everything should have been fine.
She turned her head, eyes searching for the one person she needed most.
Charles sat beside her, unnervingly still. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His green eyes—usually filled with warmth and love—were wide, blank with shock.
She had never seen him like this before. Charles was always the strong one, the one who could make her feel safe even in the worst situations. But now, he looked just as lost as she felt.
“I’ll give you both some time.” The doctor’s voice was distant, muffled, before footsteps faded away.
Silence filled the room.
Y/N exhaled shakily, her throat burning. “Charles…” Her voice cracked, and the sound of it made something snap inside him.
Charles reached for her hands instantly, gripping them so tightly it almost hurt. His warmth, his presence—it was the only thing tethering her to reality.
“Baby,” he finally spoke, his voice low, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “We’ll fight this. Together.”
Her heart ached. “Charles, you heard what the doctor said. There’s no—”
“No.” His voice was firm this time, and he shook his head sharply. “Don’t say that. Don’t say it like it’s over.”
Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes glassy, and his entire body was tense as if he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
“Charles,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “I don’t want to die.”
A sharp inhale.
Charles closed his eyes for a brief second before shifting forward, pulling her into his arms. “You won’t,” he murmured into her hair, his voice trembling. “You won’t, because I won’t let you. We’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be here every step of the way, Y/N. I swear it.”
His arms were wrapped around her so tightly, as if he could hold her together when everything else was falling apart.
A sob tore from her throat. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Charles pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks with the gentlest touch, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.
“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ll carry this with you, no matter how heavy it gets. We’ll fight this. Every single day, we’ll fight.”
Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would mean losing everything.
And in that moment, even with fear consuming her whole, she believed him. Because Charles had never broken a promise to her before.
And she prayed he never would.
—
One day, the first time Y/N noticed her hair falling out, it was just a few strands on her pillow. Nothing alarming. Nothing too serious. But then it started happening more often—on her sheets, in the shower, tangled between Charles’ fingers when he stroked her head absentmindedly.
She tried not to care. She tried to tell herself it was just hair, that it would grow back. But when she looked in the mirror and saw how thin it had become, how the once-full locks that Charles used to run his hands through now barely framed her face, she couldn’t help it—she broke down.
That night, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the strands that had fallen onto her lap, eyes burning as she stared at the evidence of her body deteriorating. She heard Charles come in, but she didn’t move.
“Mon amour?” His voice was soft, hesitant.
She didn’t respond.
Instead, she whispered, “I look awful.”
Charles knelt before her, hands resting gently on her knees. “No, you don’t.”
“Charles, please,” she choked out, her grip tightening around the hair in her hands. “Look at me. My hair is falling out. Soon, I’ll be—” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’ll be bald. I’ll look sick. I’ll look—”
“Beautiful,” he interrupted, his voice trembling. “You’ll look beautiful.”
She let out a broken laugh, shaking her head. “You’re just saying that.”
Charles reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I have never lied to you about this. Since the moment I met you, you have been the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And nothing—nothing—will ever change that.”
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but Charles wasn’t done. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You think your hair makes you beautiful? It’s not just your hair, mon amour. It’s you. It’s the way you smile. It’s the way you talk. It’s the way you exist.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “And even if—no, when—you lose all of it, I will still look at you like I did the first time I saw you. Because you are you. And you are mine.”
She broke. A sob tore through her chest, and Charles pulled her into his arms, holding her as she cried into his shoulder. He pressed his lips against her temple, whispering, “You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful.”
But no matter how much he reassured her, no matter how many times he told her she was still the most breathtaking person he had ever seen, it didn’t change the truth of her condition. It didn’t stop the way her body was failing her.
And Charles saw it.
Every single day.
Every single moment.
Every time she winced in pain but tried to smile for him. Every time she grew too tired to even sit up properly. Every time she held his hand during treatment, her grip weak and trembling.
He cried often.
Silently.
When she was asleep, when she wasn’t looking, when he excused himself to the bathroom just to let out a sob. He wasn’t strong enough to watch the love of his life suffer like this.
And then—then came the news that shattered what little hope he had left.
The doctor sat across from him in the dimly lit office, the air thick with unspoken grief. “Charles,” the doctor began carefully, “we’ve done everything we can.”
Charles’ hands clenched into fists. “No.”
“The treatments—”
“Try something else.” His voice was tight, desperate.
The doctor sighed. “At this point, they’re only prolonging her life. They’re not helping anymore.”
Charles felt like he had been punched in the chest. “So, what? You’re telling me to just sit back and watch her die?”
The doctor remained quiet.
Charles shot up from his chair, slamming his hands against the desk. “I am paying you to save her!” His voice shook with barely contained rage. “You’re supposed to help her! Do your job!”
“Charles,” the doctor said firmly, “I understand this is difficult, but we have reached a point where—”
"NO!" He was breathing heavily now, his entire body trembling. “I refuse to accept that. I will do anything—I don’t care how much it costs, I don’t care what I have to do—fix her!” His voice cracked on the last two words.
The doctor’s expression softened, but his next words were like a dagger to Charles’ heart.
“All we can do now is make her comfortable.”
Charles felt his knees buckle. His hands slid off the desk, his breath coming out in short, painful gasps. “No,” he whispered. “Please. Please, no.”
“She doesn’t know,” the doctor continued gently. “I wanted to tell you first.”
Charles squeezed his eyes shut, his chest aching with the weight of it all. He wanted to scream, to cry, to fight against the reality of the situation. But all he could do was stand there, shattered and broken.
Because no matter how much he loved her—no matter how much he was willing to give up, to sacrifice, to suffer for her—love alone wasn’t enough to save her.
—
The words left Charles’ lips in a trembling whisper, his forehead pressed against Y/N’s. His fingers gently cradled the back of her head, careful, as if she were made of the most fragile glass. He kissed her forehead, lingering, as if he could seal his love into her skin—so deep that it would anchor her here, in this world, with him.
She had been quiet for a long time. Too long.
The hospital room was bathed in a soft glow from the evening sun filtering through the half-closed blinds, but it did nothing to warm the cold fear seeping into Charles’ bones. Y/N had always been his light, but now, she was dimming right in front of him, slipping away like sand through his fingers.
Then, in a voice so quiet, so fragile that it shattered him, she spoke.
“If I go early, it’s okay… We’ll meet again there, I’ll still be the same. I’m sorry for the imperfect journey”
Charles' breath caught in his throat.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
"No," he whispered, his voice breaking instantly. "No, don’t say that. You will survive. You will stay here with me. You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me? You’re not going anywhere without my permission."
His hands tightened around hers, desperate, as if holding her tightly enough would keep her grounded to this world. His eyes burned, but he couldn't stop the tears that spilled freely, tracking down his face as he pressed kiss after kiss to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—wherever he could reach.
"You’re not leaving me," he repeated, his voice unsteady. "Not now, not ever. I won’t allow it."
Y/N only smiled softly, tired, weak, but filled with the kind of love that made it hurt even more. She raised a shaky hand, brushing her fingertips against his damp cheek, wiping away his tears even though she was the one who needed comforting. That was always who she was—selfless, too good, too kind.
And it only made it harder to watch her suffer.
The pain was unbearable.
Y/N clenched the sheets beneath her, her knuckles white, her entire body trembling. Every inch of her ached, burned, screamed. It felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out, and she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Charles,” she whimpered, her breath hitching.
He was by her side in an instant.
“I’m here, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured, his fingers immediately finding hers, threading them together, grounding her.
Tears gathered in Y/N’s eyes as she gasped for breath, her body convulsing under the agony that never seemed to stop. She had been strong for so long, had fought for so long—but right now, she just wanted it to end. She wanted the pain to go away.
“Charles…” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts. It hurts so much. I— I can’t—”
Charles swallowed thickly, his own pain reflected in the way his lips quivered. His chest tightened as he watched her struggle, completely helpless to take away her suffering. It was the most agonizing thing he had ever experienced.
“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I want to stop. I can’t do this anymore. Please, let me stop.”
Charles felt like his entire world was crumbling.
His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as he fought against the sob threatening to choke him. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, his own tears falling freely.
His strong, beautiful girl. His Y/N.
He wanted to give her the world, but all he could do now was hold her through the pain.
“Shh, it’s okay, Mon Amour,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s okay. The pain will go away soon, I promise. Just hold on a little longer, alright?”
Y/N whimpered, her fingers tightening around his as another wave of pain wracked through her body.
Charles felt utterly powerless.
“You can do this,” he murmured, pressing a shaky kiss to her forehead. “You’re strong. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
Another broken sob escaped his lips as he kissed her again, over and over, desperate and full of love.
“You’re not alone,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll get through this together, I promise.”
But the truth was—he didn’t know how much longer they had left.
And it was killing him.
—
“I want to see Lord Perceval become World Champion this year.”
Charles paused, his hand tightening around the spoon he was holding. He had been feeding Y/N carefully, making sure she ate properly despite how weak she had become. But her words made his heart sink. He didn’t answer immediately, staring at her as if hoping he had misheard.
“When are you leaving for the circuit?” she asked softly, looking up at him with tired but expectant eyes.
Charles swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. He set the spoon down gently on the tray and reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—what was left of it, at least. His fingers lingered against her cheek, tracing the curve of her face as if memorizing her. His voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke.
“I'm not going this year.” His eyes find hers, his expression unwavering. “I'm staying here with you.”
Y/N blinked in surprise. “Charles—”
“I already made up my mind.” His voice was laced with finality. “I don’t care about racing right now. Nothing matters more than you.”
A lump formed in her throat as she saw the raw emotion in his eyes. She had always known how much she meant to him, but this—this was different. This was Charles giving up everything he had worked for, his lifelong dream, just to stay by her side.
She hated it.
She loved him for it, but she hated it too.
“Charles…” Her voice wavered as she reached for his hand, holding it between her frail fingers. “You can't do that. You can't just give up everything for me.”
“It's not giving up,” he countered, squeezing her hand gently. “It's choosing you.”
Her breath hitched, and for a second, she felt like crying. But she couldn't let him do this. She wouldn't.
“Please,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his. “I never ask you for anything, do I?”
Charles inhaled sharply.
“I always do what you want,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I always support you, I always cheer for you. But just this once… please grant me this wish.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and Charles felt his resolve cracking.
“I want to see you win,” she said, her lips trembling. “I want to see Lord Perceval become World Champion this year.”
His heart shattered.
Her eyes—God, her eyes were still shining, still full of so much hope. Despite everything, despite the pain, the exhaustion, the way sickness had drained the color from her face… she still had that fire in her. And it was burning for him.
Charles exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. “Y/N…”
“Please.”
It was that word that broke him completely.
He could never say no to her, not when she looked at him like that. Not when she was still trying to give him hope, even when she was the one suffering.
With a heavy heart, he nodded.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I'll do it. I'll race for you.”
A small, weak smile appeared on her lips, and Charles immediately leaned in, cupping her face gently. His forehead pressed against hers as he closed his eyes, breathing her in.
“You have to promise me you'll watch every race,” he murmured.
She giggled softly. “Of course, I will.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “And you have to wait for me. I'll win for you, but you have to be here when I do.”
Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. “I'll be here.”
Charles didn't hesitate. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers with so much love it made her breath hitch. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a desperate plea for her to hold on just a little longer.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “More than anything.”
She smiled against his mouth. “I love you more, Lord Perceval.”
And in that moment, he knew—no matter what happened, he would give her the championship she dreamed of. For her. For them.
—
Charles had always made time for Y/N. No matter how hectic his schedule was, no matter how exhausted he felt after a race, he would call her. Even when she was too weak to talk, even when her responses were nothing more than soft hums or whispered words, he still called. He would tell her about his day, about the track, about the weather—anything, just to keep her company. And when she couldn’t talk anymore, he would simply admire her.
"You’re so beautiful, mon amour," he would say, voice thick with emotion. Even when her body had grown frail, even when her hair was gone, even when her skin had lost its color, to him, she was still the most breathtaking woman in the world.
The night before the final race of the season, he called her again. She was barely awake, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Are you tired, mon amour?" he asked softly.
"A little,"she admitted.
"Then sleep, my love. Dream of something nice. I’ll call you after the race, okay?"
There was silence for a moment before she murmured, "I love you, Charles."
His chest tightened. It wasn’t often that she had the energy to say it lately. He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat before whispering back, "Je t’aime, mon amour. Always."
That was the last time he ever heard her voice.
—
Race day arrived, and Charles felt… calm. Confident. As if something greater than himself was pushing him forward. He had promised Y/N he would win this for her, and he wasn’t going to let her down.
Before the race, as always, he called her. But this time, she didn’t pick up.
Charles frowned, but quickly reassured himself. She must be sleeping. She needs rest. I’ll talk to her later.
And so, he raced.
And he won.
He did it. Charles Leclerc was the World Champion.
He climbed out of his car, heart pounding, overwhelmed with emotions. He had dreamed of this moment for years, and yet, the only thing he wanted was to share it with her.
As soon as he had the chance, he grabbed his phone. He called her. Ring. Ring. Ring.
No answer.
"Come on, Y/N, pick up," he murmured under his breath, bouncing his knee anxiously.
Then, he saw his brother approaching him. Lorenzo’s face was pale, his eyes red. Behind him, Arthur looked like he was struggling to hold himself together.
"Charles…" Lorenzo’s voice was hoarse. "It’s Y/N."
Charles felt his entire body go cold.
"No." His voice barely came out. "Don’t say it. Don’t—"
"She’s gone, Charles."
Something inside him shattered.
A strangled sob ripped from his throat as he dropped his phone. His legs gave out, and suddenly he was on his knees, hands gripping his face as a raw, broken wail tore through him.
The cameras were still rolling, the interviewers waiting for him, the entire world watching—but he didn’t care.
"No, no, no, please—" He gasped between sobs, rocking back and forth, his chest heaving as if the weight of the entire world was crushing him.
When they finally pulled him up for his WDC interview, he looked like a ghost. His eyes were hollow, filled with endless grief, and yet, tears wouldn’t stop falling.
"Charles, congratulations on winning your first World Championship."
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His lips trembled, his hands clenched into fists. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.
"This… this was for her." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. "The love of my life."
He tried to say more, but his throat closed up. His face crumpled as more tears fell, and suddenly, Carlos was beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Then the other drivers, his friends placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
The world had just watched him win everything, only to lose the one person he wanted to share it with.
—
When Charles returned to Monaco, he went straight to see her.
She looked so peaceful. Almost as if she was just sleeping.
Charles knelt beside her, his fingers brushing against her cold hand.
"Mon amour… I won." His voice trembled. "You kept your promise. You watched me become champion, didn’t you?"
Silence.
A choked sob escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her hands.
"It’s okay now, my love. No more pain. No more suffering." He cupped her face gently, his thumbs tracing the curve of her lips. “You’re so beautiful today. Just like always.”
Tears dripped onto her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.
“Wait for me, mon amour. We’ll meet again. I promise.”
He stayed with her for as long as they would let him, whispering sweet words, kissing her gently, holding onto her as if he could keep her there a little longer.
Even as they finally took her away, even as he watched her disappear into the ground, he couldn’t let go.
Because how do you say goodbye to the love of your life?
the sugar level i got from reading "coming home" was surely way higher than the bubble tea i drank during the read session and i wouldn't feel sorry about that. very cute and fluff chapter <3. 🍉
THANK YOU SOO MUCHIE!!!! 🥹 thank you for saying that, I am soooo happy, everytime I get this kind of messages. Thank you for saying this to me! I’m really glad you like my work!! I hope you enjoy my other works too 😚🤍
After an entire week away on a girls’ trip, Y/N was finally coming home.
And Lando? He was already there, waiting—alone.
Noah and Leo were at a Kai (Max son) birthday party, which meant he had Y/N all to himself.
And oh, he was going to make the most of it.
The second he spotted her walking out of arrivals, suitcase in tow, he was on the move.
Lando pulled her into a crushing hug, burying his face in her neck. “Finally,” Lando groaned into her neck, inhaling deeply as if he was trying to memorize her scent. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”
Y/N laughed, hugging him back just as tightly. “I missed you too, baby.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his blue-green eyes shining with something possessive. “No, you don’t get it. A week, love? That felt like a damn year.”
She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “A little dramatic, aren’t we?”
Lando huffed. “Not dramatic. Just a man starving for his wife.”
Lando grumbled dramatically, pulling back just enough to pepper kisses all over her face. His hands never stopped roaming—her back, her waist, her arms—like he was trying to make sure she was really there.
On the drive home, Lando kept one hand firmly on her thigh, occasionally squeezing or rubbing circles with his thumb.
The moment they stepped inside the house, it was game over.
He was all over her.
Lando clung to Y/N like he was making up for every second she had been gone. He nuzzled into her neck, whined whenever she tried to move away, and made it physically impossible for her to go anywhere without him attached in some way.
“M’spoiled now,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re not allowed to leave me that long ever again.”
Y/N laughed. “You sound worse than the kids.”
Lando scoffed. “Nah, I’m worse. Noah and Leo don’t have the same needs as me.” He nipped at her neck. “You’re mine.”
She rolled her eyes playfully, but the truth was, she loved how much he adored her. Even after years together, two kids, and a chaotic life, Lando still treated her like she was his entire world.
He tilted his head up to look at her, his lips brushing against her jaw as he pouted. “At least they get you every day. I had to survive a week.”
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “You called me every night.”
“Not the same,” he whined, kissing a slow path down her neck.
Lando wanted to be spoiled.
And he was making the most of it.
For the few precious hours they had alone, Lando insisted on being babied.
When it was time for lunch, he refused to eat unless Y/N fed him. He sat on the couch, eyes bright and mischievous, lips slightly parted as he waited.
“Baby,” Y/N sighed. “You can eat by yourself.”
Lando grinned. “Yeah, but I don’t want to.”
She shook her head fondly but gave in anyway, bringing the spoon to his lips. He accepted it happily, humming in delight.
“Mmm. Tastes better when you feed me,” he teased, leaning in for a quick kiss.
When it was time to shower, he refused to let her go alone
“Oh,” Lando gasped dramatically. “I also need help in the shower.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
Lando nodded solemnly. “Can’t possibly get properly clean without my wife’s assistance.”
And that’s how they ended up spending way too long in the shower, half washing, half just standing under the warm water, Lando’s arms wrapped around Y/N as he whispered how much he loved her.
Afterward, they tumbled into bed, Lando immediately pulling her into his chest, their legs tangling together as he buried his face in her neck.
“M’gonna get jealous of our own kids,” he murmured. “They always steal you away from me.”
Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his damp curls. “That’s because they need me.”
Lando huffed. “I need you.”
Lando, Y/N, and a bubble of warmth that neither of them wanted to pop.
But then—
The sound of tiny feet stomping up the stairs.
A door bursting open.
And two little voices squealing, “MOMMY!”
Noah and his little brother Leo came barreling into the room, full of excitement—until they saw the scene in front of them.
they saw their dad.
Still wrapped around their mom.
Still.
Holding.
Her.
Their excitement immediately turned into betrayal.
Noah stopped in his tracks, his tiny fists clenching at his sides. His big brown eyes shimmered with pure devastation.
Leo, the more dramatic of the two, gasped so loudly it was like the world had ended.
Noah’s voice wobbled. “Mommy!” His bottom lip quivered. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I wanted to hug you first!”
Y/N’s heart melted as she trying to reached out for him, but she couldn't because Lando mischievously held her back in his hug.
“Oh, baby—” Leo huffed, crossing his arms tightly.
“Daddy!” he accused, his little voice high with outrage. “Why is Daddy like that?!?! Now Leo is angry. Leo don’t want Daddy anymore!”
Lando grinned, clearly thriving off their reactions.
"Oh?" he teased, tightening his grip on Y/N. "What's wrong, little man?"
Leo's little face scrunched up. "NO!! That's Leo's mommy!"
Lando laughed, pressing even more kisses onto Y/N’s cheek, just to rile them up. “Mmm, no, I think this is daddy’s mommy. She is mine,”
Lando hummed, holding Y/N even closer. “Right, my love?”
Noah gasped in horror. "NO! That's our Mommy!"
Leo stomped his little foot, his voice high and wobbly. "Papa's Mommy is Glandma, Y/N is Leo's Mommy!"
Y/N had to bite back a laugh as Leo’s little lisp made his words even cuter.
Lando, fully enjoying himself, grinned. “You sure?” Lando teased. “I think she likes me more.”
Leo’s eyes welled up instantly. “Daddy’s bad! I will hit you!”
Lando smirked, challenging, “Oh yeah? You think you can take me, little man?”
Noah narrowed his eyes. “Daddy’s Bad! You’ll really get hit.”
Leo, fully tearing up now, sniffled. "Yeah, Daddy will get eaten by a monstel!"
Lando lost it.
"Oh nooo," he mocked, his voice exaggerated as he rocked Y/N in his arms. "Not the big bad monstel!"
Leo screeched, turning to Noah for backup.
“Daddy’s not scared of the monstel!” he wailed.
Lando grinned. “Oh, Daddy’s not scared because Daddy is safe in Mommy’s arms.” He smirked, snuggling into Y/N dramatically. “See? Daddy’s all safe here.”
Noah and Leo decided they had enough.
With both battle cries, they launched themselves onto the bed—except in their excitement, they almost tripped.
“Eh, be careful! Be careful, baby,” Y/N gasped, her voice instantly gentle and full of concern.
The second they heard her soft tone, both boys sniffled and made a beeline for her, scrambling into her arms. Lando reached out instinctively, steadying them as they climbed onto the bed.
Noah and Leo immediately latched onto Y/N, snuggling into her sides and glaring at Lando.
“Eh, don’t hit Daddy, Daddy will get hurt,” Y/N soothed, rubbing Noah’s back. “How about we just don’t play with Daddy? Noah and Leo can cuddle with Mommy instead, okay?”
That did the trick.
Both boys instantly relaxed, wrapping their tiny arms around her.
Lando gasped in betrayal. “Wait. No. That’s not fair—”
Too late.
They had claimed her.
For the next hour, the four of them lay tangled in bed together, the boys happily cuddled against Y/N as they chattered about their day. Noah recounted every little detail of the birthday party, while Leo excitedly explained how he talked to the “screen people” when Lando streamed.
And in that moment, Lando didn’t mind losing the game.
lando norris!polo athlete x readers!princess x nick leister
warn: smut 18+, jealousy, posessive
fc: pinterest
prev chap
The grand ballroom of the palace was a spectacle of luxury, glittering chandeliers casting a golden glow over the sea of aristocrats, celebrities, and athletes mingling in their finest attire. The annual royal gala was an event of the highest prestige, a gathering of the elite where appearances mattered more than reality.
Y/N knew she looked good. No, scratch that—she looked fucking divine. The dress was designed to make a statement: elegant with just enough allure to have heads turning. And turn they did.
Lando knew it, too.
From the moment she stepped into the ballroom, his eyes hadn’t left her. Seated at the far end of the grand hall, drink in hand, jaw tight—watching. Brooding. The sharp tuxedo he wore did little to hide the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.
And the reason for that fury?
Nick fucking Leister.
The golden boy of the British aristocracy. Polished, charming, and, most annoyingly, the man everyone thought was Y/N’s perfect match. He was the kind of man you married—on paper, at least. Royal lineage, wealth, and an effortless charisma that had the entire ballroom swooning.
Including Y/N.
Or at least, that’s what it looked like.
Lando clenched his glass tighter, watching the way Nick leaned in, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. The sight of her smiling at another man made his blood boil. He wanted to tear that fucking smile off Nick’s face, wanted to grab Y/N and remind her exactly who she belonged to.
Nick wasn’t stupid. He could feel Lando’s stare burning into him, but he didn’t care. In fact, he enjoyed it. With a smirk, he raised his glass in Lando’s direction—a taunt, a challenge.
Big fucking mistake.
Lando set his drink down and moved, weaving through the crowd with purpose. The chatter and music became white noise as he closed the distance between them.
Y/N noticed him too late. One second, she was smiling at Nick, and the next, a firm hand was wrapping around her wrist.
“Lando—”
He ignored her, his grip unyielding as he turned to Nick.
“Back off, man.” Lando said, voice deceptively calm.
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Lando took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Walk away. Now.”
Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t get to decide who she talks to.”
Lando smirked, but there was nothing amused about it. “I do, actually. She’s mine.”
Y/N inhaled sharply, feeling the tension radiating off him. People were starting to notice, eyes flickering toward the scene unfolding.
Nick scoffed. “That’s funny. Because from where I’m standing, she doesn’t look like she belongs to anyone.”
That did it.
Before anyone could react, Lando grabbed Nick by the collar, yanking him closer until they were nose to nose. His voice dropped and lethal.
“Listen to me, you privileged little shit,” Lando growled. “You’re not even in the same fucking league as me. So don’t fool yourself into thinking you have a chance.”
Nick’s smirk faltered just slightly. “You’re insane.”
Lando chuckled darkly. “No, I’m just not stupid enough to let someone else take what’s mine.”
Y/N’s heart pounded. This was getting out of hand. She stepped between them, pressing her hands against Lando’s chest, trying to create space. “Lando, stop,” she whispered.
Lando didn’t move, his jaw tightening, his eyes still locked on Nick like he was seconds away from throwing a punch.
Nick scoffed, adjusting his jacket. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”
Y/N exhaled, relieved.
“But we can continue this conversation tomorrow,” Nick added, eyes flicking back to her. “Right, Y/N?”
Lando stiffened. His entire body went rigid, his grip tightening around her waist possessively.
Y/N cursed silently. “Nick, just go.”
Nick smirked. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
Lando nearly lunged, but Y/N quickly placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her instead. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice soft, pleading. “Not here. Please.”
The room was watching. Murmurs spread through the crowd, eyes locked on them. Y/N subtly pressed a hand against Lando’s arm, signaling for him to leave first.
His eyes flickered between her and Nick before finally exhaling sharply. He leaned in, lips brushing against her ear. “You have five minutes,” he murmured darkly. “Then you find me.”
And with that, he turned and left.
The moment Y/N found him again, he didn’t waste time.
Lando pulled her into a darkened hallway, pressing her against the nearest wall. His hands were rough, desperate, tracing her curves like he needed to remind himself she was real, that she was his.
“You think it’s fucking funny?” he growled, his lips ghosting over her jaw. “Talking to him like that?”
Y/N gasped as his teeth grazed her neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. “I was just trying to diffuse the situation—”
“Bullshit.” His fingers traced up her thigh, pushing her dress aside. “You like making me crazy, don’t you?”
Y/N gasped, her hands flying to grab his wrist, stopping him before he could go any further. “Lando, please,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “Don’t be crazy. This is a public place.”
Lando let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You think I give a fuck?” His eyes burned into hers, dark and unrelenting. “You fucking hurt me, Y/N.”
His grip tightened slightly, frustration rolling off him in waves. “You stand there, laughing with him, letting him think he has a chance. Like I’m nothing.”
“Lando—”
“No,” he snapped, his control slipping. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to fucking toy with me.”
Before she could respond, his lips crashed onto hers again, harder, rougher. A desperate, punishing kiss, full of anger and something deeper—something darker.
Neither of them noticed the faint click of a phone camera nearby.
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