Hi! I Recently Watched The New Gladiator Sequel And I’m So Obsessed With The Emperors, They’re Absolute
Hi! I recently watched the new Gladiator sequel and I’m so obsessed with the emperors, they’re absolute cuties<3 I was just wondering if you could write some headcanons maybe about being married to both of them, of course it’s fine if you don’t write about polygamy
Have a great day
My freaky gingers! Fred and Joseph did amazing as Caracalla and Geta in my opinion, my freaky little sadistic ginger emperors.
Being wanted by one sibling meant being desired by the other.
Geta and Caracalla shared everything, for nothing could ever belong to one of them as the other was bound to grow envious and want the same thing for himself.
So let’s say you were originally planned to marry just Geta or Caracalla, but the pair would abuse their power as emperors and demand that you were to marry both of them instead.
‘It’s the will of the gods after all.’ Geta would say.
‘And we wouldn’t want to displease them now would we?’ Caracalla would add with a cackle.
You had no say whatsoever but to agree to marry the brother emperors, which many didn’t bother to bat an eye of how curious a case this was, but again they too were under the belief that this was the will of the gods for the emperors to share a spouse for the betterment of their rule.
Both brothers thrive for your attention to be on them and they’d do anything to have it wherever and whenever they can, and all you could do was give them the attention that they so desire.
Hold them close to your chest, cradle them there and let them hear your heart and your breathing to smooth them in knowing that someone did love them, for being there for them as a safe haven from the frequent scheming of the senate and the betrayals and the constant needed to look over their shoulders to make sure no one was going to stab them in the back.
So being with you and held so closely like they deeply desired when before ascending the throne, made it all seem worth while if it meant being gifted the love that they so sought after in those they considered a close confidant within the senate, or just in general approval from the public they rule over.
Marriage life with Geta and Caracalla wasn’t easy, you didn’t expect it to in the slightest as you were constantly seen between the two emperors, draped in the finest of silks and jewellery they could find as to signal your beginning to them both, to show that you were on equal footing as your emperor husbands as your counsel was the one they often followed more often then not.
Does this mean they are rid of the concubines? Probably not and whether or not this was an issue for you is up for debate.
If it is then you’d naturally be questioning the loyalty of your emperor husbands in a fit of embarrassment and shame, not wanting to look a fool within your own marriage, especially not in front of the Roman public nor the senate that would try to whisper words of infidelity about Geta and Caracalla.
‘Am I not your spouse? You forced me into marriage with the two of you and yet you both still seek paid comfort.’ You’d spat as though it was venom in my mouth.
‘My love-‘
You’d glare at Geta who stopped short in his tracks as Caracalla watched you both with eerily silence.
‘If you are to seek paid comfort, then don’t expect none from me should you continue this route of self indulgence.’ You say before leaving the room, not once looking back as you returned to your shared chambers. Again you wouldn’t want to look a fool when your emperor husbands run to the arms of concubines, you were above it.
Let’s hypothetically say you have concubines yourself in retaliation, they’d unfortunately all be dead on the orders of Geta and Caracalla in a fit of rage.
Your marriage isn’t pretty nor romantic in the slightest, and I’m not trying to make it out to be like that, just only that your marriage to them both could be full of hypocrisy and jealousy and sometimes accusations of cheating would arise also as a result.
It’s a mess and wouldn’t get sorted unless your three are clear headed and clam enough to talk it out like healthy lovers should. And when it does get sorted, you all act as though everything that had come to this point of peace didn’t happen at all, as soon enough you were back to holding the emperor brothers again your chest as they slept.
Due to being their spouse you naturally had a target on your back, so it would be of no surprise that you were to be the intended victim for an assignation attempt by shadowy figures hiding their identities in the background.
Shadowy figures that wanted you dead as to kill any sort of morale the emperor brothers had by taken what’s theirs.
Let’s say you survive the attempt, make no mistake that your emperor husbands would be by your side immediately, anger and fury written as clear as day across their faces as they had you pressed between the two of them, they’d whispered hushed words into your ears about finding who did this to you and killing them publicly to show their intolerance to attempts on their spouse.
Your emperor husbands would make sure you were constantly guarded no matter what afterwards, killing those who didn’t do their duty and replacing them with new guards that would keep you safe when they were with the senate, or in the study.
They become insufferably clingy and overprotective afterwards that it felt suffocating to be in the same room with them being so close to you, it was overwhelming and they’d even have people test whenever or not your drink and or food was tampered with as extra precaution.
You understood their worries to an extent but if it’s been a good while since the attempt, then you find it unnecessary to continue such tight and overbearing conditions they had put in place. So it’s best to speak with them about that for paranoia had overtaken them both with the ideas that you’d be killed or taken even if they were to even dare blink.
Being married to Geta and Caracalla was chaos incarnate, discord and mayhem disguised in gold, jewellery and expensive silks and lavished lifestyles; a perfect facade to cover the true nature of their own unravelling beneath the mask they’ve made to get by as rulers of a powerful empire ever known.
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☆ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader
☆ HEADCANON : Would They Ever Force Themselves On r*pe Their Darling?
☆ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.
☆ WARNING : Pretty much obvious. No smut. This discussion involves non-consensual acts, coercion, and obsessive behavior. If you’re sensitive to such content, I’d advise against reading further.
☆ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆
Would he? No.
Bruce is the last person who would ever force himself on you. Despite his obsession, his rigid sense of morality, guilt, and deep-seated trauma make it impossible for him to cross that line. Bruce operates on control—self-control above all else. No matter how much he craves you, he will never take you by force.
However, Bruce’s obsession manifests differently—through extreme control. You aren’t allowed to leave, to date, to breathe without his permission. He isolates you, makes you dependent on him, ensures you feel like he’s your only option. He’ll gaslight you, manipulate you into staying, but physically taking you against your will? That’s a line he will not cross. He’d rather break himself than break you.
But if you try to escape? The punishment will be brutal. Not sexually, but physically restrained, locked away, stripped of any autonomy. He’ll remind you that you are his, that he is the only one who can protect you, and he’ll do anything to keep you in his grasp.
“I will never hurt you like that, but you’re not leaving me. Ever.”
— DICK GRAYSON ⋆
Would he? No. But... it’s complicated.
Dick is a walking paradox of affection and control. He loves you—adores you—but his love is overwhelming, suffocating, all-consuming. He needs you to love him back, to crave him as much as he craves you. He won’t rape you outright, but his obsession manifests in ways that blur the line between coercion and consent.
Dick wants you to want him. He’ll manipulate, guilt-trip, and play the victim to make you feel like you’re the bad guy for denying him. He showers you with affection, attention, and when you pull away, he punishes you emotionally—not through force, but through withdrawal. Cold stares, quiet disappointment, an unbearable sadness in his voice that makes you feel like you’re the one hurting him.
However, if you push him too far—if you reject him outright, try to leave, break his heart—he might snap. In a moment of desperation, he’ll hold you down, kiss you too hard, grip your wrists with bruising force—never quite crossing the line, but so close it makes your skin crawl.
“Don’t do this to us, baby. You love me—I know you do.”
— JASON TODD ⋆
Would he? No, not the way that you think.
Jason is a paradox. He hates rapists with every fiber of his being—he butchers them, makes them suffer in the worst ways imaginable. But here’s the twisted part: he doesn’t see himself as one.
Jason is violently possessive. If he feels like you’re slipping away, if you try to leave him, he won’t let you. He’ll tie you up, trap you, hold you against him, whispering in your ear that you belong to him.
Would he rape you? No. But would he force intimacy? Would he hold you down, keep you pinned beneath him, mark you with bruises, bite you, kiss you until you’re breathless, until you’re sobbing in his arms? Yes. Absolutely.
But the second he sees real, genuine fear in your eyes? He’ll break. He’ll hate himself. He’ll pull away, shaking with rage and disgust—not at you, but at himself. Because Jason may be a possessive, obsessive monster, but he will never be the thing he hates.
"I’d never hurt you like that. Never. You’re mine, but I won’t fucking take you like that. Don’t make me into something I can’t come back from, baby. Just… stay. Please."
— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆
Would he? Yes. Without hesitation because he believes it's his right.
Damian is the coldest, most possessive, and least remorseful of them all. Damian doesn’t feel guilty—because in his mind, you already belong to him. There’s no moral dilemma, no hesitation. If you resist him, you’re wrong. If you say no, you don’t know what’s good for you.
Damian was raised by the League of Assassins, by Talia, by Bruce. He was never taught the concept of “no.” If he wants something, he takes it. If he wants you, he takes you. In his mind, it isn’t rape—it’s claiming what’s already his. You’re his wife, his queen, his possession.
Damian is calculated, methodical, deliberate. He’ll drug you if he has to, bind you in silk restraints, keep you locked away in luxury until you accept your fate. You will love him, because you have no other option.
“You misunderstand, beloved. You were mine from the moment I saw you. Struggling is beneath you.”
— MASTERLIST ☆
— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆
presenting... y/n y/l/n!
Day 8 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist
summary: Tweets about our favourite F1 commentator!
part one | part two | part three | part four
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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
fic-tober masterlist
part one | part two | part three | part four
taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi
Erik testifies about how he felt learning that his mother knew about the abuse.
Pondering the idea of Single Dad Clark Kent (Either divorced or widowed.) (Massive age gap, but legal.) (Marry Christmas to those who celebrate!)
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who focused all of his energy into raising his kids to avoid thinking about his lack of a love life and was quite good at it until they all went away to college leaving him to think a lot about how lonely he is.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who is elated when his kids come home from college for breaks— even the short ones for Thanksgiving— and adores having them home for Christmas.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who was happy to host you for the holidays, who he'd heard quite a bit about over the past few months during phone calls to his kids because you were his adopted daughter Osul's roommate, but was shocked to see you were nothing like the person she'd described.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't help but let his gaze linger a bit on you, more so than he'd like, and pays extra close attention when you speak, chalking it up to being polite to make a good impression for his kids, especially Osul.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who finds you sitting in the kitchen sometimes, and talks with you, the conversation being easier with you than with half the dates his kids forced him to go on recently.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who listens intently when you explain why you don't want to go home for the holidays and feels sympathetic towards you for having to deal with your parents fighting.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who reminds himself every single day for two weeks straight that you're his daughter's age, not even old enough to drink, while he'd already had multiple kids, not to mention got married before you were even born.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't bring himself to stop imagining how soft your lips are every time he sees you sipping on a cup of Cocoa or biting into a gingerbread cookie.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who actually feels interested in someone for the first time in years, but won't allow himself to act on it because he's sure you'd think he's horrible for pursuing someone your age.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who convinces himself it's his imagination, even when you're blatantly flirting with him, even calling him handsome on more than one occasion with varrying degrees of humor in your tone.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't restrain himself anymore when the whole house is asleep and you're sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping on some hot chocolate.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who wipes the whipped cream off your nose, causing you to blush in a way that makes his heart leap and gets very quiet when you stare at him without speaking.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who leans in, waiting for you to stop him, giving you every opportunity for you to push him away, only for you to stay completely still until he finally kisses you.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who tastes the chocolate on your tongue and is immediately done for, already addicted to your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck while he stands in between your legs.
Single Dad Clark Kent: Who has no idea how he'll look his daughter in the eyes tomorrow, but tells himself he'll worry about it in the morning because for now, he's putting himself first and finally indulging himself the way he'd wanted to do simce he first saw you.
Hiii, first of if I just want to say that I absolutely love your stories. Secondly could you perhaps write a bit more about Dark! Charles and Alex x Reader like maybe Reader had a child or something like that only if you’re comfortable with that of course
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!
-xoxo babygirl
Attention: this is just a story! Nothing what is happening here, is happening in real life.
Part 1 Part 2
Obsession
Yn’s days had fallen into an odd rhythm, one she never thought would define her life. From the moment Charles and Alexandra had taken her, she had slowly adjusted to her new reality, though not willingly. Their twisted love and obsessive protectiveness were suffocating. And now, with her baby boy, Theo, in the picture, their fixation had only grown.
She tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, even under their constant watch. Like today, she insisted on taking Theo for a walk. Alexandra, as usual, trailed behind her, her presence an unyielding shadow.
---
Yn pushed the stroller along the serene pathway, breathing in the crisp air. It was one of those rare moments of peace where she felt almost human again.
"Enjoying the fresh air, mon amour?" Alexandra's voice was a sultry purr, her heels clicking against the cobblestone path as she sauntered closer. Yn didn’t answer, pretending to focus on Theo instead.
"Don’t ignore me," Alexandra warned, her tone firm but laced with amusement. She reached out and placed a possessive hand on Yn’s hip before sliding it down to her butt. Yn flinched but tried to stay calm for Theo’s sake.
“Do you have to be so handsy all the time?” Yn snapped, unable to contain her frustration.
Alexandra smirked and spun Yn around to face her, ignoring the protest. She leaned in, brushing her lips against Yn’s ear as she whispered, "Of course I do. You're mine, Yn. Ours."
Before Yn could respond, Alexandra’s hand moved to her stomach, caressing it with an unsettling reverence. Her eyes lit up with an obsessive glow.
"You’ve already given us one perfect little boy," Alexandra murmured, her gaze shifting briefly to Theo, who was babbling happily in the stroller. "But I think it’s time for another. Don’t you agree?"
Yn froze, her heart pounding in her chest. "What are you talking about?"
Alexandra tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Oh, you know exactly what I mean." She leaned in further, capturing Yn’s lips in a firm, possessive kiss. Yn tried to pull away, but Alexandra held her firmly in place, her hands gripping Yn’s waist as if she would never let go.
When Alexandra finally pulled back, she pressed her forehead against Yn’s, her voice soft but filled with determination. "Another baby, Yn. You’re going to give us another baby."
---
By the time they returned home, Yn’s nerves were frazzled. Theo had fallen asleep, his tiny fists curled against his chest, blissfully unaware of the tension between the adults.
As soon as they stepped inside, Charles appeared, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Yn and Theo. "There’s my family," he said warmly, his French accent thick. He approached Yn, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that always made her uneasy.
“Charles,” Yn greeted stiffly, trying to sidestep him, but he was quicker. He caught her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter.
“Charles, what are you doing?” she protested, but he ignored her, stepping between her legs and holding her hips firmly.
“You look beautiful, mon amour,” he said, his voice low as his hands slid to her waist. He leaned in, kissing her neck, then her jawline, and finally her lips. Unlike Alexandra’s kiss earlier, Charles’ was gentler but no less possessive.
“Stop,” Yn muttered against his lips, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.
“You’ve already given me the most wonderful gift,” Charles murmured, his hand moving to her stomach. “Theo is perfect. But I can’t help wanting more.” He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I want another baby, Yn. I want to see you glowing with life again.”
Yn shook her head, panic rising in her chest. “Charles, I can’t… I won’t—”
“Shhh,” he interrupted, kissing her again, his hands gripping her waist. “We’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
---
Dinner was a quiet affair, but the tension was palpable. Alexandra and Charles exchanged looks across the table, their shared obsession evident. Yn ate in silence, her appetite diminished by their earlier declarations.
After Theo was tucked in for the night, Yn tried to retreat to her room, hoping for a moment of solitude. But she didn’t make it far.
“Going somewhere, mon amour?” Alexandra’s voice stopped her in her tracks. Yn turned to find both Alexandra and Charles standing there, their expressions a mix of adoration and hunger.
“I’m tired,” Yn said quickly, but neither of them seemed to care. Alexandra closed the distance between them first, cupping Yn’s face in her hands and kissing her deeply.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Alexandra whispered against her lips, her hands sliding down Yn’s body.
Charles joined them, pulling Yn close from behind. His hands rested on her hips as he pressed kisses to her neck. “We’re not done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice filled with promise.
Yn felt trapped between them, their touches overwhelming. Alexandra’s fingers traced her stomach again, while Charles’ hands roamed her waist.
“You’re ours, Yn,” Alexandra said softly, her lips brushing against Yn’s ear. “And we want to grow our family. Don’t we, Charles?”
“Absolutely,” Charles agreed, turning Yn to face him. He kissed her deeply, his hands anchoring her in place. “Another baby, Yn. It’s all we want.”
They didn’t give her a chance to protest, their kisses and touches silencing her words. Yn’s mind raced, torn between fear and the strange, inescapable pull of their obsessive love.
She knew one thing for sure: escape wasn’t an option. Not when Charles and Alexandra had made it clear—they would never let her go.
HEADCANONS — MANIPULATIVE!RBR!S.VETTEL
CONTAINS: afab!reader, manipulative!seb, dubcon, toxic behavior, power imbalance, boss/employee relationship, abuse of power.
AUTHORS NOTE: PLEASE beware of the contents, you are in charge of your own internet experience!!!!! seb character here is not good! he’s not a good person! but after all this is not real and just fiction so enjoy :-)
You land a job on Milton Keynes, that’s where you first meet him.
You start working under Britta, his PR manager.
Sebastian is all charming smiles and polite gestures.
Until it isn’t.
He’s already a world champion, he acts like a peacock around the factory.
He will not corner you directly (like others) but will subtly imply that he needs to talk to you a lot.
He starts by asking you simply things, like getting him coffee, or going to fetch stuff he left in his driver’s room.
You are confused because you’re not his assistant, that is not your job, but you don’t question him, you’re working for him after all.
It’s not like has an office to call you in, you meet him in janitor closets, the small space making you hyper aware of how close he is to you.
The first times he just kisses you, his hands don’t go near anything but your face.
You fight him though, pushing him away, but he’s to quick to counter you.
“Do you want to keep your fucking job, schatz?”
You’re conflicted, why does he want you of all people?
So you say yes.
The meetings keep happening, and he gets more bold each time.
It escalates from dry humping, to oral and then full on fucking you against the wall.
“Such a good girl, liebling, taking all of me.”
He doesn’t want a relationship though, he has a girlfriend after all.
i wish you would love me (CS55)
✰ carlos sainz x verstappen!reader ✰
summary → he would do anything to get you to love him, but he can only watch from the sidelines as you fall in love with his teammate.
genre → angst angst angst (im not sorry), self-indulgent, drabble
word count → 1.5k words
author's note → hello! this is my first iteration of breaking your heart with carlos sainz!!!!!! this is also my first time writing him so i'm sorry if things are a lil ooc, i haven't followed him as much as i do with CL16 & MV33.
carlos had always stole glances, whether he liked to admit it or not. some were lingering, but most of them were fast, quick, not wanting to linger long in case someone would catch him staring, he had grown fond of you.
you were the princess of the paddock, that was your title. some might even say that you're the queen of the paddock but you always denied the nickname, it was a silly nickname that your fans had given you and you didn't particularly feel like claiming it.
but carlos knew that you were indeed a princess, maybe the queen of his heart. he knew that with each second passing, he would slowly fall in love with you, maybe he already was. maybe he just didn't want to admit it to himself, much like the glances he stole.
you were the three time world champion's little sister and that meant that automatically by default, carlos was around you a lot. whether it was max's karting days and you attended his races, or him being on the formula one grid and you attending those races.
it didn't matter to carlos.
you were always nice to him, always smiling, always touchy but it didn't matter as you were touchy with everyone and that made carlos want to die on the inside.
why did you have to touch everyone so casually? why did you have to touch him and why did he feel like he was on top of the world when you did?
"carlos?" you soft voice had broken him out of his train of thought, he looks up to see you. your beautiful self standing in front of him, almost gracing him with your presence, "are you okay? you seem out of it."
"yeah, i'm alright. how are you doing, hermosa?" carlos' heart would not stop beating out of his chest, being in close proximity of you made his heart beat that way. you giggle and wave your hands in front of you, almost as if you were rejecting the small compliment that he gave you.
he found it cute, that you would always reject his compliments that way, whether intentional or not.
you scrunched your face up and rolled your eyes playfully, "you always flatter me with your nicknames, carlos," you giggled further and he stood up from where he was leaning against the wall, "i was going to ask you if you were coming to dinner tonight? you know, the ferrari one?"
carlos raised his eyebrow, how would you know about the ferrari dinner?
"yeah, of course. i am a ferrari driver afterall, aren't i?" carlos teased before you smile and laugh, carlos felt like his heart was going to fall out of his chest by how fast it was beating. you were near him and willing to talk to him, even though it was as simple as asking about a stupid dinner.
"yeah, i was wondering whether you'd come or not. charles invited me to the dinner just last night," your eye-smiles shone bright, even when you didn't mean them to. a pang strikes through carlos' chest, what do you mean by charles invited you?
"charles invited you? since when were you close to charles?" carlos asked, his eyebrow raised again as you were shifting feet to feet, carlos could tell that you were nervous by the question he asked, but you decided to come out clean anyway.
"me and charles have been... seeing eachother so i've been getting invited around ferrari events a lot."
maybe that was the day carlos' heart broke.
seeing you around his side of the paddock was nice, the way you smiled, the way you cheered the team on, it was exciting for carlos. he would be able to see you more often now, ever since you published your relationship with charles.
maybe he should've expected it. maybe he didn't notice it.
while he was stealing glances at you, you were stealing glances at his teammate and that stung like a little bitch.
you were always all smiles, always lovely, always polite, always touchy, and somehow he hated it. he hated the way you touched him— hated the way you touched charles.
your arms wrapped around charles' neck, holding him close as the two of you were captured kissing as charles took his win, he came second. always second best. never good enough. never good enough to win you over. never fast enough to see the signs.
he wanted you to come over to him, run up and kiss him the exact way you kissed charles, why did it have to be his teammate out of all people? why the one person that he constantly had to spend time with, whether willingly or unwillingly?
the love he had for his teammate was slowly becoming resent, becoming something he would never feel for his teammate naturally.
it sucked.
"carlos—"
"not now cha," carlos had brushed him off as he packed up his belongings from the garage, all he wanted to do was get home and sit with himself and his feelings.
"but it's important—"
"i said not now," carlos' tone was delivered with finality, which made charles stop in his tracks, not speaking another word. he was scared to, scared that he would piss off carlos more than he was right now.
what hurt the most for carlos was that he had talked about you to him multiple times, his eyes always animated when he talked about you and charles knew, he knew how much you meant to carlos but charles didn't catch on or maybe he didn't care.
"did i do something wrong?" charles asked, he was behind carlos and his shoulder tensed up when charles asked him the stupid question, carlos felt like he wanted to punch something at the moment and right now, preferably the handsome leclerc that stood behind him.
of course he did something wrong, he stole the love of carlos' life and carlos hated him for it. why did he have to do it? why did he have to take away something that made him happy? wasn't him getting kicked out of ferrari enough for charles?
why did everything have to go his way?
"it's nothing, i'm just upset about my performance today, that's all," carlos turned around to look at charles, he was starting to realize that it wasn't charles' fault. charles did nothing wrong.
the universe just hated him.
carlos had to sit in those painful dinners with ferrari, if it wasn't mandatory for him to come, he would've never showed up in the first place. he hated having to sit there and play nice, to sit there and watch you whisper into charles' ear and when he would whisper something back in your ear and then you would giggle, to sit there and to watch the love of his life slip away from his fingers.
he knew that you never held the same type of feelings that he harbored towards you, you would always be nice and polite but that was it, and maybe he took it the wrong way. it didn't matter to him now, all that mattered was you stole his heart and there was no way you were going to give it back.
with the months watching painfully from the sidelines, watching you fall in love with his teammate, you had an announcement to make tonight.
"hello everyone! thank you for coming to tonight's dinner," you had started, you looked beautiful tonight. afterall, you would always be his hermosa in his heart, "i just wanted to announce me and charles' engagement!"
charles stood up alongside with you and smiled, wrapping an arm that carlos wished were his, holding you close with a kiss on your temple.
claps erupted around the table and carlos was the only one not clapping along with the crowd.
if it wasn't possible before, carlos' heart broke for the second time tonight.
if it wasn't bad enough that charles picked carlos to be his bestman, it was the worst when he had to stand there and watch you be led along the aisle, arm hooked with jos verstappen and walking towards charles.
and yet again, he was watching from the sidelines. never the main character in your story, but always a secondary or maybe a step-in.
your smile was so bright, you looked so happy.
he wished you looked at him the same way you looked at charles.
as you finished your vows, tears escaped from carlos' eyes, not because he was happy for his teammate, not because he was happy for you but because he was upset that it wasn't him that you were marrying today. he couldn't bare to stay and watch any further after the vows, choosing to step out of the cathedral that you were getting married to charles at.
carlos was not the same man that he was before he stepped into that cathedral that day, and maybe it was for the worst.
That was oddly appealing of him
Percy Jackson x House Of The Dragon x Reader Crossover.
Your uncle Aemond accidently murdered you and your twin brother Luke.
So you found yourself as one of Aphrodite's extremely beautiful daughters.
Things were pretty weird for you at first, because you didn't know how to act like a demigod.
You only wore the dresses you found in your closet, and acted very adequately around everyone, like a proper princess.
Not like the sassy rude (Y/n) they know.
Which caught the attention of your friends and boyfriend.
So when they inquired about what is going on with you.
You tell them everything.
"So, I was engaged to Lucerys -"
"Wait, you said that Lucerys was your twin"
"And I also mentioned the fact that we are Targaryens, Percy, love"
"Your great uncle Daemon sounds cool" Grover pointed out when you described Daemon when cut off Lord Vaemond's head.
However when the name Luke gets mentioned in front of you, you thought they were talking about your Luke.
But turns out it was a different Luke.
Honestly Percy reminded you of your twin but with a sassy personality.
Percy also gets extremely jealous when you speak about your brothers or uncles.
Percy is the reincarnation of Lucerys Velaryon.
He just doesn't know it yet.
(A/n: honestly I don't know why I wrote this, but Luke and Percy look alike for me for some reason)
A Christmas Prince (2017)- c.leclerc
₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
summary: When a young aspiring journalist is sent abroad to cover a a coronation, she hears rumours about the 'Prince of F1' and goes undercover to investigate them.
pairing: prince! charles leclerc x fem! reader
9.8k words
disclaimer: i do not own anything in these films, the only original character is the character y/n.
‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
You jumped up from your desk as soon as you saw him, and trailed him through the office. “Excuse me, sorry- Ron?!”
He turned to you. “Not now.”
“This will just take a second, I just have some questions about your article? The fashion week piece that I’m editing?”
He groaned, clearly uninterested in giving you the time of day. “Go for it.”
Nevertheless, you continued on. How could someone who makes so many noticeable mistakes have a higher job than you? How could someone so self-centred and rude be in that position of power? “The main problem is that Max wanted 300 words, and you’ve written 600, and also the models and designers you quoted weren’t even at the event so…”
“Y/n,” he sighed, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I don’t have time for you right now, just go off and fix it? Yeah?” he smiled, that punchable, asshole smile, and walked off. You rolled your eyes.
Working as a journalist bitch was not your plan when you moved to New York, but alas, your rent does not magically pay itself. Categorically, you enjoyed your job. Decent pay, good co-workers (minus asshole Ron), and it was pretty cool to be in one of the high-rise offices of New York, especially around Christmas. But… the whole getting to write articles part wasn’t something you got to do. You were an editor now, not a journalist. It was… slightly infuriating to know that someone less qualified got paid more money to write shit that you always ended up rewriting for him, but as we mentioned before, bills don’t pay themselves.
“Let me guess, you’re going to completely rewrite the article and save his ass?” Damon, your best friend, asked.
You faked a smile. “It’s almost like that’s my job!”
He rolled his eyes. “Tell him to shove it,” he scoffed. “Any of us could write that better- with our eyes closed!”
You groaned as you sat down.
“How the fuck are you ever going to be taken seriously as a real journalist if you are such a good editor?” he added. “He’ll never promote you if you’re always going to stay as his bitch.”
The ding of your laptop ended the conversation
Max wants you in her office- NOW!
“Oh fuck,” you said under your breath.
“What?” Damon asked, looking over your shoulder. “Oh… good luck.”
You walked into her glass office, praying to something to make this as painless as possible. “If this is because of Ron’s article-”
“It’s not, sit down. I have something else for you,” she smiled. You followed her instructions and stared at her, unused to the kindness. “What do you know about the Royal Family of Monaco?”
“Monaco?” you wracked your brain. “The King died a few years ago, the new King just got married, and the other two are racecar drivers, right?”
“Exactly, anything about the second eldest Prince?” she mused.
You grimaced. “He’s more loyal to Ferrari than his girlfriends and he’s a royal disgrace?”
She grinned. “Yes! Exactly that! Obviously, Charles moved off from the royal duties a long time ago, but Lorenzo has decided to abdicate since his fiance has fallen ill, in Monaco there’s a rule that the throne can be uncrowned for one year and it turns out Lorenzo abdicated in December last year.”
“So Charles has to take the throne?” you asked. “But he’s a driver there’s no way he’d… what happens then?”
She smirked. “That’s exactly what you’re going to find out! His Royal Highness is due back at the Castle this weekend, but in case he also abdicates, I need someone to write on it! There’s a press conference on the 18th, and I want your boots on the ground!”
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but why me?” you smiled, genuinely curious.
“You’re intelligent, talented, hungry for a story- also none of my regular writers are willing to give up their Christmas,” she admitted. You nodded, knowing you were a last resort.
“Thank you for this opportunity, I won’t let you down.”
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“He’s gorgeous!” Damon fawned over the pictures of him.
You shrugged. “He’s such a douche, I cannot believe people still find him attractive after all the stuff he’s done.”
“Who wouldn't forgive a face and body like that?”
You looked at the photos. Yes, he was conventionally attractive, but his track record of scorned girlfriends, and the semi-awful fashion sense (who , over the age of 12, still wears tie dye jeans?) put you off. “He’s not my type.”
He stared at you. “He’s everyone’s type. Everyone is a Ferrari fan, and everyone is a Charles LeClerc fan.”
“I still don’t see it,” you shrugged.
“You should try to seduce him! Make him your husband and just excuse all the cheating so you can be royal and rich,” he suggested.
“I do not want that,” you scoffed. “Plus, I’m not on the market right now.”
He groaned. “You two broke up a whole year ago. Don’t let him yuck your yum 12 months on!”
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You walked into Rudy’s, your dad’s diner, you couldn’t but feel the weight of the conversation you were just about to have. You had spent Christmas as just the two of you every year since your mom had passed, you didn’t want to just leave him alone. The regulars raved about the pies as you stepped in from the cold, snowy air.
“The usual?” your dad asked, you nodded and smiled, waving to some of the regulars you knew. “How are you doing sweetie?”
“Good, great!” You smiled, plastering on your best ‘i’m fine!’ face.
“What happened?” he asked, concerned. You deflated.
“I have good news and bad news,” you explained.
“Bad news first,” he decided.
“I won’t be here on Christmas- but, It’s because I got my first story.”
He grinned, pulling you into a hug. “That’s amazing! Your first real story! This is your big break!”
“You don’t mind that I’ll miss Christmas?”
He shook his head. “This is your big break, take it. Don’t worry about me. You go over to wherever, and you make me proud.”
You smiled, pulling him into another hug, and thanked him.
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The flight was long and uncomfortable, thus the joys of economy, and the dickhead that stole your cab wasn’t much nicer either.
You and the rest of the press were all then bundled into cars and brought to the palace.
“First time?” The reporter beside you questioned. You nodded your head, slightly embarrassed about the fact that they could tell, but he just chuckled. “Word to the wise, pick a new career.”
The rest of the car was an eruption of laughter, small agreements, or a scoff. You chuckled along, but you couldn’t help but feel small. You were the only woman in your car, the only new reporter, and-
Woah. Holy shit.
The Monaco Palace.
Any and all other thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as you stared in awe at the beautiful structure. The wide windows and beautiful pillars, all decorated perfectly for Christmas. Though it wasn’t snowing (like back home), you did appreciate the gesture of making it feel like Christmas. You were enchanted by the palace, it stood tall on the edge of the bay, fitting in perfectly with the rest of the gorgeous scenery.
You walked in behind the rest of the press, a nervous energy buzzing in the air. Prince Charles was an F1 favourite, a master of the sport, and now he had to give it all up for the crown. Everyone was more than excited to see if he’d actually show up, which seemed increasingly unlikely as the moments ticked away. He did every single piece of press Ferrari or the FIA asked him to do, and he seemed to enjoy the majority of them, but the second the palace asked him to do something, he was ‘too busy’. It left a bad taste in your mouth. You were exactly a patriot, but you thought that one should at least appreciate the fact that they were a part of their country, and the people deserved to hear from their Prince, not only through sports interviews. He’d been photoshopped into the palace's Christmas cards for the past 4 years, for god’s sake.
You pushed your opinion of him to the side and turned your attention to the palace. The tall white walls and arched ceilings, the beautiful and historic artwork hanging off the walls, god, you’d give anything to be allowed free reign in here with your camera. Your attention was then grabbed by the PR liaison, Penelope, standing at the panel desk looking increasingly nervous.
After another 30 minutes of waiting, the repress started getting restless. Lorenzo was never late. Hervé had never been late. Pascale was never late. Arthur was never late. Charles was the outlier. He slept with too many women, drank too much, and ‘disgraced the crown’, according to the Monegasque reporters beside you. You didn’t care much for all of the gossip pages he frequented, and only watched F1 on the occasion that your father wanted to watch it. But, it was clear that he thought that following his dreams of being a racecar driver were more important than his duties, and while you understood the push and pull of having a dream, there were also expectations to meet, and he didn’t meet them.
“We regret to inform you that this press conference has been cancelled-”
She was cut off by about 200 reporters shouting and groaning.
You politely raised your hand, and all eyes turned to you. “When can we expect the press conference to be rescheduled?” You asked and the room was alive again, this time, in agreement.
“As of right now, we won’t be rescheduling,” she offered a polite smile as everyone collectively groaned again.
“Well can we at least expect a date at which he’ll be crowned?”
“He will be crowned on Christmas Eve, at the annual Christmas Ball,” she smiled.
“Which is a private event, so what are we to tell your people? They can’t see him getting crowned as their next king? No media are allowed in, no cameras, phones are barely allowed. What will your people think?” you questioned, your voice dripping with condescension. The rest of the reporters cheered you on, no one had stood up against his behaviour before. No one.
She faltered, and then the room started being cleared by security, much to the chagrin of the rest of you. You were kicked out, a collection of grumbles and groans, knowing Christmas was ruined because of some stupid Prince and his childish antics.
You couldn’t go home empty handed. You’d never get a chance like this again, so breaking and entering into the Monaco Palace wasn’t that bad of a crime, right?
You came into a long hallway, the marble walls and floors taking your full attention, until you came across a picture. It was the royal family, a picture of the five of them, taken before Hervé passed. Charles was only 20, Arthur was only 16. Lorenzo was 29. And they lost their father. In the photo, they’re sitting at a dinner table, looking happy. It didn’t look posed, or professionally taken. It looked like it had been taken on an iphone. Charles was smiling bright, his arm around his little brother and his father. Lorenzo’s arm around Pascale as she held Arthur’s hand. Charles was truly the thing that dragged you in. His bright smile, eyes crinkled at the edges, laughing so hard he must’ve felt sick. The way everyone else’s eyes were on him. He was like a magnet. Not because of his good looks or lovably dorky personality, but because of something else. He was just… interesting.
“Can I help you?” a security guard asked, his voice booming and strong. You jumped.
“Gosh! Sorry, umm-yes-no-um-”
“American?” he asked, and you were sure you were busted. But then he smiled. “Follow me.”
You followed him through the halls until you were in front of a tall woman with brunette hair. You knew who she was, her name was Georgia, the palace coordinator. She was terrifying to stand in front of. You’d never felt so judged in your life.
“You’re the new tutor?” she questioned. You just nodded. “I thought you couldn’t come until January?”
“My last job finished up early,” you lied. A sinking pit in your stomach started growing, but you just swallowed it. You’d deal with it later.
“Oh,” she smiled. “Perfect, I’ll bring you to meet him,” she smiled.
What were you getting yourself into?
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Turns out Arthur LeClerc needed a tutor to help with his engineering course. Thank god you’d dated that engineer who wanted to mansplain every single part of a car to you, and you could get by the maths with a calculator. Arthur wasn’t exactly a fan of having someone younger than him tutor him, he felt stupid, you could tell. You did everything you could to reassure him that it truly was alright to need help, and he was starting to come around, but every time you two really started talking, Charles would appear. And yes, Charles had been that asshole who’d taken your cab at the airport. Even more of a reason to hate him.
“Arthur!” Charles called up as you finished explaining a sum, which he was finally getting, but of course, Charles had to distract him. “Sim work?” he offered, popping his head in the door. You frowned. He was clean-shaven, unlike the small goatee and mustache he’d been sporting before. Objectively, he was attractive either way, but you personally preferred the facial hair.
He frowned back at you. “What?”
Arthur attempted to get up to join his brother, but you held him down to his seat with a hand on his shoulder. He sighed.
“What?” you repeated. “Arthur is busy with lessons, your Royal Highness, you can come back in 2 hours, when he’s finished,” you smile politely, though your tone was less than warm.
“2 hours?” Arthur sighed, looking at you with pleading eyes.
“I’m not the one who failed their midterm,” you said, matter-of-factly. He nodded, agreeing.
“Why did you look at me like that?” Charles smirked, walking into the study.
“Like what?” you asked, engrossed in the work, trying to decipher Arthur’s handwriting.
“Like you didn’t like what you saw,” he mused.
You scoffed. “I was just surprised by the baby face, that’s all.”
He frowned, making Arthur laugh. “Baby face?”
“You look like a 12 year old boy without facial hair, it freaks me out,” you pointed out.
Charles left the room with whatever dignity he still had intact, and you and Arthur rather enjoyed the teasing.
“Will you be my guest tonight?” he turned to you, discarding his work.
“What’s tonight?” you asked.
“Some boring drinks and dinner thing with the whole of Charles’s team, and other nobility. It’s going to be such a chore to go without you, please come?”
You smiled. “I’d be honoured.”
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You kind of hated the whole ‘double agent’ thing. You were getting on really well with Arthur, Charles was enough to stomach (in small intervals), and Lorenzo had been too busy to really meet. Georgia had been on you about different things, but you always had to remember that a) your name was in fact not Y/n, but Martha. And b) You still had to be a reporter. You still had to break into these people’s privacy, and make it a story. You were pretty sure what you were doing was illegal in America, so you were just hoping it wasn’t a crime here. As the night went on you snapped pictures of Pascale, Lorenzo, some of the other nobility and some of the important F1 drivers (a friend was doing an expose on one of them for cheating so… yeah). You didn’t catch a glimpse of his Royal (pain-in-the-ass) Highness all night, that was, until he made an(uncharacteristically (not)) late arrival. You also left Arthur to go hang out with his girlfriend, who had surprised him this weekend by arriving a whole week early.
“How are you enjoying the party?” Arthur smiled, walking up behind you as you tried to take photos of the nobility as secretly as possible. You quickly hid your phone.
“Very much so, thank you for inviting me,” you smiled.
“Staring at Charles?” he questioned, noticing how you’d been following him around the room.
“Trying to find something to eat,” you lied. Again, that pit in your stomach grew every single day that you were at the palace. “Not a fan of the meat-jelly.”
He grimaced. “Me neither, follow me.”
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Possibly the best gingerbread cookies entered your mouth soon after. “Wow,” you nodded, and he smiled back. You stared at him. “Where’s Jade?”
“She’s off with her friends,” he answered, but you knew it was a guess.
“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden? You hated me three days ago,” you chuckled.
“You’re not like everyone here,” he shrugged. “You’re normal.”
You smiled. “I know I’m, normal, btu so are you-”
“A ‘normal’ 24 year old who has a palace and a crown, as well as an affinity for racing cars. I’m so normal.”
You laughed. “No one’s perfect.”
Then a tall man, who looked a little bit like Arthur, joined you.
“Cousin Arthur,” he smiled.
“Cousin Simon,” he sighed, less than impressed with having to see him.
Simon looked at you, slightly confused. “Was your mother feeling charitable, inviting the chambermaids again?” he joked, but it wasn’t funny. Arthur didn't laugh, he groaned.
“She’s my tutor, actually. And I invited her. Mrs. Martha Whelan, meet my cousin, Simon.”
You stood up and held your hand out to be shook, but he shied away. “Nice to meet you Simon.”
“You can address me as Lord Dukesburg,” he explained, taking great offence. Ah, this was Simon Dukesburg, the man who has been after the throne since Arhtur’s father died. He said some of the most out-of-touch shit about Lorenzo, saying he couldn’t be the King because he wasn’t Herve’s blood-related son.
“I find that nobility who require someone to use their title might be compensating for something,” Charles interjected, making you stifle a laugh, whereas Arthur laughed out loud.
“And what might I be compensating for?” he scoffed.
“I wonder,” Charles smirked. Then someone else interjected the conversation and pulled the both of them away from you and Arthur.
“Simon hates Charles,” Arthur explained. “He’s ahead of him in the succession, since it goes by age, not actual blood relation, he’s ahead of me.”
“So if Charles abdicates, Simon has the throne?” you questioned.
Arthur nodded. You looked up at the two men again, and found Charles already looking back at you. You offered a small smile, which was returned, then you turned back to Arthur.
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“I'm really not sure there’s any dirt here,” you sighed, explaining it for the millionth time to your boss.
She wasn’t having it. You ended the call feeling even worse than before. Honestly, you were one day away from just leaving the palace all together and admitting your crimes. It was eating you up inside, you could barely sleep, barely eat. It was all a little bit too much for you. You understood that reporters had to be cut-throat, but god, it was hard work pretending to be someone you weren't, especially to people as kind as the LeClerc’s. As you walked through the halls of the palace, unable to sleep, you heard some piano music. You followed the sound and found Prince Charles at his piano, incredibly talented. Sadly, it ended the second he noticed you, about 30 seconds of you being there.
“Sorry for interrupting, your Royal Highness,, I’ll head back-”
“Call me Charles,” he smiled.
Slightly blind-sided, you weren’t sure what to say. “That was beautiful,” you smiled.
“Thank you,” he smiled, getting up. “My father made me take lessons. It’s a great passion of mine.”
“I’ve heard your father was a great man,” you smiled.
“He was,” Charles agreed..
“Won’t be easy to replace him,” you mused, hoping he would give you something, anything worth writing the story over.
“I’m not trying to replace him,” he explained. “No one could.”
“Oh god! No, I didn’t mean it like that- just… there must be a lot of pressure on you, I didn’t mean it…” you trailed off and he smiled.
“Well, you’re under more pressure than you bargained for, right?” he smirked.
Shit. He knew. Somehow. He knew. You were bout to get arrested by the fucking Prince of Monaco. How embarrassing.
“My brother can really be a handful,” he chuckled.
You took a deep breath. He didn’t know. You were safe, for now at least. You chuckled. “He’s actually pretty great.”
“After our father died, he took it very hard,” he explained.
“I lost my mom, same age and everything,” you explained, a flat smile on your face.
He nodded. “So you know what it’s like then.”
You nodded. “Holidays are the worst.”
“I’m glad he has someone to talk to.”
“So, now that you’re back… is it for good? Arthur talks about you all the time. He misses you when you’re gone. Is all that talk about abdication just… rumors?” you questioned, feeling like the worst human being in the world for manipulating this family the way you were. They were good people. Maybe yes, they’re rich and commit tax fraud, but good people.
He sighed. “It’s very hard to know what to do.”
FUCK!
Great. So there is a story. Ideal. It’s not like if he’d just said, ‘yes, they’re all just rumors’, you could’ve gone home and never had to think about the awful things you’ve done here, but now you have to stay, to listen to him. Great.
“I heard you didn’t want to give your… lifestyle,” you asked. “Is that true?”
“What lifestyle is that?” he scoffed, slightly amused.
“I don’t know. The women, wine, and cars?”
“Is that what you think I am?” he chuckled.
“I don’t know who you are, Charles, but if your brother is any indication, I wouldn’t exactly believe everything I read. Good night.”
And with that you left the room, feeling like a terrible person, and he was more than intrigued by you.
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Christmas Eve rolled closer and closer, and every night seemed to be one of celebration. You decorated the tree with the family (aka you sat in the corner not eating or drinking because of the guilt, and watched over Arthur, making sure he was alright).
“To family and friends,” Pascale smiled.
“And new friends!” Arthur called, lifting your hand. You smiled at him, thankful that you had a friend there.
“What are your traditions Martha?” Charles asked, turning attention to you.
“Well, my father and I light a candle and we bake my mothers favourite cookies,” you explained, a smile on your face. “I know how it feels to… have someone missing during traditions,” you assured Arthur, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Just then, Lady Sophia appeared in the doorway. Lady Sophia, Charles’s childhood best friend and the leading lady of the greatest will-they-won’t-they story of all time. She wore a beautiful long flowing gown with a present in hand for Pascale. She elegantly dodged cousin Simon’s advances (you applauded her for that), and went straight to Pascale and Charles.
“Sophia, it’s lovely to see you,” she smiled, pulling her in for a hug.
“It’s lovely to see you too,” she smiled, then moved on to Charles. “Charles, good to see you.”
Charles greeted her with his best flirty smirk, and Arthur turned to you, fake gagging, which made you both laugh. All eyes turned to the two of you for a moment, before you quickly shut up, and the greetings continued. Lady Sophia was staying for Christmas, how wonderful. Maybe you could get an early access to their engagement story- god you felt sick with yourself.
You turned to Arthur engrossed in the small toy car he had in his hands, a gift from his father, he spoke about it as you listened, barely noticing Charles over both of your shoulders.
“I remember when you first got that,” he chuckled, ruffling Arthur’s hair. “You were so happy with it, you wanted to be just like dad.”
“Now you are,” you smiled, squeezing Arthur;’s hand. He’d be moving up to F1 next year, in a Haas seat (Esetban Ocon shit the bed, oops), and Arthur was the next best Ferrari junior driver. Arthur beamed back at you, and Charles gave himself a moment to study you.
You were so gentle, so smart, so kind, so… you. He was entranced by you. You were some sort of enigma. He didn’t want to sound full of himself, but women did throw themselves at him, it was a simple fact, and you didn’t. You weren’t interested in him at all, in fact. It was refreshing.
“Charles!” Lady Sophie called. “Will you put my ornament on the tree?”
He (begrudgingly) took his eyes off of you and joined her at the side of the tree. Funnily enough, her ornament was a heart.
“Be gentle with it,” she told him, and he sighed, knowing it wasn’t just the ornament she was talking about.He placed it on the ree and when he looked back at you, you were already engrossed in conversation with Arthur about something else and he thought it best not to pry. You barely liked him as is, he shouldn’t push his luck.
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The day you get bossed around by Arthur LeCerc may actually be the biggest joke of your life. He found out that you were a journalist, and he didn’t even care. He just… wanted a friend, and for you to write the truth about his brother. Which you were happy to oblige.
So, instead of going over aerodynamics, you baked Christmas cookies.
“What’s with Charles and Lady Sophia?” you questioned, shovelling some of the batter into your mouth. Arthur shrugged.
“She’s had a crush on him for ages, but he’s never liked her back,” he shrugged, eating some of the icing. “She’s always trying to get with him though.”
“Simon seems to like her,” you pointed out, shooing him away from the icing (he’d eaten half of it).
Arthur groaned. “Simon has wanted everything Charles has had since they were 3. He even tried go-karting. He was shit though,” he chuckled. “But y’know, everyone wants what we have.”
You cracked a smile. “You are the royal family of one of the most beautiful countries in Europe.”
Arthur sighed. “It was different though, before my dad died, it was-” he cut himself off, trying to to cry. You pulled him into a hug.
“He’s not gone Arthur, you’ll always remember him,” you smiled, he nodded against your neck. “Come on, we need to get these in the oven before I eat all of the batter.”
He laughed, joining you beside the oven.
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The next morning was the children’s fundraiser, where everyone was expected to be a guest. You, again, were Arthur’s, Jade having left a few days earlier to spend time with her family. One of those asshole reporters came up to you, but he got them away, and you knew that by tomorrow, people would already assume you were his new girlfriend, or something along those lines, so you made sure to tell him to talk about Jade in interviews. After the wonderful carol service, Pascale came out to the stage and addressed the public, announcing Charles’s speech.
When she called his name, he didn’t show.
Arthur sighed, grabbing your hand and running you to the Orphanage. There he was, playing with the children. He looked so… happy. He was telling them about every corner in the Monaco Grand Prix, and telling them what it felt like to win it. They all sat around him, listening intently, desperate to hear from him. You took out your phone and took a photo, seeing a tiny glimpse of that same 20 year old boy from the picture.
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“Charles, help me understand why you were unable to carry out your duty today?” Pascale asked, exasperated with her son.
“I thought my duty was to those children,” his words bit through the tension in the air.
“There is much more to being kind than simply compassion,” she sighed. “You need to be strong, a leader. You need to be someone that those people can look up to and say, ‘that’s my king, and he can make the hard decisions’. Not someone who tiptoes around his duties like a schoolboy. Arthur had to give your speech instead. Now every outlet thinks your abdicating and giving the throne to him right when he’s on the cusp of his dreams-”
“I have dreams!” he shouted. “I have a life, I have a dream-”
“And we gave you 8 years to make it happen. You have to grow up now Charles,” she commanded.
“Mother I-”
“Do you seriously think you’re the only one who wants to run away?” she questioned. “The only one who has dreams, and feelings, and a weariness about everything?”
“I’m-”
“This has been the hardest year of my life,” she choked up. “Lorenzo abdicating, you off in god-knows-where racing a car that can’t win, and Arthur trying his damndest to make his dreams come true, while I deal with it all. While I ‘hold down the fort’. You have a duty to your country, but you also have a duty to your family, Charles. I have complete faith in you, and then some. You will be a brave, and compassionate King. But you need to realise that sacrifice is a part of life. One we may have shielded you from, and I am sorry for that. But you need to make a sacrifice here. Royal life isn’t the prison you make it out to be. You can be happy, and you will be. But you need to learn to be happy with what you’ve got, because you have so much Charles. You have your family, you’ll meet someone nice and then you’ll have your own. You don’t need to race cars to feel strong. You need to be yourself. The people of Monaco are looking for someone they know after a year of confusion and shock. You need to be the comforting voice. I know you can be.”
“I’m trying,” he whispered.
“I have faith in you. You need to have faith in yourself. Don’t try to be your father, be Charles. He’s just as wonderful.”
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Arthur wasn’t going to focus, it was 3 days till Christmas, and he was kind of like an over-excited child. You suggested an adventure, and that is how you ended up racing speed boats with Arthur and a few of his friends. You two won, of course, and he may or may not have accidentally shoved you overboard and made you hit your head. But you were probably fine. Probably. You two relaxed on the water for a while, enjoying the Monaco sun asn the sun began to set and all of his friends went home.
Then you felt something hit into the edge of your boat. Another speedboat. Driven by none other than Prince Charles.
“Race you?” he smirked at his brother, his eyes then landing on you. He stopped, almost doing a double take when he saw you in your swimsuit, his mouth opening slightly. You didn’t seem to notice. Arthur did and he rolled his eyes, hoping against hope that Charles and his master-manipulating ways would pass you by and go onto the next person.
“You’re on!” Arthur shouted back, reeving up the engine, and thus the great race of speedboats began. Sadly, once again, Arthur LeClerc is very much not coordinated, so he shoved you off the boat, again. Charles immediately slowed down, turning back to grab you, but he found you laughing. He reached a hand in, and pulled you up onto his boat, grabbing your waist when you almost slipped and fell. You were close, much too close. You could feel his breath on your face, his eyes staring into yours, the look of shock, but neither one of you was asking to stop. It was different, a good difference. He was right there, right in front of you, and you didn’t look at him with annoyance, or anger, or distance. One of those fleeting moments of the both of you truly just being yourselves. Well, you were Marha and he was the Prince of Monaco, soon to be King. He saw every freckle on your face, every small wrinkle line, every flutter of your eyelashes. He loved it. He loved being this close to you. He loved the way you were smiling at him, and once he’d started looking at your lips, he couldn’t stop.
Arthur threw a snorkel at the two of you, making you jump apart, you almost falling off the boat again (actually your fault that time), but you just fell into Arthur’s boat. “No fraternising with the enemy!”
And the race was back on.
Unbeknownst to you, Lady Sophia and Duke Arsehole (aka Cousin Simoin), were riding by on a perfectly sublime boat ride, and saw the three of you enjoying yourselves. You had joined Charles' side, winning against Arthur every time, and then you’d be swapped back, or Arthur would swap.
Lady Sophia didn’t like it one bit.
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When you got back to the palace, Lorenzo was standing at the top step of the stairs, his mother beside him.
“Where have you three been?” he demanded.
“Lorenzo, we were-” Charles began.
“Speedboat racing in the bay?” he finished.
The three of you stood there, silent and still, unsure of what to do next.
“I suggest next time that you ask permission, Ms. Whelan,” he addressed you, and you nodded quickly offering multiple apologies. “And next time, maybe include the other members of the family. It’s not like we've never raced in our lives,” he smiled, before walking off. You had a feeling they hadn’t seen Arthur this happy in a long time. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in you, that you had been the one to help him get himself back.
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Arthur was busy with his duties, so you were given the day off, the day before Christmas Eve. You needed to get to know Charles better, so you could right all the wrongs online about him. He was going for a bike ride, so you followed suit, clearly forgetting about the fact that you knew nothing about Monaco, and the limited cell-service was really helpful. Oh, and when you fell off your bike and cut the shit out of your knee, you really wondered whether it was you or Arthur who was clumsy.
“Are you alright?”a voice called out, a voice you couldn't quite place, until Charles was in front of you and taking a look at your knee. “This looks bad, come with me.”
He helped you up, and while Mont Agel was beautiful, you were in the middle of fucking nowhere, what was he going to do?
Bring you to his secret cabin, of course.
Literally, was this dude James Bond?
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You sat outside on his patio as the sun set. He handed you a glass of water. You thanked him.
“So, now that you’re alright,” he smiled (he’d bandaged up your leg despite the thousands of times you assured him you were fine). “Why were you following me?”
You sighed. “I was curious about Monaco, and I didn’t want to bother you,” lie after lie after lie. You were continuously sick. Maybe that other reporter was right, maybe you did need a new career.
“You couldn’t bother me,” he assured you, an easy smile on his lips.
“So what is… this?” you asked, gesturing to the house. “James Bond hideout or?
He laughed. “No, nothing interesting like that. This is just my house,” he smiled.
“So you’ve lived in Monaco the entire time?” you asked.
“The Palace is a bit too much for me at times,” he explained. “So I come here.”
“That’s nice,” you smiled. “Why do you find the Palace too much?”
He sighed. “Everyone is always looking at me.”
“Everyone is away looking at you in F1 too, you have like, millions of fan-girls,” you giggled.
“That’s different,” he argued. “I’m a driver there, that’s talent and hard work, I was just… handed the throne.”
“You were born into it,” you corrected him. “And just because you came across something easily doesn’t mean you haven’t struggled. I mean yes, it’s a lot of responsibility, but why wouldn’t you want to be King of Monaco?”
“Do we have to talk about this?” he sighed, getting up and pacing the patio.
“It might be good for you to talk it through,” you told him.
“I can’t even go for dinner with my friends without it being an international scandal!” he groaned.
“Like, when you went out with Sophia?” you mused.
“That was different, she sold a story to a tabloid, and the media had a field day,” he sighed, slumping back into his chair.
“The media is what’s holding you back?” you questioned, feeling your stomach twist.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Explain it then,” you smiled gently.
He looked at you for a moment, and for a fraction of a second, you could see that boy from the picture again. The magnetic, messy, smiley boy his parents had adored. The boy who worked so hard to prove himself. Then those walls went right back up and what replaced him was the man; older, wiser, and hurt. “Why bother? You probably think I’m just a spoiled rich kid anyway.”
You scoffed. “I never said that!” you argued, getting up and turning to him. “You know what you need to do, stop worrying so much about what everyone thinks of you, or how they’re going to perceive you. You’re a good person, with good instincts, and despite being actual nobility, you have morals, good ones, the kind that makes you miss a speech because you’re helping children. The kind that makes you worry about your little brother so much that you come home when he asks you to. The kind that makes you kind. Stop trying to be your father Charles, just be, Charles.”
He sighed, standing beside you. “You make that sound so simple,” he scoffed.
“Why isn't it? You’re a smart, talented, caring person-”
“Except when I steal your taxi,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes. He paused for a moment, his eyes shining in the low light of the sun. “I want to show you something.”
You stared at him, grimacing slightly. “What is it?”
“Follow me,” he said, taking your hand. He led you through his house, up to a room filled with books.
“You read?”
“After my father died,” he explained. “We kept some of the overflow of his habit here. He also kept his journals here. I found a poem, it was dated just before he died, I think he was going to give it to my mother.”
Frost a sparkle in the fields,
Twixt the frozen minarets,
Winter’s harvest, wager yields,
Heavy burden’s, the years debts,
P[out from a seed, an acorn’s gift,
Henceforth the truth will flood,
Darkness such a secret bears,
A love far greater than blood.
“It’s beautiful,” you smiled, reading the poem. Charles’s eyes were on you. You were so close, just like on the bat, just like he wished for every single day since you’d come into his life. He leaned in and you didn’t back away. You didn’t run, or lean in either, you were still, your eyes trained on his lips.
Then your phone rang, and off you went to find it. Part of him wanted to grab you back and kiss you, but even he, in his delirious love-filled haze, knew the moment had passed, and he would just have to wait until the next one.
As you two were getting ready to go back to the palace, he left to go grab something from his room. His father’s desk took your attention, and you obliged yourself. Hidden in plain sight was a secret drawer with a stack of documents in it. As much as you hated yourself for it, you took the documents back to the palace with you.
Within those documents you found out a truth, a truth so great, you had no idea what to say. Charles and Arthur were adopted as children.
What the fuck were you going to do now?
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
As you were walking through the halls with Arthur the next day, you saw Lady Sophia and Charles… kissing. Great, barf. Anyways. You had to finish your story, get something on the page, make this torment of a trip worth something. If you broke the story today, you could be out of there before Christmas, and their lives would be a lot easier. You thought about coming clean, but the thought of it actually made you vomit in your mouth. You were lost. You had no idea what to do.
So, you called your dad. What else were you supposed to do?
“Y/n!” he smiled, it was only a phone call but you could tell. “How are you?”
“Hey dad, remember how you said I have to take chances to win?” you asked.
“They are my words to live by,” he chuckled, understanding that something was going on. “Is everything alright?”
“What if that chance is going to really hurt people who don’t deserve it?” you questioned.
“I’m going to need more than that sweetheart,” he sighed.
“My story, if I release it, it might hurt someone who’s already been through a lot. I’m just…” you trailed off
“Sweetheart, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know anything about the world of publishing and reporting, but I do know that you have to trust your gut.”
You smiled. “Thanks dad.”
“I’m better than a fortune cookie, right?” he joked and you both chuckled. “I’ll see you soon sweetheart.”
“Bye dad-” as you hung up the phone, there was a knock on your door. You tentatively got up and opened the door, only to find Charles on the other side, dressed in a Ferrari branded suit, a small smile on his face.
“Hi, is there something I can do for you?” you asked, slightly awkward and unsure. You didn’t really want him to look in your room too much, considering the documents of his adoption were literally on your desk, but alas, what would be, would be.
“I thought we could go for a walk?” he offered. “I can actually show you around Monaco, now that I know you want a tour guide.”
Your smile faltered. “I don’t know,” you sighed. The media had been stirring everything up ever since the boat, you were the ‘mystery girl’ being passed around by the LeClerc’s, and it didn’t feel great.
He looked at you with pleading eyes. “Please, just give me a few minutes of your time. I would like some company.”
“Sure, let me grab my coat,” you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
As you two walked through the streets of Monaco, he spoke freely about the beautiful buildings and people he knew so well, while you listened. You liked it, but it broke your heart slightly, to know that you had lied to the entire family for weeks now. But another part of you was grateful that you got to meet them, because you knew you had been changed for the better. It was also nice to see Charles be less… upset than when you first came. He smiled more, laughed more, and spent more time with Arthur, it was lovely to see.
He stared at you for a moment, his eyes darting around your face as you looked at the pavement. “Are you alright?”
“Do you often take the help for a walk?” you questioned, your tone soft but the words bit at him anyway.
“What?” he questioned.
“Nothing, it’s stupid. Go back to your story Charles,” you sighed, walking on.
He grabbed your hand, turning you back to him. “Please talk to me. I feel like you know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.”
“What would Lady Sophia say if she saw us walking together?” you scoffed.
“Why would that matter?”
“I saw you two,” you said.
“Whatever you saw, trust me, there is nothing there,” he pleaded.
“It didn’t look like that to me,” you scoffed. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
“She was just… taking her chance again, even after I explicitly told her not to.”
“Sure,” you nodded. “It doesn’t matter anyways. Charles.”
You were both silent for a moment. He took the opportunity to study your face. The way your eyebrows creased, the tightness of your lips, the determined stare forward. He smiled. You were so smart, and headstrong, and right all the time (which kind of drove him crazy), but he loved it all. He loved you.
“I hope you’ll come tomorrow night,” he admitted. You looked at him confused. “The Ball. My coronation.”
You couldn’t do it anymore. You had to tell him. He couldn’t keep living this lie, and neither could you. “Charles, I need to tell you something-”
But he kissed you. Of course, he fucking kissed you, because he’d been wanting to do it since the day you arrived at the palace. He was in love with you, if he hadn't made that obvious enough, and yes, he kissed you, because the fact that he hadn’t yet was driving him mad. He didn’t want Sophia, he didn’t want anyone else, he wanted you.
And it was everything he could’ve dreamed of. His arms circled your waist, pulling you close to him, while his lips explored your soft ones, the taste of cherry on them. You must use some sort of cherry lip balm, and it quickly became one of his favourite tastes. Your arms slowly crept up to wrap around his neck, and when he pulled back you just pulled him back in.
This was the real Charles. The one who loved people unabashedly and didn’t care what people thought. This was that 20 year old boy in the photo. This was the boy you had slowly fallen in love with, without even realising it.
And it was wonderful.
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
Much to your chagrin, while you were off tonguing the next King of Monaco, Lady Sophia and Cousin Arsehole were busy looking through your things. Unluckily for you, they found something.
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Charles sat in the driver’s seat of his Ferrari, half willing himself to man-up, and the other half begging himself to turn around. He couldn't though, not when he was this close to finally visiting his father’s resting place for the first time in months.
He got up and out of the car, your voice in his head telling him to get over himself, with that soft, perfect, smile on your lips.
He walked up to the grave, determined to speak to his father once again.
“I’ll take the crown,” he whispered, his eyes flooding with tears. “I’ll never measure up to you, but I will take it. For you and for mom.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
You stood in your room, wondering what the fuck one wears to a coronation.
Arthur stood in the doorway, smiling brightly. He frowned when he saw your dress.
“It’s this or pyjamas,” you dead-panned. He walked in, taking the dress out of your hands and sitting on your bed.
“How’s the story coming along?” he asked. “Nearly done?”
“Almost,” you huffed, laying beside him.
He sighed. “I’ll miss you when you go,” he admitted, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. You almost forgot how much he’d been through, his sunny demeanour always seemed to make you forget his troubles. “It was nice to have a friend.”
You turned to him. “I’ll always be your friend,” you smiled. “And I’ll be cheering you on in Haas, and in everything else you do. I think you’re brilliant Arthur, seriously.”
He chuckled. “Thank you. I hope everything goes well for you back in New York.”
“I hope so too,” you teased, wiping a tear off his cheek.
“I got you something,” he smiled cheekily, handing over a small box.
“Arthur!” you scolded. “We said no gifts!”
“There was no way I was following that,” he chuckled. “Open it!”
You slowly opened the box, inside there was a beautiful necklace with a beautiful blue topaz on the end. “Oh my god Arthur, this is beautiful,” you whispered.
“To remind you of the boat day” he grinned. “So you will never forget me.”
You smiled, your eyes cloudy with unshed tears. “I could never forget you, Arthur.”
Then in walked Jade, his girlfriend, with an array of gowns on a rack.
“Oh no,” you whispered.
“Oh yes!” Arthur cheered.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
You stood at the top of the steps, terrified of what anyone would say. Arthur had styled you (aka, Jade let him pick the dress) and while you thought you looked beautiful, you were slightly worried about what the nobility in the room would think. It had been fun though, an afternoon of being pampered and becoming friends with Jade was a lot more enjoyable than it was nerve-wracking. You slowly descended the steps, looking for Arthur, when Charles caught your eye. He looked beautiful, his hair perfectly styled, his suit perfect, his face perfect. He smiled up at you, excusing himself from his mother and brother to take your hand as you left the bottom step.
“You look beautiful,” he smiled, taking in your dress. IN all honesty, there wasn’t a word for how he thought you looked. Regularly, a look from you made his heart stop. This? A different level. He was enamoured. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even if he wanted to.
You felt your cheeks heat. “Thank you,” you smiled. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I will see you in there, alright? I have to-”
“Do what you need to Charles,” you chuckled. “I’m not running away at midnight.”
He smiled. “I’m glad.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
Despite the fact that it was a royal ball, it was quite entertaining. Different Duke’s and Duchess’s were dancing, letting loose, and getting pretty drunk, but you just sat with Arthur and Jade and laughed at them. The ballroom was magnificent, the tall ceilings and Christmas lights all around, and in the centre of the hall there was a 36 foot (yes, about the height of a telephone pole) Christmas tree, decorated perfectly. Even though you were miles and miles away from home, it was still nice to be celebrating with people you love.
As you were speaking to Jade, someone started speaking.
“Might I have the first dance, mon amour?” Charles asked, barely above a whisper as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
You turned to him, your face dropping. “Seriously?”
“Well, as long as you promise not to tread on my feet, we should be alright,” he chuckled, leading you to the dance floor. You joined on, doing a simple waltz (you thanked your father mentally for making you take ballroom classes as a child), and it was very sweet. It was nice to be so open about being close to each other, no longer shying away from each other's affections. You liked having Charles so close. He liked having you in his arms.
Win-win.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said as you waltzed around the hall. “I wouldn’t be accepting the crown if it wasn’t for you, so thank you for telling me to grow up.”
You chuckled. “I think you’re giving me too much credit there.”
He shrugged. “I do not think so,” he smiled. “You make me feel comfortable, you’re the most genuine person I have met since… well probably since birth.”
Again, that nauseating feeling in your stomach urged you to run away and hide from him, even though your heart (as mad as it sounds) longed to never let him go. “I have to tell you something.”
He nodded. “You can talk to me about anything.”
As he spoke, the music stopped, and it was time. He would be crowned King.
“Tell me after,” he whispered, as all eyes went to him. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
“I dispute this claim!” Lady Sophia’s voice shocked the room and you. Charles was so close, so close to taking his rightful seat as the King, and of course, someone had to make it difficult.
“On what grounds?” the Archbishop asked.
“The grounds that he is in fact, not the rightful heir,” she smirked, smug as ever. “Prince Charles, and his brother Arthur, were in fact adopted by the late King Hervé and our Queen Pascale, therefore are not of the blood of the Royal family, as per this document.”
The certificate was taken from her, and shown to the Archbishop. “Where did you obtain this document?”
“I obtained it by uncovering a scheme by an American journalist, Ms. Martha Whelan, or should we call you Y/n Y/l/n?”
All eyes went to you as the room was full of gasps.
You knew you should've turned tail and ran, you knew you shouldn’t have stayed on when Arthur found out, and you knew you shouldn’t have fallen in love with the Prince of fucking Monaco. You were the dumbest person you’d ever met.
You didn’t dare look at Charles, knowing what his expression would be. You just looked down.
“Is that true, you are a journalist?” the Archbishop questioned.
You spoke confidently, though the regret was evident in your voice. “I am.”
The room was in upheaval. Everyone was angry, everyone was confused, and everyone needed an answer.
“And your Majesty, this certificate?”
The room went silent as Pascale began to speak. “It is legitimate.”
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
You were running out as quickly as humanly possible, trailing just after Charles.
“Charles, please, just let me explain-!”
“Explain what?” he spat, turning to you.
“I’m sorry. I never meant for anything like this to happen, and I understand that you never want to see me again. I just had to tell you I’m sorry, and the only reason I kept it up was for you and Arthur.”
“And you couldn’t have told me?!”
“Arthur made me promise I wouldn’t tell you,” you sniffled.
His face dropped. “He knew?”
You nodded, wiping away your tears. This wasn’t for you to be upset about. This was your mistake, and you couldn't fix it.
“Why wouldn’t he let you tell me? Did he know he was adopted?”
You shook your head. “He doesn’t know. And I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me tell you. I just… he asked me not to.”
He stared at you for a moment, and it wasn’t those same, shining eyes that made your heart leap. It was the cold, dead, reserved eyes that made you want to run away and never come back, that stared back at you. “I’m glad you have your story. I suggest you stay out of our lives from now on.”
And with that he walked on.
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
New York was colder than you remembered. You had decided to just go straight to your apartment, turn off your phone, and binge watch shitty reality tv shows until you could show your face in public again without wanting to sob every time you saw something that remotely reminded you of Charles and Monaco.
But something nagged at you. The acorn, the poem, ‘a love far greater than blood’. You didn’t understand it. So you spent about 12 hours working on deconstructing it, and you thought of something. Maybe it was your delusions after not sleeping for a day (or two), but maybe the acorn ornament could prove something, so you sent your findings over to Arthur, hoping they would make sense, and turned your phone back off, blocking all of their numbers and falling into a very needed sleep.
౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊౨ৎ˚₊
The next few weeks were full of clearing out your office (you quit), looking for a new job, and starting off as an actual journalist, not just cleaning up some sleaze work. It was nice, peaceful. Writing articles about things that mattered to you, things that would help people, things that weren’t a certain King of Monaco.
Life was good. Getting over your heartbreak was hard, but you were starting to believe that you might actually be alright.
You sat in your dad’s diner, ready to ring in the New Year, when there was a snowball thrown on the glass, and when you looked outside, there he was.
Quickly, you ran outside. “What are you doing here?” you questioned.
He shrugged, “I never got to say goodbye, or thank you.”
“Please don’t thank me, I honestly should be apologising again and again for what I did, I am so sor-”
“You opened a door that should’ve been opened years ago. Arthur showed me what you’d done. Half because I couldn’t believe he could do it on his own, and half because… I thought it was going to be a message from you. You blocked me…”
“I didn’t want to risk bothering you anymore,” you sighed.
“You’d never bother me,” he smiled, pausing for a moment. “Arthur misses you. So do I.”
“I miss you both too,” you smiled. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Y’know, a palace is a lonely place for a king, when he has no queen,” he admitted.
“It’s a good thing you’re an eligible bachelor then,” you chuckled. “Good night Charles, thank you for coming to see me-”
“I love you,” he confessed. “You made me a better man- you make me a better man. I don’t even want to spend time without you, do you understand that?” he asked, getting down on one knee and revealing an engagement ring.
You frowned, your eyes tearing up. “Charles, I am not nobility-”
“I don’t care,” he smiled.
“My entire life is in New York-”
“We can come back as much as you want.”
“What will the people think?” you sniffled, and he stood up, wrapping his arms around you.
“They’ll think you're a kind, caring, beautiful woman with a very intelligent mind, and brilliant ideas, who is loved very much by their King,” he whispered, then pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.
“We barely know each other Charles-”
“And yet I’ve never been more certain in my life. And I’m known to be indecisive-”
He stopped talking because you’d started kissing him.
Jesus Christ, you were going to be the Queen of Monaco, what a story that was.
‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡
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