GENRE: fluff, undercover/spy au, fake marriage au
WARNINGS: none.
NOTES: itsalwaysgay  snugglyducklingbrews  _mikasasbabymama_ requested a part 2 ❤️💗💓 love u. this is going to be my first series bc there's definitely going to be more!!!!! pls hype up the next part here <33

- b.

__________

You had to admit, that seeing Charles in a Hawaiian shirt was something you never really expected - and he looked defiantly british and out of place in it (which you couldn't help but remind him thoroughly of despite how much he rolled his eyes). You were wearing a tennis dress, pulling your hair up so that you could put on the pink visor to match. Today was the day you met your targets, as those in charge of you had managed to get you into the same sports lessons as Sharipov's wife. You'd never been good at the game, but you supposed now would be a better time than ever to learn. You were technically on paid vacation, so you'd take what you could get when you weren't actively on the job.

"Here, I brought this from home," He remarked, and you didn't expect to turn around and see him holding a velvet jewelry box out toward you, "It'll go just perfectly with your dress," He remarked as if he wasn't passing you a family heirloom out of nowhere.

"Oh, Charles," You breathed out, not really sure if you wanted to see what was inside it at all. Just because you were pretending to be married, did not mean that he had to give you anything special - but his eyes were soft and adamant, and you could tell by the way he held it out that he wasn't going to accept no for an answer.

You're right, I'm not, he told you telepathically.

"You can just give me-" You paused as you opened it up, seeing what inside. A tennis bracelet, thin and delicate, encrusted in beautiful white diamond; it must have cost a fortune, and you'd never owned anything quite like it in your life, "This is . . ."

"Too much?" He asked with an amused tone, and when you finally looked back up at him, his lips were tilted into a tender smile, "I know. Take it."

Your fingers shook slightly as you lifted the item from its place, admiring it as it twinkled in the overhead lights. Charles gaze couldn't seem to leave you, adoring as he offered to help you put it on. As he managed to fix the clasp around your wrist, he said, "It was my mother's . . . I know she would've loved you."

You flushed at his words. He'd always been closer to his mother than his father; but even she was distant when he was a child - too rich, and too afraid of her son for her own good. He often remarked off-handedly about her, and you could tell that he missed her despite his difficult past. So you were surprised he'd give you something so special, particularly when it was hers. And the fact that Charles was acting like you were really together - telling you his mom would approve of you; you couldn't shake the butterflies from your stomach as you met his eyes.

"It's beautiful . . . thank you," You murmured gratefully, trying to hide how flustered you were, while still portraying to him how much it meant to you. He seemed to understand, because he gave you a gentle smile, tugging at your hand so that you'd finally get going before you were late. Charles wanted to tell you that you were beautiful, but held his tongue.

"It's not problem, my dear. So . . . shall we go?"

__________

You weren't quite sure what you were expecting when you finally met the politician and his wife; but they were friendlier than you imagined. You'd never really been in the espionage industry, but you assumed it would usually be way more difficult than how you were fairing. Charles was sat with the man, Stefan, under the shade of a large okay tree which over-looked the courts. They were indulging in tea, the iron table adorned with morning snacks, complimentary of the resort.

You didn't think they'd reveal anything confidential off the bat, but they seemed open enough for you to wedge your way into their camp.

The wife, Ira, was happy to have another woman around, immediately cracking up jokes with you, and talking loudly to both you, and the coach you had assigned. You supposed that politics was a man's world, and it probably got quite boring to listen to self-appointed men talk over her all the time.

"So, (Y/n)," She pronounced your name differently that you'd usually heard it, but it sounded nice nonetheless. She was quite pretty, with dark hair, a deep voice, and crows feet near her green eyes, presumedly from smiling. The couple was slightly older than you, both greying at the roots, but certainly not elderly. Ira was definitely keeping up with you. "What are you and your husband doing here?" She queried as the staff member set up the ball machine.

You'd read a lot about her in files, and it seemed to be transferring to real life quite obviously. They'd met when they were young, and both of them were quite wealthy. She was considered more attractive than him (he had been crippled when he was a child, and permanently used a crutch to support his left leg), and people often thought it was a move by her to keep an inflow of money. You couldn't tell just yet, but they hadn't yet divorced after twenty-something years, so you assumed they did at least like each other. From your little interaction, they seemed quite happy.

"We're celebrating our anniversary," You told her, "It's been ten years already! I can't believe it." You really did like the sound of it. It felt partially natural, thinking about you being with Charles. You'd been close for that long anyways; ever since you met at college so long ago. You were kids then, and it all felt really simple. You could express your love for each other however you wanted, and were all over each other in the most borderline un-platonic ways. But then the expectations from everyone around you trickled in, and you guys became the 'best friends that are way too close'. That's how it had been ever since then. There had been moments, where you could've sworn both of you were about to cross the line - but it neither of you ever did. There were a lot of other things to worry about in between. Like the FBI, and Erik, and the X-Men, and inevitably; that day in Cuba on the beach.

You belatedly thought to yourself that this was your first time near the coast since then, and for some reason, the smell of the sea didn't scare you like you expected it to. For some reason, being with Charles, it just couldn't.

"Young lovers!" Ira remarked with an in impressed expression, "Here hold this," She passed you her racquet, and on instinct, you took it, tilting your head in curiosity as to what she would be doing.

She began to re-tie her hair, loose strands fluttering in her face because of the ocean breeze, "Sorry, the wind is a bitch!" She murmured, and you couldn't help but laugh at her accented words. Ira offered you a smile in return, "Well, anyways, me and Stefan were just like you. We got married so young."

"Oh, and what's your secret to making it last?" You asked curiously.

She adjusted her pony tail once last time, her hands then going down to rest on her hips as she thought about your question, "Hm, It's probably patience, most of all," She admitted, humour in her tone as she took her equipment back from you, with a 'thanks', "Men are hard work, but if you both love each other, it can be very fulfilling."

You raised your eyebrows, "That's very wise," You commented, and she couldn't help but laugh deeply, beaming at you as she put a hand on your shoulder.

"There's more where that came from! And to think, we're only just starting our lesson."

___________

When you got back to your room, Charles let out a sigh, knowing that at least your first encounter with them was done, and was mildly successful, at that.

"So, how was it?" You asked him absently, already kneeling against an ottoman to get your sneakers off, not seeming to notice the way he gazed at you, your skirt drifting up your legs because of your position, threatening to show Charles more than the thought he could handle.

He snapped his eyes away, clearing his throat as he came back to reality, wheeling slightly toward the bedroom, "Besides him hitting on you?" Charles asked rhetorically, and you didn't miss the slight bitterness to his words.

You couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes, besides that!" You laughed, making your way toward him, so that you could get ready to have shower. He watched you enter the en-suite bathroom with an amused smile, hearing you call, "Why? Are you jealous, Professor?"

He couldn't help but flush slightly, shaking his head as you let the question sit for a second. Then, you appeared in the doorway, head tilted, curiosity in your eyes as you looked at him.

God, you were beautiful.

And it wasn't difficult for other guys to notice that, too. For the past decade of knowing each other he'd had to fend off all kinds of guys that had the worst intentions for you. For a while, he struggled with having to hear them think those things about you. He hated seeing your face when he told you what he'd saw a guy say, or think - but you were always grateful. It saved you from the really bad ones. Charles had also had to deal with the boyfriends, and exes you'd made along the way - comforting you when each boy broke your heart, and you'd cry to him about how you felt worthless, and terrible, and he wanted to scream what he really thought; but he was always too much of a coward. He was in love with you. Deeply. He thought you were beautiful, and kind, and the most intelligent person he'd ever met. He cherished you, and was grateful for every second you stayed by his side.

And he knew you were fond for him, but he never peered any closer, in hopes that he wouldn't see something he didn't want to accept. He'd rather not know, and not approach it at all. He'd rather stay blissfully unaware with a tinge of hope that you'd love him back one day, too.

"Yes," He admitted, though he didn't expand much. He wanted to say that he was jealous of every single one.

It was your turn to flush slightly, your cheeks turning pink as you stood in front of him, eyelashes fluttering as you looked away from him in embarrassment. "Well, I suppose that'd make you a pretty good husband of ten years, then," You concurred with a small smile, meeting his gaze, which only held a quiet fondness for you.

__________

When you were finally finished, you came out of the bathroom in one of the satin lounging robes you'd bought for the trip. Your hair was still slightly wet as lay down on the bed, leaning up against your elbow with your body stretched out across the comforter, calling room service.

Charles watched you from where he'd moved to, just by the patio door, which he'd pulled open in order to listen to the waves crash. He had been watching the ocean, but it didn't compare to you; his eyes traveling each curve of your body. The way you'd tied the gown, and you lay, made it so that your one leg was exposed up to the thigh, and Charles had to reign himself in; because he was moments away from just outright telling you how much he adored and admired you.

"Yes, hi!" You said to the person over the phone, "Can I get a bottle of bubbly, and two glasses, please?" You were now gazing up at Charles through your eyelashes, eyes twinkling gently as he bit back a groan of frustration at how you were looking at him. There was a slight mischief to your tone, and he couldn't help but crack a smile as you finished up your conversation with the hotel staff.

Your shoulders were exposed, the satin falling slightly to show your collarbones, and your chest partially. In all the time Charles had known you, he'd seen you just like that a number of times. It was normal between two, close friends after all. Relaxed, unintentionally gorgeous, and revealing - but every time, you knocked the air out his lungs like it was the first time he was seeing you.

"Ready to celebrate, my love?" You asked, leaning up on your hands after you'd put the device on it's receiver. Your tone was so casual and convincing, that he couldn't help but feel warm. He missed the days in college where he could just let his eyes wonder, and pull you in a bit too close, and kiss your face without repercussion. When you let terms of endearment slip more often, and allowed yourself to be flattered by him.

"Always."