#AGENT STONE SAVE ME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 1 year

Text

see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways.

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety.

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.”

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water.

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you.

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening.

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family?

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh.

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!”

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family.

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it.

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills.

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone.

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place.

You slide him five euros over breakfast.

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards.

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you.

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses.

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes.

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room.

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.”

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face.

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles.

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating.

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings.

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh.

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes.

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him.

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply.

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off.

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts.

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader

3K notes · View notes

sleepyconfusedpotato · 7 months

Note

I don't know if you ever received this ask or had this idea before but here goes nothing Since Ghost already met Jade's family, what if she meets his? ....angst material. Sorry not sorry.

Oh my God... Anon... You sparked something in me, and I cannot go to sleep now without posting this. Thank you so much for the idea.

(I think I'm gonna make a full on comic out of this, and I will make an art at some point for this fic, but let's use this lovely GIF of Ghost first)

She's The One

Jade meets Ghost's family.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC) Word Count : ~ 1.8k words Warning : Medium to heavy angst and mentions of death, but ends with a full on fluff because you know me mate I want Ghost to be happy ok.

Title and story inspired by the song 'She's The One' by Robbie Williams

"...How's your family, Simon?"

Jade asked Ghost. They had been having a small outing, which included watching the cinema together and going around the streetside shops to find new wardrobes for Ghost to wear. He initially thought that it was unnecessary, but as Jade insisted, he went anyway – as long as he could spend his off-duty time with her.

He'd met her parents, and though he was apprehensive about it at first, they turned out to be pleasant and strong people. It was such an unfamiliar feeling for him, to have a family to come home to, a supportive family and kind and can take care of their own. He's foreign to that concept.

Ghost just stayed silent to her question, his expression which was usually unreadable turned sorrowful, his eyes gazing down at the pavements they walked. She thought she should change the subject before Ghost muttered,

"You want to see them now?"

Jade opened her eyes wide in surprise, not expecting him to say anything about meeting his family this fast, and the way he said 'now'...

The woman knew Ghost wouldn't ask her that question if he was adamant as he was a straightforward person. And so, she answered, "Of course, if you don't mind it." He then proceeded to enter his car that was parked not far from where they just watched a movie in a cinema, not forgetting to open the passenger door for Jade beforehand.

They drove for a full 30 minutes of silence, save for the sound soft songs on the radio. As Ghost drove, Jade looked out the window and understood that they were going to a familiar place that she had passed by a few times in her life. He drove to the nearest available parking area, parking his car flawlessly before stopping the car engine, leaving the both of them in complete silence.

Jade felt the atmosphere around him grow heavy, his hands still on the steering wheel as if he was still pondering whether or not he wanted to get out of the car. He let out a soft sigh, took his keys and got out of the car. Jade got out of her own and looked at the surrounding area.

Cemetery.

The sun had disappeared behind the heavy grey clouds that constantly covered the England skies. Tiny drops of water had touched her cheek, in such a way it reflected Ghost's inner thoughts right now.

The man looked at her, "Over here." He walked with Jade following right behind him. After about 10 minutes of walking and treading through the tall grasses, Ghost stopped in front of a group of gravestones, four of them, which were placed more tightly together than the other. The grasses were tidily short, a sign that the keepers attended to these graves properly.

Jade then looked down, reading the engravings on the stones, and her heart shattered to pieces.

"Susan Riley, November 17th, 1965 - December 24th, 2017"

"Thomas Riley, July 21st, 1990 - December 24th, 2017"

"Elizabeth Riley, May 8th, 1991 - December 24th, 2017"

"Joseph Riley, March 19th, 2013 - December 24th, 2017"

It was his mother's birthday.

She looked up to find Ghost's eyes gazing down at the names as well, noticing that the ground he was standing on was right at the front of his mother's grave. No tears in sight, only sadness, and as an MI6 agent of two decades, she could deduce an expression of regret. Jade didn't need to wonder why, as the dates of their deaths were all the same - the reason he hid his identity, lived as no one, avoided any relationship with anyone, and the reason why he was adamant about meeting her parents – His past came to haunt, and it's target was not him.

Jade couldn't say anything. What could she say? That she's sorry this happened? She knew Ghost hated that phrase the most, of someone pitying him, that they wished things could be different. But what use is it to wish? It happened. His entire family died because something happened during one of his missions, and his family paid the price for it.

As if on cue, she heard a small sniff from him the same second the raindrops started to grow more frequent, falling harder, creating white noises and wet spots on their clothes. Being the Londoner she was, knowing that sunny days were never really sunny, Jade fished out her floral purple umbrella, holding it above Ghost's head beside her, making sure to cover his broad shoulders fully as her left shoulder grew wet.

She saw his face, and it was enough reason to stay silent and let him grieve. She didn't know if this was the first time he'd visited their graves after years or if he always come here at some time every year, but no matter which one the answer was, if she could see one thing, it was that his tears never seemed to run out after more than a decade.

Jade let him cry, the sound of his sobs completely drowned by the white noises of the heavy rain.

She knew that he wasn't much for any physical touch, nonetheless, she lifted her other hand softly and rubbed at his back, going up and down in an attempt to soothe his sorrow. And after a minute of him not flinching away from her touch, Jade mustered up her will to slowly encircle her arm around his own on his side, their sides touching as she rubbed his bicep, and going even further as she leaned her head to touch his shoulder.

Ghost's shoulder still shook for a few minutes as he cried his heart out, Jade kept doing what she did as he let his sorrow out.

Soon after, another surprise hit her when she heard and saw that the rain started to slow down, albeit still going down on both of them. Her other arm started to grow sore after moments of holding the umbrella high to accommodate his height, yet what alleviated the pain was the fact that she felt a small weight on her head, realizing that Ghost had eased his cries, now only soft sniffs, and that he leaned his head on top of hers as well.

He still stayed silent, not a word spoken ever since they arrived, but she knew that this was a good sign that he knew that she would be there for him, even when he was vulnerable.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Riley."

Jade muttered softly, the man beside her still looking down on his mother's grave even though he was slightly dazed at her words.

"This is our first meeting, but I can tell that you were a kind person, and an even more amazing mother and grandmother."

He then glanced at Jade as she continued, "Your son is a very skilled and intelligent man, traits which I assume he got from you. He's confident, a great leader-- oh! And he's handsome as well, so that's a plus."

That prompted a scoff out of his mouth. Nevertheless, she went on. "He's not much of a social person. He's a little bit intense and stiff - We can work on that. He shot my hand once! I have the scar to prove it. His choices of words are sometimes foul, though, again, we could always work on that." Jade joked lightheartedly, seeing him softly smile above her.

"But if there's one thing about him that I love, is that he's a strong man with a warm heart, and I don't have to assume to know that he got it from you." Jade continued. "Your son is the strongest man I know, and I will stop at nothing to protect him and make him happy."

Ghost looked down at her, astounded at her words. "Thank you for bringing him into this world. Happy birthday, Mrs. Riley."

As she finished her message, Jade looked up with a soft smile, "I'll be sure to bring some flowers the next time we visit, and every year after that."

She thought he was going to say something, until the arm that was intertwined with hers moved, though nervously, gliding across her back and found its home on Jade's shoulder, before lightly pressing and pulling her towards him. Jade blushed, not only at the warmth of his body but also at the fact that he initiated the touch.

"Thank you, Lottie." He muttered in his deep voice, "So much."

"Anytime, Love."

After about 15 minutes of standing in front of the graves, the rain had stopped, and the sun showed up to light the rest of the day as the sky turned orange. Jade had stored the wet umbrella back in its container and hung it on her wrist before she walked back to the car per his request. Jade figured he wanted some alone time with his family, and so she obliged.

"How's she, Mum? She's a beautiful bird, isn't she?"

Ghost finally spoke, his hands tucked inside his pockets. He then glanced at his brother's grave, smirking. "What about you, Tommy? You think she's the one?" He asked no one, not expecting any answer anyway, yet he just wanted to let it out.

"I thought I'm gonna bite the dust on some fucking rathole somewhere, and that was what I wished at some point, but..." Ghost sighed, shifting his weight on his hip, "I kind of want to die an old man, after living my life to the fullest with her-- Fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this." Ghost chuckled at his own words, not expecting it to be this heartfelt. "I'm arse over tit for her. Yeah, you're gonna laugh at me for this Tommy, but at least I didn't laugh when you said the same thing about Beth."

"And Mum, knowing you, I think you'd like her. She's a bit like you, in a way." Ghost confessed, still eyeing her name on her gravestone, "She cares too much. In a good way, and I find it endearing." He suddenly recalled the memories he had with Jade, from the first moment they met to this moment, replaying them over and over and being surprised about how much she reminded him of his mother.

"I want to protect her with all my life. I love her, Mum."

And with that, a burden on his shoulders felt like no more. He'd never said those words to anyone, and he might be insane to be in love with someone considering how he'd lived his life, but he'd made a promise to protect her, and if he'd be a fool, then a fool he would become.

"Anyway, she's waiting back there, and I'm hungry. So I'm going to leave you now." Ghost then stood up straight, his hands still in his pockets. He glanced at every single one of the gravestones, before looking at his mother's.

"Happy birthday, Mum."

-----

(All of the Riley's birthdays are entirely made-up. Their date of death was also made up, but I remembered there were something with Christmas, so I'll just place December 24th to make my heart hurt more) ಥ_ಥ

Anyway, thank you for reading, and hope you love this! (❁´◡`❁)

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #sleepy answers #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #charlotte jade le jardin #call of duty oc #ghost x oc #ghost x jade #simon ghost riley fic #simon riley #call of duty fic #call of duty mw2 #angst #tw angst #tw death

432 notes · View notes

silly-kitty-101 · 2 months

Text

Agent stone save me agent stone agent stone save me

#agent stone #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanart #sonic fandom #fanart #artwork #hes so fine #one chance

170 notes · View notes

gingiesworld · 7 months

Text

Family Ties (1/?)

Natasha Romanoff x Werewolf Fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Torture. Angst.

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories

If anyone wants to be a part of the taglist, please drop me a message or comment. Have a boss day my awesome dudes.

18+ MINORS DNI

The Selene clan were well known among the other werewolf bloodlines. They were feared by most, and worshiped by more. Although, power can be an untrustworthy friend to have. Ricard Selene, one of the Elder's who had made a deal with a growing organization, thinking he would be protecting his clan. Only to be proven wrong one night.

As everyone had tried to save the young, running into the woods. Ricard made sure that Y/N was unable to follow her family. As much as she tried to bite and claw at him, he was stronger.

"This will be our new beginning little one." He told her with a smirk as he led her to one of the agents.

Y/N looked around in horror as a vast majority of her family were unfortunate, laying lifeless and scattered among the fields. Y/N tried to get away, but she was only a pup, she was unable to overpower them as they injected her with an unknown liquid, all she knew was that her entire body screamed as her blood felt like it was on fire.

"What was that?" Ricard questioned as the Agent smiled wickedly.

"Aconitine." He informed him as the two watched as Y/N writhed in pain.

"Wolfsbane." He stated as the agent nodded, signaling for another two to place her in a cage.

"This little one will help us create the ultimate weapon." He smirked as Y/N was loaded up into the van. Ricard followed them as he saw the bloodshed because of his actions. He knew at that moment, he would never be accepted back into the clan. He would be murdered brutally if he was found by any of his family.

Although he never realised that Y/N's father, Aaron was watching from the treeline. His youngest in his arms as he felt anger and pain as he watched his daughter get taken away like some rabid animal.

As the years went on, Y/N was experimented on, her blood drawn and studied. She was forced to train endless hours as she had a constant drip of aconitine running through her veins. When the night fell, she would be chained up and muzzled, as though the agents were afraid she would escape.

"Come on mut." An agent sneered as he slashed her arm, causing her to yelp out in pain. "Change." He ordered her. It had become a regular thing, the constant transformations would take its toll on her, especially with the constant injections and lack of nutrition. It was worse than death itself, although she woke everyday, hoping it would be her last. What she never knew was that one of her own family watched every day as she was tortured.

"So, you think this is another base like the Strucker base?" Tony questioned Steve as they all sat in the briefing room.

"Yes." Steve stated. "It is the second base that has been confirmed to take part in experimentation, but is even more heavily guarded than the Strucker base for some reason."

"Maybe it might be another infinity stone?" Thor questioned as Steve shook his head.

"We already found the mind stone in Loki's scepter." He pointed to Vision. "The space stone is off-world with the reality stone. The mind stone is with Dr Strange and the power stone is also off world and who knows where the soul stone is."

"So this base is kind of like Fort Knox." Tony stated. "We would be stupid to go there!"

"But we could be stopping something that could end the world." Natasha stated as everyone turned to her. "Maybe if we ask Fury for a team of agents to help take out the guards while we infiltrate the base, get whatever intel we can get our hands on and blow the place up."

"What if we find prisoners?" Wanda questioned as Tony huffed.

"Leave them behind and let them die." He told her.

"We can't do that!" Steve yelled as Tony scoffed.

"We don't need any more enhanced individuals running around here." Tony told them.

"You can't be serious." Steve scoffed. "They are still human, we can help them like we did with the twins." He gestured to Wanda who played with her fingers at the mention of her brother.

"You can't control their powers, Steve." Tony seethed.

"I don't need to control their powers, I just need to earn their trust and let them know that they are safe." Steve told him firmly.

"So it's settled, any prisoners we bring with us for Cho and Bruce to check out." Natasha spoke firmly, looking around the room and waiting for anyone to disagree, her eyes soon glaring holes in Tony's head.

"We leave at sundown." Steve told them before he left the room with an angry Tony on his tail. Natasha had requested backup for this mission, only getting a firm yes from Fury.

The start of the mission went as expected, many Hydra agents were ready for the attack on the base. The SHIELD agents helped in taking the enemy out and covering the Avengers as they infiltrated the base.

"I have the intel." Tony informed everyone as Nat and Steve had walked side by side, lines of cells were locked but most remained empty.

"We have a prisoner." Steve informed them as he opened the door as Nat entered the cell, her heart broke at the sight of the woman who had been strung up and muzzled.

"What's with the chains?" Nat questioned as Steve helped get her down.

"I wish I knew." Steve told her. "Get ready to catch her." Nat had done as she was told, holding her around her waist as she fell limp in her arms. She could feel her ribs very prominently as she was also extremely light. Steve had also removed the muzzle and picked her up in his arms. "We're on our way out. Bruce, we need you on standby." Steve spoke over comms as Nat covered him.

"Who do we have?" Bruce asked as soon as Steve placed the girl on the gurney.

"It's a female, but I can't quite tell how old. Must be in her 20s?" Steve told him as Bruce started to work on cleaning the wounds.

"We're 5 minutes from landing." Clint notified everyone as Bruce decided to have the girls help with making sure that the patient was secure for landing.

"We're going to need Wanda to look into her mind." Tony stated as they landed.

"No." Wanda shook her head as Steve gave Tony a disapproving look.

"We don't need to do that." Steve told him firmly. "When she is well and ready, then we can question her. Until then, she is off limits." Tony just scoffed as he headed towards his lab, leaving Bruce, Cho and Steve to head to the med bay.

"Do you think she has powers?" Wanda asked as the two entered the kitchen.

"I don't know but the way she was strapped up tells me that there may be a reason." Nat mumbled as she brewed the coffee. "I just don't know what." She turned to face Wanda. "She had a muzzle on, like the one from that vampire show you watch, the one with the two brothers and the doppelganger."

"The Vampire Diaries." Wanda stated excitedly making Nat chuckle. "Do you think she is a vampire?"

"Vampires don't exist." Nat told her with a smirk.

"You never know." Wanda shrugged. "We live in a world where I can move things with my mind, Steve and Bucky have super human strength. We have a God of Thunder who visits regularly, so really anything is possible."

"I doubt that vampires are real." Nat chuckled.

"What about Dracula?" Wanda questioned with a raised brow.

"He was a recluse." Nat told her. "He never showered because he was afraid of water. The reason he was claimed to be a vampire is because of the lack of vitamin D, so he lost the pigment in his skin and the light hurt his eyes. That's where all of the myths come from."

"But it could be." Wanda questioned again as Nat shrugged.

"Anything is possible I guess." She said as she handed Wanda a cup as she walked away with a smirk on her face, leaving an excited Wanda behind.

She made her way to the med bay, standing beside Steve as he looked through the window as Bruce and Cho worked on her.

"Any news?" Nat asked as he sighed.

"No, she is still unconscious, Bruce has taken a blood sample to do some blood work." He told her. "There are multiple scars on her body and her wounds are practically healed."

"She looks just a little older than Wanda." Nat stated as Steve looked at her. "The lines around the eyes." She told him as he nodded. "But why would Hydra have her? What does she have that they want?"

"There have been sightings of beasts running around some Hydra bases." Vision informed them.

"What kind of beasts?" Steve asked as he took the tablet from the synthezoid.

"They seem to be of the canine family." He informed them. "But they also seem to be looking for someone."

"Her." Nat stated as the two looked at her. "The last base they had infiltrated was only 300 miles away from the base we had just been to."

"So do you think she could be one of those beasts?" Steve questioned as she shrugged.

"Let's just see if she wakes up, we can ask her when she is better." She told the two.

"But what if she is a danger to us all?" Vision questioned as Nat shook her head.

"She won't be if we don't string her up like a fucking animal." She growled before Vision left the room.

"So you think we are all safe?" Steve asked her as she nodded.

"Yes." Nat nodded. "She has been a prisoner for who knows how long. If we treat her as one, then yes, she will likely turn. But if we treat her as an innocent, a casualty of war, we may earn her trust."

"I hope you're right about this Natasha." Steve told her before he left, Nat remained watching as the doctor's worked on her. It was a while until she was moved into another room before Bruce came out.

"How is she?" Nat asked him as he sighed.

"She is ok." He told her. "There was a lot of scar tissue and multiple lacerations, but nothing too major."

"Then why is she still out?" Nat questioned as he shrugged.

"I don't know. We did multiple scans and nothing." He told her. "I have her blood work to go over and I will tell you as soon as I have the results."

"Thanks Bruce." She smiled at him as he nodded before heading to his lab. Nat entered the room where she lay sleeping, Nat decided to sit in a chair and wait however long she needed to until Y/N woke up. Looking through the folder she had took from the synthezoid as the steady sound of Y/N's breathing filled the room.

#natasha romanoff au #natasha marvel #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #scarlett johansson x reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

350 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 10 months

Note

The way the little cakes in Arlecchino's masterpost look like wedding cakes 😭

As morbid as it sounds... this gives me an idea for an Arlecchino drabble/fic. Imagine Arlecchino proposes to her lover, but before they could have their wedding, their beloved dies/is killed 😭

synopsis: Arlecchino did not initially seek happiness, but now that she's had a taste of it, it hurts for it to be ripped away.

includes: arlecchino w/ gn! reader

notes: Anon...? Who hurt you? I didn't even think of the wedding cakes thing but then your angst? Enjoy this then </3.

Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger. The operator of the House of Hearth. The one who has a talent for making people... disappear.

However, despite all of the facts above, to say the Knave was smitten with her lover was an understatement. Yes, even someone like her had a partner, which bewildered anyone who even knew her name.

Most people were not aware of your existence, save for the people that worked at her estate, who were obviously sworn to secrecy. And then there were the Fatui agents stationed at the orphanage who saw you every now and then. Initially, they were confused, but seeing your interactions with their commander, they quickly connected the dots, especially when Arlecchino sent them that look. Working under the Knave generally meant you had to be tight-lipped anyway.

But engagement and marriage can hardly ever be a quiet affair. Word was bound to get out, and it did. After all, one of the Cryo Archon's Harbingers getting married was practically international news. Especially Arlecchino, who never seemed to have a trace of emotion on her face. But with enough control, the word of her union was contained to the Fatui and other high-ranked nobles. Even the Tsaritsa herself was said to be attending the wedding.

It had grown into a bigger event than Arlecchino had planned for, but when she saw how happy you were, she couldn't bring herself to complain. She could endure some idiots for a day if it were for you. She would do a lot of things for you, actually. Never would she have thought of getting married, much less genuinely falling in love. Always, she was out to benefit herself and didn't care for the aftermath of her actions. But after she met you, she knew couldn't ever do that to you. And now, here she was today.

Admittedly, at first, Arlecchino was unsure of how to propose to you. She had bought the ring already, one with a brilliant red stone, a gorgeous thing that would look even better on your finger. (She measured your ring size while you were sleeping.) But now she was left with the problem of how she was to go about doing this. What would you like the best? Should she take you somewhere fancy? Or prepare some words for you? She did not know. She never breached the topic of marriage with you so she had nothing to go off of. As the days passed by, she could only play with the ring with her fingers as she stared at it contemplatively.

Although Arlecchino remained stone-faced during work, Columbina had noticed her friend's dilemma, which at first had proved to be amusing for the Third Harbinger, but even she had grown to feel pity.

"Arlecchino~♫ That's quite a long face you're wearing, hmm?"

"...Oh. It is you, Columbina. Is there something you require?"

"Hehe, it seems to me that you are the one that needs help instead, isn't that so?" At Columbina's cheekiness, she knew what her friend was referring to.

"I am just... uncertain of how to proceed," she confessed, and Columbina hummed in agreement.

"I say you just be honest," Columbina said simply. "You're not a very talkative person, are you? Perhaps this one time you should use your words to describe how you truly feel. Don't rehearse or plan it. It will come to you naturally. I think [Name] would enjoy that more than anything else."

Arlecchino had thought about what she said. Would you enjoy something like that? She was slightly frustrated at how unskilled she was in matters of the heart. But the more she pondered, the more impatient she grew. She wanted you to be hers now.

And so, one morning, you woke up to your cheek being pressed against something soft. It was probably just a pillow, you thought in your sleepy haze. Until you realized this pillow was stroking your hair repeatedly. When you peeked up, you were astonished to see your lover still in bed by now. Normally, she was up early in the morning and returned late at night, so morning cuddles while you were awake were far in between. The rare occurrence had made all the sleepiness in you dissipate as you shuffled in Arlecchino's arms, drawing her attention.

"A-Arlie? Why are you still in bed? Normally you're gone way earlier!" She merely shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal.

"Partners must make time for each other, no?" She didn't elaborate but she didn't need to, you already knew what she was trying to say and you were overjoyed by this simple gesture. Her warmth and presence had suddenly made the sleepiness seep back into your body, but now that you finally had Arlecchino to yourself again, it felt like a waste to spend that time sleeping! You should spend this time talking to her! Although it was mostly you doing all the talking while she bore her eyes into you (an act of unspoken love.)

Arlecchino quickly noticed you fighting your drooping eyelids. "Sleep," she commanded. "I will be back earlier today as well." With that, she placed a kiss on your forehead, and though you were even more surprised at her early return, you drifted back to the land of dreams.

When you awoke, she was gone, but that was okay. Because soon into the evening you were somehow having dinner with your beloved. It was probably the longest dinner you ever had, as you couldn’t help but babble and bask in the presence of Arlecchino as she nodded and hummed, sometimes putting in a few words or even sentences of her own when you asked her how her days have been lately, and if everything was okay since this was kind of unusual, but in no way were you complaining! But she graced you with a rare small smile and instead continued to feed you dinner and occasionally wipe your mouth with a napkin. When she easily carried you bridal style to your shared bedroom, all the servants kept their eyes on the ground.

After the two of you took a bath together, you knew for sure something was up. And you weren’t sure what was happening. Was she just in a good mood? Or did she have something to tell you? You didn’t realize you were pacing back and forth in your room until Arlecchino broke into your thoughts.

“Are you alright?” To others, her face would look the same but you could see the concern laced within her features.

“I am fine… but are you okay? I mean, I’m incredibly happy about today, but you seem… distracted,” you admitted. You knew from the flicker in her eyes you were right. She had become more vulnerable with her emotions around you.

“I have something to tell you, [Name].” With that, she moved closer to you until your bodies were practically touching. “It’s something very important…” she murmured, a lean and strong arm coming to rest on your back while the other cupped your cheek.

“I have thought long and hard about how to say this, but nothing I think of seems like it’ll be up to the standards you deserve. But nevertheless, I hope you can accept my words.” You were touched by her sincere vulnerability. You leaned in to press your forehead against hers and Arlecchino’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You don’t need to worry about being graceful or perfect around me, you know. I’ll take anything you have to say, love.” Your lover did not respond but you know she deeply appreciated your answer. She stepped back and instead intertwined her fingers with your own.

“I am not adept with words or feelings, or romance or emotions. I saw no need to be acquainted with those things, having believed they served no beneficial purpose. But when I look at you, I feel the urge to make sure you know the extent of my love, whether I have to whisper it into your ear or show you. Not once have I thought someone was truly beautiful until I met you. Your eyes, smile, laugh… they make my days less tiring and more bright, something that I have never experienced before. So, what I am saying… no matter what happens in the future… I want you to forever be by my side,” she finished, getting down on one knee and looking straight into your eyes. As she popped open the ring box, she asked, “[Name], will you marry me?”

After a few seconds of silence, tears sprung to your eyes as you nearly tackled her in a hug. Through your weeping, you happily accepted and cried out her real name, as she slid the ring onto your finger. Her soon-to-be spouse.

You were engaged to Arlecchino… wow.

Now, Arlecchino preferred to leave the details of the wedding planning to you. It wasn't that she was uninterested, no, of course not, but rather she was more content seeing how excited you were over it. It was the dream of many people to plan their most important day, down to the placement of each decoration and how this color matches with that and so on. Plus, although she loathed to admit it, her duties as a Harbinger left her little time.

Though when she managed to get off early, she made sure to listen to every word you spoke about how the preparations were going, adding in little 'hmms' and 'that does sound lovely' here and there as she protectively cuddled you to her chest. The theme, flowers, colors, venue, outfits, music… you were putting thought into many things. She had to admit that though she was more focused on the act of marrying you rather than the party aspect, the way you spoke about it seemed like it may be more than enjoyable for her. Hopefully, because she did not plan on getting married ever again.

Speaking of preparations, it seemed that you had a request for her by the way your eyes shyly flickered from her face to elsewhere. Arlecchino held your chin and inquired what you needed. Her betrothed need not be shy about anything. Your face grew warm as you whispered two words embarrassingly.

“Cake testing.”

“Cake… testing?” She repeated your words slowly. You nodded your head.

“It’s basically where the couple samples a bunch of cakes together. And they decide which one they want. You know, for the wedding. So, I was thinking maybe we could go together… just for a bit! I know you’re busy and all…” Your face grew hotter the more she stared at you. Archons, that was embarrassing.

To be honest, Arlecchino wasn’t very informed about wedding rituals or customs, but by the look on your face, she could see that this was very important to you. And so she promised to find some time off. (But… cake testing, huh? Out of all things, you asked her to share sweets with her? You were so cute.)

It took a while, but eventually, you found your arm intertwined with Arlecchino’s one, situated with tables of cakes and different desserts to sample from. Of course, no expense was spared. Only the best was to be offered to the Fourth Harbinger and her soon-to-be spouse.

Arlecchino did not have much of a sweet tooth, but she was all too happy to watch you kick your feet at the delicious flavor of the cakes. To obediently open her mouth as you fed her some yourself. To listen to you ramble on about how you liked this one but that one was also too good, ah, how hard life decisions were! (The scene looked quite eerie to the staff, and they weren’t sure whether they were dreaming or having a nightmare, for this surely could not be real life. Not the Knave, the ice-cold snappy and sarcastic Harbinger who brought only fear and anxiety into the room.)

After many conversations and cake-consuming, you arrived at one final cake - pure white with a blood-red cherry on top. It looked mouth-watering, and you were all too happy to bring the fork to your mouth. Arlecchino had her fill of sweets for the day and was content to hold you to her chest as you ate. She liked seeing you happy.

A cough resonated through the room. Arlecchino stiffened and looked down at you worriedly. “That’s enough sugar for now, don’t you think? You won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she received no verbal response. Only this time it was not just a cough. It was coughs and hacks and wheezes. Immediately she was on guard and quickly flipped your body around as the plate clattered to the floor. You were clutching your throat and practically fell into her, weakness overtaking your body. Never had so much surprise shown on Arlecchino’s face.

Quickly, she yelled for the servants, something no one had ever seen her do, but she did not care. You tried to force out her real name as you gripped onto the cuff of her shirt with everything you had left. Her eyes skittered to what you were eating and instantly made a connection. Without hesitance, she reached for another cherry and put it in her mouth and that’s when she knew.

Poison. Someone poisoned you. As a highly trained Harbinger, she was resistant to many types of poison, but you… you were just a… normal person. Who would- who could not… She could only look on helplessly as the life in your eyes dissipated and you failed to respond to her calls. Never did Arlecchino believe she could be so powerless. Not until now.

At this point, many Fatui and staff had crowded into the room as well. But it was too late. Many stared not only in horror at your stillness, but also the sheer anger and bloodlust radiating off of the Knave.

The feeling was one unfamiliar to Arlecchino. Never had she lost someone that made her feel like her heart, soul, and body had been burned and withered to ashes. Because you were the first person she loved. You were the one who gave her a taste of what happiness was like. But now you had also given her the taste of genuine loss.

As she cradled your lifeless body, she made another promise to you and herself, one that she would keep this time:

You wouldn’t be the only person dying today.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino angst #arlecchino fluff #arlecchino genshin #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #also hope u dont mind i changed up the ask u originally sent bc of the most likely fake leaks and whatnot-#now that i read this i kind of just rambled im sorry #i think i put too much fluff but i just be writing..

509 notes · View notes

pigeonpeach · 4 months

Text

I’ll take whats yours and make it mine~

Aka Yelan vs Pantalone

Cw: forced marriage, basically legal kidnapping, then illegal kidnapping, Yelan saves you dw, Wlw, reader is called ‘bride’, mild misogynistic themes,

-also fun fact: chinese wedding dresses are red with red veils and not white because white is the color of death in china.

To your surprise you had been arranged to marry a harbinger? It was quite a jarring experience and upsetting. You would be leaving behind everything to go to Snezhnaya, a completely different culture and completely different environment. You were devastated to say the least. You would never bee seeing your homeland again according to your father who seemed far too okay with this all. Apparently the Regator caught sight of you and decided he needed you for himself. You werent happy. You considered running away but you would be running from the Fatui. You couldn’t help but cry just thinking of the life you lead. Besides.. you were so close to finishing your degree in business. You had wanted to join the Tianquan someday. You had so much potential all to be thrown out because some man thought you were beautiful.

“Dearie, you’d never have to work a day in your life as his wife.” Your mother tried to comfort you but also persuade you to just go along with it.

“You don’t get it. I just got a letter from my friend Keqing who said Lady Ningguang would be interested in offering me a PAID internship! And dad just sold me to some bloodthristy harbinger!” You whined. You were going to miss Liyue, your friends, your dreams. Everything was over.

“Well.. to be fair we don’t really have a choice here… Pantalone is a force to be reckoned with and… we just wouldn’t be able to stand against him. My dear its better you go as his wife than as his prisoner. At least as his wife you would get some respect and agency. Now wipe your tears. We have to start preparing for your… depature.”

Today was the worst. Dawned in red with a thick veil over your face, stuffed into a carriage. Did you really have to travel in your wedding dress? Its such a long journey too.. its incredibly uncomfortable sitting for hours in such a tight garment. Worst off all your parents weren’t allowed to go, you tried not to cry in the carriage. Fatui were all around the outside, soldiers with stones for hearts it seemed as they seemed annoyed when you showed any semblance of struggle. You weren’t looking forward to being married into the Fatui whatsoever.

Then the carriage stopped. You paused. Was it time to camp already? You looked through the see through curtains, its evening. But they usually wouldn’t stop until they came across some inn or city? Your answer came in the form of gunshots ringing out, the carriage shook as the horses became spooked and rode off dragging you in the carriage with no rider it seemed. You held to the walls as you could hear the fight from afar. Who was fighting them? What was happening?

“Help! Someone? Whats going on?!” You cried out. But no one answered. The ride was bumpy, you couldnt really even know what was happening. Was it a ambush? Who would ambush you?

The carriage suddenly stopped vaulting your forward. You groaned as you made contact with the wooden wall infront of you. You could hear the fight continue as it seemed the Fatuus were losing… who could be so powerful? You noticed the carriage door was still unlocked. Now unguarded you could just… poke your head out maybe?

You did so, slightly to look out, you saw the horses were gone actually, the leashes holding them had been severed. You briefly hoped they were fine, then you heard someone approaching. You quickly closed the door hiding. If someone was powerful enough to take on that many fatui agents then you had absolutely no shot against them.

“I know you’re in there, come on out.” You heard a voice say, it sounded confident and sultry. You hesitated as footsteps got closer. Finally the door opened. A lady with short dark blue hair and a unique attire greeted you with a smug smile. “You’re quite the pretty bride, but I assume you don’t want to be here huh?” She said casually. You nodded. She offered you her hand. “I can get you out of here, and I’ll take you somewhere safer. You’ll never have to marry that harbinger.” Her voice sounded confident. She seemed to know what she was talking about. You hesitated before taking her hand. With that she helped you out. She lifted your veil, firmly removing it letting you now clearly look around without it.

“Those… were the millieth… they just let us past like that?” You were a bit surprised as you were led to a hotel room.

“Darling, I’m not just some robin hood stealing from the Fatui, I’m a secret agent.” She said as she helped you change out of your dress. You were blushing as you undressed with your back to her, covering your body. “I heard he was forcing some young lady to marry him and I decided to intervene. I assure you, you will be safe here. I have plenty of strings here to pull. So needless to say, you’re under the Tianquan’s protection now. You can relax.” Her words were so soothing… you felt so flustered. She’s so beautiful too. Who would’ve known you would be saved by someone like her? The lord of Geo must have heard your prayers.

“T-thank you… I-i cannot thank you enough!” You say as she hands you a new uniform. Your eyes widen as you realize its a uniform worn by the assistants of Lady Ningguang. “W-what but this is…”

“Your cover. You’re going to hide out in the Jade Chamber for a bit. You see, Lady Ningguang owes me a favor or two.. and I asked if I could house you temporarily in the Jade Chamber. One of the most secure locations in all of Liyue. No one will ever suspect you’re there. Of course you’ll be out to work but if I remember correctly that’s what you wanted yes?”

“W-wait.. you arranged all this for me? Why?” You asked. You finished putting on your uniform as you turned to her. She smiled.

“Well.. I couldn’t let a pretty face like yours be wasted on that banker. Jewels like yourself deserve better than to be treated like a trophy. I’ve always like taking from him too. And I’ve actually had my eye on you too.” Her voice was so sweet, like candy. You felt like you were being lured into a trance almost, sitting on the bed blushing as she folded up your dress. “I assure you, I’ll be taking good care of you~” she said with a wink.

“WHAT?!” Pantalone’s hands tore the report in half as his underling trembled.

“They did everything possible yet the bandit made it out with the bride.” The underling said nervously.

“I heard you the first time.” He said seething. “What I want to know is how incompetent were those agents that ONE pesky agent could work through their defenses and make off with MY bride!” Pantalone sat back down, his legs crossed as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’re working to identify the thief but there’s no clues. We could only find the veil.”

“Must I go down there myself to find them? What are you doing standing around here anyways, shoo. Go tell them to keep searching and send out more investigators. I paid good money for that bride so either I’ll have them or I’ll have you sent to Dottore’s Laboratory!” Pantalone hissed. Immediately the underling bowed and left. He groaned as he sat in his chair.

“You’re not going to win this game, you pesky woman.” He hissed

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin yelan #yelan x reader #yelan x you #mild yandere themes #pantalone x reader #implied pantalone x reader #angry pantalone #yelan snatched his wife #give me back my gamer girl yelan!!!#genshin impact #wlw #wlw x reader #suck it pantalone #wlw vs mlw series

161 notes · View notes

greytongue · 10 months

Text

mutually-assured attachment

cw/themes: you’re both touch starved, reader is an agent assigned with leon on a mission. he’s kind of an authority figure to you? he was one of the first people you were assigned with as a rookie and he’s always given you pointers. you disobeyed an order. he’s not mad just disappointed.

you and him were having an argument. not a screaming match, but he was frustrated and so were you. you, leon, and a few other agents were assigned on a mission. a virus outbreak in asheville, north carolina. the town was in the latter part of chaos when your squad arrived, most of the people had been evacuated. you guys were the cleanup crew for the remaining infected. you had left your post to save a a stray civilian almost crushed from debris. you were somewhat apologetic, but held your ground.

“i understand you want to save everyone, but if you’d been gone any longer, it would’ve been detrimental to the plan.” he said, arms crossed as he leaned on the edge of the office desk.

“i know, and i’m sorry. but casualties are absolutely unacceptable to me. i know i can’t save everyone, but i can try.” your shoulders were drawn back square, confident.

this was just like you, he thought. even though your impulsiveness to try and save literally any civilian in site caused problems, he respected that. more than that really, he found your steel morals attractive.

leon sighed after a brief silence hung in the air. “i worry about you, is all. i don’t wanna see you getting hurt on accident knowing i could’ve done something to prevent that.”

“leon…” you stared at each other for awhile after his caring words left his lips. god, his lips. you’ve always felt something for him, even if you had more than a few dozen disagreements under your guys’ belts.

you subconsciously moved forward, his arms falling to rest on the desk behind him, almost inviting you closer. you hesitantly placed a gentle hand on his hard, broad chest. you both shivered at the contact. in this line of work, the only physical contact you get is punching and kicking your enemies. to cause harm.

this was different. this touch was to soothe. this was gentle. this was new for both of you. his muscles felt like stone, your hands absorbing the warmth radiating off him. you felt his heart quicken underneath your hand.

he let out a somewhat controlled, shaky exhale. warm breath fanning across your forehead. his much larger hand came to rest on top of yours. palms calloused and rough. his thumb rubbed gentle back and forth motions across your knuckles, before slowly, ever so slowly, lifting your hand up to his plump lips.

his mouth hovered over your hand that was enveloped in his, giving you time to pull away. you didn’t.

leon closed his eyes, pretty long lashes coming into your view as he gently placed a kiss to your hand. you shuddered, you hadn’t received a kiss in so long. let alone such an intimate gesture. ever the gentleman.

he left his lips on your hand after he delivered the kiss, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. something in you snapped at that and you wrapped your arms around his waist, taking a bold step between his legs. you had effectively pinned him against the desk he was leaning on your entire conversation, your nose coming to bury deep within his collarbone to inhale his musky scent. you had gotten a taste of these soft touches, and you wanted more.

he inhaled sharply at your daring movement, his arms instinctively coming to rest on your shoulders. leon bit his lip to push a groan back in his throat when he felt you breathe in deeply. it was like you were trying to become one with him, you were so close.

your hands travelled down to his hips and squeezed as your lips parted to place open mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. he let his head hang back, soaking up the attention and you growled in delight at the newly given access, pushing farther into him and it rocked his body back. he propped a hand on the desk to keep his balance and another cupped the back of your head. his eyebrows furrowed and mouth fell agape with a moan as you nipped at his pulse, you smiled into his neck at that, flicking your tongue over the bite.

he groaned and rolled his head to the side, back to front, and resting the side of his head on yours. leon’s hands began to wander over you, squeezing and massaging over your sides, your hips. a particularly hard squeeze dangerously close to your ass had you pulling away with a strained gasp. this was his chance. he was the one this time to take a step between your legs, quickly gripping the back of your thighs and hoisting you up onto the desk. his desk. the speed of his actions had you almost laid out flat on the glossy surface, you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows. you sighed and looked up at him, but his eyes were on your swollen and spit slicked lips.

he stepped forward so his hips pressed up against the side of the desk and in between the space where your legs parted for him. he hovered over you, his shadow resting over you like a veil. his sizable hands rested near your shoulders, caging you in. not only that, but it was his eyes too. leon’s gaze was on you, yours on him. you two stayed like that, taking each other in. breathing in each others air, your scents. you rested fully on your back, he leaned forward as you did. your considerably smaller hands cupped his surprisingly soft face. thumbs tracing over the cheekbones, his plump lips. it barely took guiding him to your own to finally kiss.

you sighed into it while he hummed, relief washing over both of you as the tension in the air broke. his head immediately tilted slightly to deepen the kiss, the sides of your noses brushing against each other as your lips moved in sync.

hands began to roam. you left one of them to keep cupping his cheek, and the other slide down to feel at his back, his shoulders, anything. you locked a foot around one of his legs to keep him in place, but one of his hands gripped the underside of your knee and pushed it up to rest on his waist. you both groaned as this pushed your hips flush against each other.

it had been open mouthed kisses, until leon had enough and finally began tonguing at your bottom lip. you parted your lips and your tongues met. as this continued, both of your movements progressively became rushed, heated, haphazard. you had to pull away to properly catch your breath when he started feeling up your hips like that.

“holy shit..” your head fell back against the desk, eyes shut and feeling lightheaded from lack of oxygen. he took the chance to kiss his way down to your neck, doing what you had done to him earlier. you rolled your head to the side to give him more access, whining when he began to lick and bite.

“promise me,” he mumbled between a swipe of his tongue and a press of his plump lips against your skin, you shivered as his hot breath fanned over your throat.

“mmwha-?”

“promise me you won’t get yourself into trouble.”

“c’mon, kennedy,” you scoffed, brushing his hair out of his face when he looked up at you with confusion.

“i’m /always/ getting into trouble. you’re the one who gets me out of it. we’re a perfect match, yeah?” you let out a hearty laugh as he shook his head.

“you’re gonna be the death of me.” he rumbled low in his chest as he slowly uprighted himself back into a standing position, to which you made a disappointed sound at. he was the one to scoff this time.

“let’s go, we’ve got reports to make.” he outstretched a hand, you took it with a mumble of disagreement.

“yeah, yeah.” you hopped down to your feet. he was turning to head for the door, but you grabbed his wrist. soon as he turned his head in your direction, you pressed a quick peck on his pale lips.

“wanna finish this later? we could go to my place, watch a movie? if you’d like.” you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, feet shifting. god, why are you now feeling nervous? he snorted while doing a once over on you, you were so obvious.

“sure thing, rookie.” he proceeded to walk out the door without another thought, gesturing you to follow. you were right with him.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy #fluff fanfic #leon kennedy x you

377 notes · View notes

redclercs · 11 months

Text

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iii. one for the money, two for the show.

— the one where you were never ready, so you watched him go.

warnings: war flashbacks to the miami gp, more insight into y/n (look i have to give a lot of context for my own sanity), not really proofread sorry, 2.4k words.

masterlist ✢ next

FROM “WHAT’S NEXT FOR AIDAN KIM?” POSTED IN THE US WEEKLY YOUTUBE CHANNEL MAY 2023

You are looking at the top comments.

aidanbabes nooo my baby😭 he looks so sad!

flowerbedkim I swear to god y/n better count her fucking days

halleyc don’t come at me but this sounds like he proposed

ynbby why is he talking about this though? y/n has been super private and he’s telling US WEEKLY THIS?

ynaidan i hate being a child of divorce😭

Miami, Florida May 6th

GRAND Prix number two with Elix, attempt number two by Mr. Stuart Schafer to get into your pants. Can it get any worse?

Yes, yes it can. Because as long as you have “a job” you don’t have to come to these sponsor events. Which sucks for you, not having an acting job for the moment has never felt more like a punishment from the universe.

Artists, from actors to singers are here promoting their gigs while all you do, again, is take pictures with men in jeans and loafers and try not to barf every time you consume Elix.

You’re watching your career crumble in front of your eyes and you can’t do anything to save it from burning when it hits the floor. Mildred has called you several times during the course of the weekend to inform you of canceled interviews, revoked invitations and “sorry we’re just looking for something else” calls from casting agents.

Part of you is in disbelief that a five minute interview from your ex-boyfriend is feeding the fire, part of you expected it all the same. Women are the preferred villain in the narrative, and if it means putting a man above them, the media has had the choice made for a while.

Did you really have it coming, though? There have been endless comments about how it was about time people realized the type of person you are.

But what are you? Who are you really?

You’re a coward. You tell that to yourself in the mirror first thing in the morning.

Many people have the luxury to say they can’t pinpoint the exact moment where they went wrong. You can’t afford the pleasure of such obliviousness, because the exact moment everything went wrong was when Aidan got down on one knee.

And when the question that left his lips went from "Will you marry me?" to "Why won't you?" You knew there was no turning back.

Marriage wasn’t a foreign concept to you, but while it is generally seen as a milestone, for you it was just another stepping stone. The roles of The Wife and The Mother were something you might eventually grow into, but on the night of your third anniversary, you realized you weren't even ready for that of The Fiancée.

Was it genuinely a surprise for Aidan that you had to close the velvet box he was holding in front of you, hiding the diamond ring from your sight, before he dropped his other knee to the ground and whispered 'Why?'

Never, in the three years you'd been together, had you seriously talked about marriage. It was another bridge you would cross once you got there, and in your mistaken calculations, you thought it would be around the time your relationship turned five. That's the limit for romantic relationships without a ring involved according to most women's magazines, and your own mom. At least neither know the ring was the cause of the breakup.

It's a little pathetic how lucky you consider yourself that the tabloids don't know you rejected an engagement. They're cruel enough as it is, things can only go further downhill, straight to hell.

"You good?"

Your best friend in the world, Victoria Presley, is able to join you in the VIP area of the Paddock thanks to a couple pictures on instagram where she tagged Elix. God bless the era of influencers. Or, family connections. Being the daughter of Sony Music executive Luke Presley and celebrity life coach Claire Walker can open many doors. Well it isn't Vic's fault being born into a rich and influential family, at least she's doing her own thing with her beauty products.

"Yes, I am," you shrug. Q3 is going on right now and although you try your best to keep your focus on the two red cars around the circuit, you find it hard to get out of your head. Plus it's so hot in here you feel sticky and gross.

"I lost you for a moment there," she insists, sipping her glass of champagne, the eyebrow raise she gives you after means she needs more info into what was going through your head just seconds ago.

"Not getting any call backs right now," you sigh, taking the flute from her although all it would take for you to get your own is a few steps. "I'm kind of frustrated."

"I'm sorry babe," Vic rubs your back, unbothered by your stealing. "You'll get something soon."

"And E! cancelled my interview, AND—"

Tires screech and an 'ooooh' goes through the grand stands before the screens show a red car embedded in the barriers. A groan of "It's Leclerc!" passes through the people around you in the VIP Lounge.

You grimace, focused on the circuit again as Charles leaves his car, shaking his arms before hitting the halo several times, frustrated.

"See everyone has bad streaks," Vic has gotten her own champagne again and is pointing to the screen, where the Ferrari driver is being followed on his way out. "It's his second crash, no?"

Other people's disgrace doesn't soothe your own, so you give Vic a stern look, causing her to shrug.

Q3 is done and Ferrari has mixed feelings about their two drivers' results. As for you, the faster you can get back to your hotel, the better.

─────────

Vic drags you to dinner with a couple of her influencer friends. Everyone and their mother is in attendance at Miami, and they’re here to have fun.

"They're here!" the girl to Vic's left whisper-yells, stretching her neck to look over at the entrance of the restaurant.

The place has been completely full the whole time you've been here, which has been a while, you're done with your dinner and have a few drinks on you, yet Vic has begged you twice to stay 'just a little longer'.

Of course Vic is having the time of her life, talking about promotion agreements and posting schedules, and although you hang out with lots of influencers and social media stars on your daily life, you're not clicking with any of them tonight. Have you become bitter? No, of course not.

"y/n knows them, she can just introduce us," another one giggles, and she cheers with her tequila sunrise to your own half-empty drink that's resting on the table.

"Hmm, what?" you chuckle, unsure of how you missed the part where you entered the story.

"The Ferrari Drivers," the first girl answers in that 'obviously' tone you hate when people use with you. "You're with Ferrari all the time lately, aren't you?"

"I'm with Elix," you clear up, best as you can as they're not really paying attention, their eyes following the group of men that are being escorted by a hostess to their table. "So you know, it's not really—"

"But you've met them,"

"Well, yes but..."

Yes but, you've seen them in scattered moments where they nod and smile at you passing by and the three times you've had to take pictures drinking Elix. You don't even get to the coworker level of knowing them.

"Well let's go!"

"Hold on Holly," Vic speaks up for the first time, "I mean, they literally just got here."

"Which is why we came here," Holly can't seem to get rid of that know-it-all tone, and it's frankly starting to annoy you even if she has a different target now.

It's time to use the angry eyes with Vic, again,in less than 24 hours. That's why she kept asking you to wait just a little longer.

"How did you know they'd be here?" you question, although you already know what a cleveage can do to get any information you want. Can't blame a girl for using her tools.

“I have my ways,” Holly says, and does in fact, fix her cleavage. Fair enough.

"Vic..." you whisper, as the rest of them regather in their own conversation. "What's happening?"

"I just– they said they really wanted to meet the Ferrari guys, y/n," Vic half whines. She's doing the most to impress the other girls, which is a very Vic thing to do, but still you don't like it. "And since you work with them, well it would be easier to approach them, right?"

Wrong.

"I- Vic, I don't work with these guys. We don't even work for the same people, and... it would be weird to approach them while they're trying to have dinner peacefully."

You are not a big fan of interruptions because you've heard enough of your coworkers talk about how annoying it is. As for yourself, sometimes you mind, sometimes you don't. It all depends.

You can barely distinguish their table with all the movement around the restaurant, but you manage a peek at Carlos' hair. Both of them are there, surrounded by a bunch of other Ferrari guys.

"So? Let's go," Holly is speaking again, downing the rest of her alcoholic Shirley Temple.

"I have to use the bathroom," you announce, dropping the napkin that covered your lap on the table.

"Right now?" the other girl—you feel guilty for not remembering her name— groans.

You refrain from replying, and try not to stomp to the bathroom like a toddler throwing a tantrum. If there’s anything that you hate is feeling used, and it hurts a lot more when it comes from Victoria.

It’s something else when she uses her doe-eyed stare and says “please, please, please” to get her way even with you, rather than set you up to impress her other friends.

You take your time to reapply lipstick in the bathroom and soothe your annoyance. You have told Vic before that she needs to ask for things, not just push you into awkward situations. At least she didn’t follow you to the restroom.

Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bathroom, wondering how to go on about this. It’s very likely that things get twisted and it is you who’ll look like she wants to brag about knowing the Ferrari guys, which you’re sure they’re used to—being bragged about. But you don’t want that.

There are many clichés that you have experienced, both as a character in RomComs where the biggest makeover that is done to your character is to apply a little mascara and remove the glasses (you hate that, what’s wrong with wearing glasses?). And in real life, with big romantic gestures like receiving a bouquet with a hundred roses and one is artificial… Blah blah.

This cliché is a little more ridiculous, though, as you crash into Charles Leclerc while leaving the restroom.

“Oh, sorry,” you half-smile back at him, he’s already smiling, showing dimples and everything. You see his appeal no matter how much you don’t want to notice it. Tall, green-blue eyes and those stupid dimples. Not to mention the fact that you suddenly find accents charming. Again, stupid.

“Hey y/n,” he says still smiling, “Did you just get here?”

“Uh, no actually we’re leaving in a few minutes,” you move out of the way of a lady that wants to get into the restroom, she eyes you both for a moment before continuing on her way.

“Are you here with your friends? Or is it with Elix?”

“My friends. Thank God I get to be away from Elix for a few hours.”

Charles chuckles and the moment runs long enough to become awkward. You’re still outside of the bathrooms and another guy has too given you an off look as he made his way inside.

"Let me walk you back to your table," Charles offers as a way of breaking the silence and you shake your head no.

"You don't have to, my friends are probably on the way out already, anyway."

Are you being selfish by keeping Vic's friends away from him? It doesn't matter to you, not really. But really a small part of you doesn't want things to go their way.

Charles doesn't listen to your refusal anyway, and asks you to lead the way with a gesture.

"I didn't see you at the Ferrari Suite after Quali," he mentions as he follows you a step behind.

"I was in the VIP Lounge with a friend," you explain, "I'll be at the Suite tomorrow, though."

You stop at your table, where the three girls are still doing their best to ogle at the Ferrari guys.

"Hey," you get their attention back and not one in the three of them even attempt to hide the pleasant surprise that Charles' presence gives them. "Are you ready to go?"

It's Vic's turn to give you a look. One that tells you to not be unfair, things have just started to go as they planned.

While you return the pointed look to Vic, Holly strikes a conversation with Charles. Lightning quick.

"Let's go," you repeat, "Gotta be up early tomorrow."

"Can we get a picture, though?" the other girl—lord, if you could remember her name you'd feel a little better —adds quickly.

"Do you mind?" you ask Charles before he can reply. You don't want to make a fuss and have half the restaurant acknowledging his presence and his disposition to take pictures and sign autographs while he's trying to have dinner.

"Not at all," he shakes his head and waits patiently for everyone to be camera-ready while you stare. "Aren't you getting in the picture?"

"I'll take it," you hold your hand out for an iPhone, and get Holly's bedazzled one. Charles frowns but you just say 'okay, ready?' before pointing the camera at them.

No one else argues the fact that you're not in the picture.

A chorus of 'thank you's' passes quickly as you return the iPhone and the three influencers start checking the picture. They're probably better photographers than you, you can accept that.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, y/n," Charles leans towards you, leaving the group to their own thing after he pleased their request. "Right?"

"I'll be the one drinking Elix," you joke, half-whining.

"I'll be the one in the red car," Charles jokes back, a wide smile spreading on his face.

You laugh, fighting against the sudden shyness caused by the familiarity.

"Goodnight," he calls quietly, and the girls wish him a goodnight and good luck for the race before he snakes through tables back to his friends.

Not another thank you is directed at you as your group leaves the restaurant to wait for the Uber back to the hotel.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! thank you for reading! I'm really grateful for everyone who has interacted with this story, I hope you're enjoying it so far ♡❞

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you

690 notes · View notes