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rachoxpotato · 1 year

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🎲 Charlie Barber x Female Reader ⚠️ babysitter/client relationship, age difference (reader 18), inappropriate use of Scrabble tiles, hand kink, Daddy, cunnilingus, p in v ✏️ 3k words -

Henry's been asleep since before Charlie got home.

Since putting him to bed, you’ve managed to put away almost all of the night’s activities and start the dishwasher. You’re heading into the living room, sights set on picking up the game of Scrabble (in which Henry insisted ‘gleeba’ is a word) when the front door opens.

“Hey, Mister Barber,” you greet from the floor as you slide the tiles from your letter racks onto the board.

He approaches with a smile on his face and stands over you—tall, towering, his hands on his hips. You swallow and continue tossing tiles onto the board so you can more easily funnel them back into their bag.

"Wanna play?" Charlie asks. "Or do you need to get home?"

Even as he asks the question, he takes a seat on the floor, clearly confident in what your response will be.

He’s right.

"I can play," you say, dumping the tiles onto the carpet as Charlie flips them with thick fingers.

Desperately attempting to focus on anything that isn’t those hands, you spend an unnecessarily long amount of time straightening his wooden tile rack, ensuring it’s perfectly placed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch his two massive palms covering practically all of the tiles as he swirls them around, mixes them up, and you stop breathing when your own fingers graze his.

You choose seven wooden blocks.

“Ladies first,” he says with a smile, voice so deep, it shakes your core. You place your tiles across the star to play ‘CATCH,’ and then take five tiles to replace them.

Charlie keeps score, tallying up your points for you on the pad.

Such a dad.

“How was your meeting tonight?” you ask so you have an excuse to look at his face.

He shrugs, face laced with concentration as he anticipates his next move.

“Fine. Boring.”

You smile. “Hopefully this is a bit more titillating.”

Charlie looks up at you. His eyes fall to your chest as he considers your word choice and you clench as your heart rate speeds up.

“It definitely is, Sweetheart,” he says, voice deep, as he returns his own focus to the letters in front of him.

You’d been babysitting Henry since you were 16, even before Charlie and Nicole broke up. Conveniently enough, you live in the apartment above them and over the years, you’d grown attached to Henry. He’s smart and funny, he always remembers you and doesn’t need Charlie to reintroduce you. And he’s a good kid, easy to hang out with. You never mind canceling plans to help out the Barbers.

Well, to help out Mr. Barber.

Besides, Charlie pays incredibly generously and as you’ve gotten older, you’ve come to appreciate everything about him: his size, his demeanor, the way he’s such a dedicated father. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way you catch him staring at you since you’ve turned 18.

You know you shouldn’t have a crush on the man who pays you to watch his son. You should be interested in guys your own age but… there’s something about your 6’4” client whose hands appear as though they could wrap around your entire waist in one go. And you’ve tried to think of anyone else with your bedroom door locked, and your tiny fingers between your legs–like the captain of the football team, or the guy who sits behind you in Calc, but Mr. Barber always worms his way into your thoughts right as you’re about to come.

Charlie plays the word ‘VEIN’ and you can’t help but clench at the sight of his own veins rolling over his knuckles as his hand flexes, the tendons straining when he reaches for his pencil to document his score.

“Sweetheart?” he asks in a tone that implies he’d been trying to get your attention for a while. “Are you okay?”

You can’t tear your eyes off of his hand as you apologize.

“It’s okay.” He smiles, his perfectly crooked teeth peeking out from behind his plush, pink lips.

When you look up at him, his eyes flick up to meet yours, his features laced with guilt as you catch him staring at your chest again.

Then you play ‘WIDE.’

As you reach to place your tiles, you bend a little further than necessary, so more cleavage is revealed to his clearly hungry gaze.

He inhales sharply.

“We could uh… we could make this more fun,” he says. “If you want.”

“Okay,” you say immediately. “I want.”

Charlie swallows, looks you up and down, his gaze scorching as he takes in your tiny denim shorts.

“Whoever plays the lower scoring word for the round… removes an article of clothing.”

It’s always warm in his apartment, so it’s not like you have a ton of clothes on to begin with, but you nod anyway, and you’re not sure if he purposely plays a word that scores him lower than yours, but he slips his cardigan off his shoulders without prompting and you smirk.

The following round, he’s delighted when ‘CLOSE’ earns him 24 points.

You arch an eyebrow.

“Shirt.” His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, eyes dark and focused. He watches you cross your arms at the hem of your shirt and he inhales deeply as you tug it up and over your head, revealing your lace bralette. It’s not completely see-through, but your nipples ache and are desperate for attention. They’re clearly visible as they strain beneath the fabric.

The second round goes to you and you memorize everything about the way his fingers undo the buttons of his shirt. You’re disappointed to see he has an undershirt on. He chuckles when you pout.

The next round goes to you as well and unfortunately, you have to waste this win on his shoes, but he throws you a bone and takes his socks off as well.

The letters you pick up are less than stellar and when it’s your turn again, you mindlessly drag your ‘W’ Scrabble tile across the bare skin of your chest while you survey the board.

“Fuck,” Charlie mutters under his breath as he shifts his weight and you’d noticed the bulge in his slacks earlier but it must be uncomfortable for him now because he rearranges his long legs for the third time in the past minute.

Still, he plays a word that scores him 21 points and his eyes unabashedly shift from your chest to your shorts, and back up to your chest as he considers his options.

“Bra.” You take a deep breath in and bite your lip as you tug the bralette up and slip your arms out of it, your breasts dropping out of the lace.

His expression is caught somewhere between pain and hunger as he devours your bare tits with his eyes. He sees you squirm where you sit, attempting to grind your center on the floor but it’s not the right angle, and it’s not enough. So you play your turn and win the round. You want his undershirt off desperately but you take pity on him and request his pants, his erection now so painfully obvious; it must be throbbing.

Unfortunately, your replacement letters contain no vowels and your options on the board are extremely limited, so when he scores higher than you on the next round, you both know what it means.

His eyes are on your tiny fingers working the button of your shorts after you’ve stood up but your hands are shaking so violently, you struggle.

“Let me, Princess,” he says, walking toward you on his knees.

He’s so tall, he’s eye-level with your chest. He nudges your legs apart before hooking his fingers into the waistband on either side and freezes, looks up at you. You nod, head moving half an inch but it’s all the permission he needs before his mouth wraps around one hard nipple, and his hands tug at your tiny shorts.

You whimper as he pulls them down your thighs, his mouth siphoning at your tit like he’s sucking a milkshake through a straw, and your panties get hooked with the denim.

You don’t even realize it's happening until Charlie pulls off of you to say, “fuck it, I’m taking this, too,” and yanks your thong down as well, leaving you completely bare in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, free hand climbing up the inside of your thigh. “Fuck, you’re so perfect. So gorgeous. So grown up now, aren’t you?” You nod as his finger reaches the apex of your thighs.

You shift your weight back and forth as he strokes your folds, teases the creases between your sex and thighs.

“Mister Barber,” you whimper.

“Is this okay, Princess?” he asks.

You nod. “More.”

He smirks, but applies a bit of pressure and slides that finger through your folds. You can’t help but moan as his thick digit glides effortlessly through your soaked flesh, over your entrance and up toward your clit.

“So goddamn wet. This pussy. Fuck, Princess.”

He gathers some of your arousal onto his fingertip and brings it to your clit. Once slick, he circles the throbbing nub a few times, earning gasps and moans from you. Your hands flail, desperately seeking purchase on his head, his shoulders, anything.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He presses his finger to your entrance and slips it inside to the middle knuckle with ease. “Anyone ever touch you like this, Honey?”

You nod slowly.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Bet they didn’t make you feel like I can… will you let me, Sweetheart? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

You nod.

“Say yes, Baby Girl. I need you to tell me.”

“Yes,” you say immediately, walls clenching around his finger. “Please, more.”

He curls his finger forward toward your front wall and you gasp as pleasure shoots through your system. Then, he adds a second finger.

He pumps them slowly, testing you, watching your face contort to see how much you can take. You groan when he withdraws his fingers, but you get a good look at them when he lifts them to your face.

“Look how wet you are for me, Princess,” he says, painting your bottom lip with your own arousal.

You allow both fingers into your mouth when he prods and you moan as you taste yourself, suck your juices off of him.

Then, you grab his wrist, holding his hand in place so your tongue can make figure eights around and through his digits.

Damn, you never knew that fingers could taste so good, that their weight on your tongue could feel like this, that sucking them deeper into your mouth could cause a surge of arousal to flood your already soaked center.

“You like this, Baby Girl? You like sucking Daddy’s fingers?”

Your knees nearly give out at that. You’d always wanted to say it, to call someone that but… most boys your age hardly want to be called ‘Babe,’ let alone ‘Daddy.’

But it fits him so well, you decide, as this fantasy knocks you off balance.

Charlie sits back on the floor and beckons you down with him using those fingers, until you’re straddling his lap and he lets you continue to suck as his opposite hand plays with your tits. He massages them, squeezes them, holds them in his hand and makes them bounce. You moan when he pinches a nipple and gasp when he twists it.

The ache between your legs is unbearable. It doesn’t help that your legs are spread open so you can’t even rub your thighs together in the way you usually do when you see Mr. Barber.

“Atta girl,” he coos, bringing your free hand to the bulge in his boxer-briefs. “You like sucking on Daddy’s fingers, huh?”

You nod, let your eyes fall shut as you hollow out your cheeks. “Will you do that while you let me fuck you, Baby Girl?”

You whine as he pries his fingers from your reluctant mouth and he chuckles.

“You’ll get them back, Princess. I could never deny you.”

He pulls his own shirt off and you marvel at his chest—the hard muscles and sheer width of him. His soft tummy bulges slightly over the waistband of his boxer briefs and brings you a sense of comfort you can’t explain and didn’t even know you needed.

His broad shoulders flex under your gaze and he smirks. Charlie keeps you in his lap as he maneuvers his boxer-briefs down and grips your waist so tight, his long fingers nearly wrap entirely around you.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, tilting his head up and capturing your lips with his. You moan as he squeezes you harder and thrusts his tongue into your mouth.

You feel him, hard and thick beneath you. You want to see it, but your bodies are pressed too closely together. You feel too small in his embrace, too powerless to make any decisions for the two of you.

“Mister B-” you whisper-whine before stopping yourself and moaning, “Daddyyyyy…”

“Shh, Baby Girl, I promise I’ll take good care of you, okay?” he coos and you nod. “Trust me.”

And you do. He lifts you slowly, until he’s lined up at your entrance.

“Please tell me you’re on birth control.”

“I am,” you breathe and he releases a sigh of relief as he lowers you onto him slowly. “Ahh,” you gasp as he stretches you out, pressing kisses to your chest and throat to distract you from any discomfort.

“Sweetheart, you’re—“

He doesn’t finish his train of thought. Just lifts you up off of him and you groan as he falls out.

“Daddy,” you whine as he sets you down on the scrabble board and pushes you back.

Charlie hovers over you and kisses you while one of his massive hands explores the curves of your body. You feel so vulnerable, spread open on his living room floor like this.

Kissing his way down your body, he pays extra attention to your breasts—sucking, kissing, licking at your nipples until they’re soaked and pointed.

“Daddy!”

Continuing south, Charlie positions your legs, spreads them the way he wants them and licks a stripe up your cunt experimentally and without warning.

“Yes, Princess?” he asks coyly. His hand appears between your legs.

Your back arches involuntarily as he licks your clit, and explores your folds with his tongue. Scrabble tiles dig into your back as you squirm and Charlie reaches up to pin you with a forearm across your hips.

You nearly scream his name as his tongue works you and he covers your mouth with a massive hand.

“Kid’s asleep,” he reminds you, but you hardly hear him when you grab his wrist and take two of his fingers into your mouth.

As you suck them, he sucks on your clit, his siphons matching your pace until you’re moaning, lips vibrating against his knuckles as your climax builds.

No one’s ever done this for you before. Sure, you’d made yourself come, but the boys you’d fooled around with probably couldn’t even point to your clit, let alone know how to tease it and suck at it.

Back arching, heart pounding, Scrabble tiles jabbing, you thrash across the floor and board as your orgasm wreaks havoc through your system, shakes you to your core.

“Good girl,” he praises, lifting his head off of you. He wipes his soaked mouth and chin on your inner thigh, your hip bone, your ribs, like a dog rubbing its scent, marking its territory.

“You came so well for me, Baby Girl. So good, so fucking good.”

Charlie wraps one of your pliant legs around his waist and you do everything in your power to tighten your muscles and hold it there for him while he enters you for a second time, filling you completely, but this time, it’s so much better.

“Fuck, oh my god, I-”

“Shh,” he tells you again, covering your mouth and refusing to allow you to pull it away. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he thrusts hard and fast into you, the Scrabble tiles nearly cutting your back open.

“Fuck, you’re so tight still. Fuck, such a perfect pussy. Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you,” he babbles as his hips snap against yours.

The friction of his thick cock rubbing mercilessly against your stretched walls renders you unable to think, let alone speak. Whiney babbles escape from between your lips as your body rocks back and forth with the force of his thrusts, your tits jiggling, and legs hardly able to remain locked around his waist.

Your back can only lift so much with his weight over you but as he grinds into you, a second orgasm rakes through your system, waves of pleasure coursing through your body as his thrusts grow sloppy and he spills into you, hitting you hard and deep as he comes. His hand slides off your mouth and he plants it on the floor to lift himself off of you.

“Fuck,” he breathes looking down at your naked body. “That was perfect, Baby Girl. You’re amazing.” He kisses your neck. “You were so good for me.”

You accept his lips when he leans up to kiss you.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, nudging your nose with his.

“Yeah, I just…” you maneuver your hand behind your back and pluck a Scrabble piece jabbing your shoulder blade. “Maybe round two can be in your bed?”

“Round two?” Charlie asks with an eyebrow arched.

“Of Scrabble. After all, we didn’t get to finish our first game,” you tease with a coy smile before dropping your voice, looking up at him through your lashes and whispering, “Daddy.”

Charlie growls before whisking you away to his bed.

Your clothes somehow make it to the room, but the disheveled Scrabble board remains in the middle of the living room floor.

#adcu #Adam driver #adcu fanfiction #adcu smut #charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #rachwrites

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hotpinkboots · 1 year

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~𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘~

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HELLO THERE, DARLING! My requests are always OPEN! Feel free to spam my inbox as much as you like, there is no limit! I have a wide variety of things for you to request- from popular videogames and action-packed movie trilogies, spooky Tim Burton movies and cult classics, to the most obscure and underrated media, I've got something for everybody! Drop in a few requests, love! Tags: #pinkie speakie (random/related to fanfic/answering anons) #pink's fanfic (fanfiction tag)

Check out my Emoji Anon List! Check out my Discord Server Events! Want to suggest something to me? Here are some guidelines!

Current Requests: 20 (If I don't update the number within a few days of you sending in the request, it was most likely deleted. You can always send in another one if I don't accept!)

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~𝓕𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖘 𝓘 𝓦𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝓦𝖎𝖙𝖍:~

Movies: (Note: I have seen SO many movies, I would hit the Tumblr character limit if I listed them all. There are a lot of movies I'd write with that aren't listed here, so always feel free to ask about unlisted movies!)

•Rocky Horror Picture Show •Shock Treatment •Edward Scissorhands •Corpse Bride •Charlie and the Chocolate Factory •Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street(2007) •Beetlejuice (1988) •Nightmare Before Christmas •Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children(2016) •Dark Shadows (2012) •Alice In Wonderland(2010)+ Alice Through The Looking Glass(2016) •Les Miserables (2012) •Great Expectations (2012) •Hocus Pocus •The Lone Ranger (2013) •Maleficent •Oceans 8 •Coraline •The Addams Family (1991) + Addams Family Values (1993) •Halloween(Michael Myers) •Friday The 13th (Jason Voorhees) •The Phantom Of The Opera (2004) •Little Shop Of Horrors (1986) •Labyrinth (1986) •The Lost Boys (1987) •The Princess Bride •Psycho (1960) •Dracula (1931) •Death Becomes Her •Clue

Movie Sagas and Trilogies:

•Star Wars(Originals, prequels, sequels, The Mandalorian. Wil not write animated Star Wars.) •Harry Potter •Pirates Of The Caribbean •Lord Of The Rings

Shows and YouTube Series:

•Steven Universe •Adventure Time •Over The Garden Wall •What We Do In The Shadows •ENA •Don't Hug Me I'm Scared •Salad Fingers

Videogames:

•Undertale •Deltarune •Five Nights At Freddy's •SCP Containment Breach

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I Will Write:

•Yandere •Angst •Fluff •ADHD •Love Triangles (Character A + Character B fighting over the Reader) •Mildly Heated Scenes (but NOT full-on smut) •Random+Obscure Headcanon Ideas •Mixing Fandoms (Example(s): Erik Destler x Reader x Dracula, Mettaton x Nightmare Animatronic!Reader) •Headcanons •Female reader (You may also request gender-neutral, but be aware that all of my writing will be aimed at the ladies.)

etc., feel free to ask questions!

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I Won't Write:

✨Note:✨ I will not write about something I do not have, or something I don't have experience with, for I don't know the topic enough to do so. It's not my place to write with things I have no personal experience with.

•Disabilities (such as autism, deaf/hard of hearing, physical disabilities, ect.) •Trans Reader •Pregnancy •Smut (implied smut is fine) •Male Reader (Only Female/Gender Neutral) •As stated before, no smut, but can be implied. •Incest (Magenta & Riff Raff + Nation & Cosmo are the ONLY EXCEPTIONS. Do NOT ASK for anything beyond them, you will be blocked.) •Homophobia •Racism

etc., feel free to ask questions!

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Rules:

•You must give me details about your request. If there is not enough for me to go off of, then I won't write it. •You may request as many times as you wish, but do not spam one request multiple times. •Do not attempt to pressure me into writing your request. •Do not rush my writing.

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Join my Discord server! We have movie nights, art prompts, places to ramble about your hyperfixations, and a ton of cool people to meet and roleplay with!:

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~Love, PinkBoots

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yonniebonnie · 10 months

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Okay I might actually start writing now, but I think I’ll start off with head cannons for right now because I’m not 100% confident in my writing skills. I know I’m not absolute shit when it comes to writing, but I have noticed that I tend to repeat certain words so I’ll have to work on that 😭

Characters that I might write for:

Peter Maximoff (obviously)

Maybe other characters from the X-men series

Tate Langdon

Luke Cooper (there’s not a lot of fics for him and I’d like to change that 😏)

Jennifer Check

Stu Macher

Charlie Walker

Mickey Altieri

Ethan Landry

Amber Freeman

Jill Roberts

Literally any Ghostface other than Richie, Nancy Loomis, and detective Bailey💀

Also open to writing for other scream characters like Tatum, Dewey, or Sam

Peter Parker (whichever one)

Conner DBH

The Maze Runner characters

Every Wednesday character except for Xavier (sorry, don’t feel comfortable writing for Percy Hynes White 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Stanley Barber (y’all still remember IANOWT?)

And that’s basically it for right now. Also Peter, Tate, and Luke are the only Evan Peters characters I’ll be writing for just for right now because I haven’t finished the other seasons of American Horror Story yet, but maybe in the future I’d probably be interested in writing for characters like Kit Walker or Kyle Spencer. There’s other characters that I wouldn’t mind trying to write for that I haven’t mentioned, but just ask and I’ll give you an answer.

I can write:

Any gendered readers: female readers, gender neutral readers, and male reader

Nsfw: don’t be afraid to request suggestive stuff. I don’t mind writing kinky stuff, but not too kinky like the piss kink or daddy kink bc it personally makes me uncomfortable (however, I’ll allow mommy kinks).

Kinks: Needed a section to put what kinks I allow. I will write for breeding kinks, breath play, bondage, pain kink, knife play, blood kink, dom/sub, degradation, BDSM; whatever, just ask.

Sfw: I’ll write fluff, hurt comfort, angst, any tropes, just whatever. I’m fine with platonic fics.

Semi Dark fics: I like Scream and American Horror Story, so you know there’s going to be some dark fics. I don’t mind prompts where the characters are possessive or obsessive (but not abusive). I also don’t mind writing for Yandere characters.

Poc reader inserts: I’m black, so I’d love writing stuff for black readers as well.

Fandoms: X-men, Wednesday, Scream, Spiderman verse, The Maze Runner series, Detroit Become Human, The Umbrella Academy (that’s it for rn)

I won’t write:

Celebrities/Real People: As much as I find their character’s attractive, I don’t feel comfortable writing for the actor/actress themself. I don’t know them personally, so I don’t feel any interest in writing anything for them.

Guy x male reader smut: it’s not bc of homophobia, it’s simply just because I don’t feel comfortable writing gay smut. As a woman, I just don’t want to make people think I’m sexualizing gay men. The most I’ll do is write suggestive stuff, but I won’t write full on smut.

OC inserts: I strictly write for reader inserts. I won’t be writing anything specifically for one reader.

Shipping: I don’t write for character x character. Nothing against them, I just only have an interest for reader inserts.

Smut for teenage characters: I’m 18, so I will not be writing smut for characters under 18, especially if they are portrayed by literal teenagers. However, for characters like on Wednesday where the characters are portrayed by adults in their 20s and even 30s, if you want smut for them it should be fine as long as they’re aged up to be 18.

These: non-con, step-cest/incest, r4pe themes, drugging, somnophilia, age regression, ddlg, piss kink (squirting’s fine), huge age gaps, race play, pedophilia, etc. Once again, if you’re not sure what kinks I’ll write for, feel free to ask

Traumatic stuff: I will not write things like abuse victim, rape victim, or self harm victim prompts. I will write angst, but I won’t write anything too depressing. I came here for a good time, let me be happy and delusional in peace 😪

Songfics: So random, but I hate when fics have lyrics within them. They confuse me too much and I also find them kind of cringey. I absolutely despise songfics, I’m so sorry babes 😭

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robinbuckleyshotgf · 2 years

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[🌼] introduction

[🧃] hey! my name is charlie! i’m gonna use my writing skills on the internet so thats why im here! i hope you enjoy my writing!

[🫧] my rules are very important. if you do not obey them, then it will result in me blocking you. please respect my boundaries and rules.

[🌈] rules:

~ dni if you are an nsfw blog

~ i will not write smut with minors. the only exception is if that they are aged up to over 18.

~ if you are requesting a celebrity and they have boundaries, please respect them.

~ i only do x reader. i can do female, male, trans, genderfluid, gender neutral and other genders.

~ if requesting a reader with a different gender, please specify their pronouns.

~ use your imagination!! make it silly! i really dont mind!!

~ dont sexualise me or send me weird messages in my inbox please.

[🌊] fandoms:

IT 2017- Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Finn Wolfhard, Wyatt Oleff, Jaeden Martell, Sophia Lillis

A Series Of Unfortunate Events- Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire, Sunny Baudelaire (platonic only), Duncan Quagmire, Isadora Quagmire, Quigley Quagmire, Malina Weissman

Stranger Things- Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Max Mayfield, Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jane ”Eleven” Hopper, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson, Joe Keery, Sadie Sink, Noah Schnapp, Millie Bobby Brown, Gaten Materazzo, Maya Hawke

Harry Potter- Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Cedric Diggory, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Tom Riddle, Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Tom Felton

Arcane: League Of Legends- Violet (Vi), Jinx (Powder), Caitlyn, Ekko, Mylo, Claggor, Hailee Steinfield

My Hero Academia- Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Ochaco Uraraka, Ejiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Tsuyu Asui, Mina Ashido, Tenya Iida

Heartstopper- Charlie Spring (Only male), Nick Nelson, Ben Hope, Harry Greene, Darcy Olsson (Only Female), Tara Jones (Only Female), Tao Xu, Tori Spring, Elle Argent, Aled Last

I Am Not Okay With This- Sydney Novak, Stanley Barber, Dina (i dont know what her last name is😭)

Metal Lords- Hunter Sylvester, Kevin Schlieb, Emily Spector, Adrian Greensmith, Isis Hainsworth

The Goldfinch- Boris Pavlikovsky, Theo Decker

[🌸] prompts:

~ Angst

”please stop lying to me.”

”i dont care.”

”please dont cry”

”what makes you think i would want to date you?”

”just shut up for once in your goddamn life!”

”am i going to die?”

“when did you fall out of love with me?”

”are you leaving me?”

” dating you was the worse mistake ive ever made.”

”loving you is a fucking death sentence.”

”i shouldnt love you, but i couldnt help it.”

”always knew that you were too damn selfish.”

”i dont know if i can look you in the eyes after what you’ve done.”

”it’s only 2.am..”

”please dont hide from me.”

”dont take another step in my direction.”

”i wish we met before they convinced you life is war.”

”you are the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

~ Fluff

”let me walk you home, hm?”

”i wanted to say i love you without stuttering. but i failed.”

”ugh i cant reach it!”

”stop being so goddamn cute.”

”you dont need all that candy, do you?”

”call me as soon as you get there.”

”did you just- throw salt at me!?” ”im not fucking possessed!”

”cuddles please!”

”hey love, can you help me out?” ”im gay and i need a few dollars”

”thats not true! my wife is a bitch and i like her very much.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

”you motherfucker! never do that again!”

” i have no idea what you are talking about.”

”what the actual fu-“ ”HEY GET OUT!”

“im only here for the dog.”

~ Smut 🌝

“come over here and make me.”

”kiss me.”

”looks like we are trapped in here for a while..”

”you heard me. take. it. off.”

”keep looking at me like that and we might not make it to bed.”

”if we werent in public right now, i would have my head in between your legs.”

”i want to taste you.”

”dont be shy now, sit on my face.”

”is that my shirt?”

“be quiet.”

”use your words, baby.”

”what if someone hears us?”

”oh fuck yes, just like that.”

“need any help with that?”

“were you just masturbating?” - “what?! no neve-“ ”do you want some help?” - “huh?”

“relax.”

”did you come?”

”shut up slut.”

~ Funny Ones🌚

”im not wearing any underwear, thought you would like to know.”

”YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILST I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!”

”at least we didnt break any laws this time.”

”we are literally fugitives of this state.” - “so no pizza?”

”your pretty.” - “your drunk.”

”excuse you?”

”i might of had a few shots.” - “what they mean by a few is about 20.”

”if you do that again im gonna chuck you out the window- what are you doing?” - “checking how high the drop is to see if its worth it.”

”you ate all my noodles! you’ve lost toilet paper privledges.”

”OI THATS MY HOODIE LOSER!”

”haha thats so funny!” *pulls out gun* ”say it again!”

”DUDE STOP HOGGING THE FUCKING BLANKETS!”

”your bleeding!” - “oh yeah no shit sherlock!”

”for fucks sake- MOVE!”

”hey wouldnt it be funny if we made out right now?”

[⚡️] thank you for reading! have a great day!! :))

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kit-nelson-imagines · 2 years

Text

-> rules, prompts and more <-

[🧃] hey! my name is kit and im a young writer :) my friends recommended that i use my writing skills on the internet so thats why im here! i hope you enjoy my writing!

[🫧] my rules are very important. if you do not obey them, then it will result in me blocking you. please respect my boundaries and rules.

[🌈] rules:

~ dni if you are an nsfw blog

~ i will not write smut with minors. the only exception is if that they are aged up to over 18.

~ if you are requesting a celebrity and they have boundaries, please respect them.

~ i only do x reader. i can do female, male, trans, genderfluid, gender neutral and other genders.

~ if requesting a reader with a different gender, please specify their pronouns.

~ use your imagination!! make it silly! i really dont mind!!

~ dont sexualise me or send me weird messages in my inbox please.

[🌊] fandoms:

IT 2017- Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Finn Wolfhard, Jack Dylan Grazer, Wyatt Oleff, Jaeden Martell, Sophia Lillis

A Series Of Unfortunate Events- Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire, Sunny Baudelaire (platonic only), Duncan Quagmire, Isadora Quagmire, Quigley Quagmire, Malina Weissman

Stranger Things- Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Max Mayfield, Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jane ”Eleven” Hopper, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Joe Keery, Sadie Sink, Noah Schnapp, Millie Bobby Brown, Gaten Materazzo, Maya Hawke

Harry Potter- Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Cedric Diggory, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Tom Riddle, Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Tom Felton

Arcane: League Of Legends- Violet (Vi), Jinx (Powder), Caitlyn, Ekko, Mylo, Claggor, Hailee Steinfield

My Hero Academia- Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Ochaco Uraraka, Ejiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Tsuyu Asui, Mina Ashido, Tenya Iida

Heartstopper- Charlie Spring (Only male), Nick Nelson, Ben Hope, Harry Greene, Darcy Olsson (Only Female), Tara Jones (Only Female), Tao Xu, Tori Spring, Elle Argent, Aled Last

I Am Not Okay With This- Sydney Novak, Stanley Barber, Dina (i dont know what her last name is😭)

Metal Lords- Hunter Sylvester, Kevin Schlieb, Emily Spector, Adrian Greensmith, Isis Hainsworth

The Goldfinch- Boris Pavlikovsky, Theo Decker

[🌸] prompts:

~ Angst

”please stop lying to me.”

”i dont care.”

”please dont cry”

”what makes you think i would want to date you?”

”just shut up for once in your goddamn life!”

”am i going to die?”

“when did you fall out of love with me?”

”are you leaving me?”

” dating you was the worse mistake ive ever made.”

”loving you is a fucking death sentence.”

”i shouldnt love you, but i couldnt help it.”

”always knew that you were too damn selfish.”

”i dont know if i can look you in the eyes after what you’ve done.”

”it’s only 2.am..”

”please dont hide from me.”

”dont take another step in my direction.”

”i wish we met before they convinced you life is war.”

”you are the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

~ Fluff

”let me walk you home, hm?”

”i wanted to say i love you without stuttering. but i failed.”

”ugh i cant reach it!”

”stop being so goddamn cute.”

”you dont need all that candy, do you?”

”call me as soon as you get there.”

”did you just- throw salt at me!?” ”im not fucking possessed!”

”cuddles please!”

”hey love, can you help me out?” ”im gay and i need a few dollars”

”thats not true! my wife is a bitch and i like her very much.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

”you motherfucker! never do that again!”

” i have no idea what you are talking about.”

”what the actual fu-“ ”HEY GET OUT!”

“im only here for the dog.”

~ Smut 🌝

“come over here and make me.”

”kiss me.”

”looks like we are trapped in here for a while..”

”you heard me. take. it. off.”

”keep looking at me like that and we might not make it to bed.”

”if we werent in public right now, i would have my head in between your legs.”

”i want to taste you.”

”dont be shy now, sit on my face.”

”is that my shirt?”

“be quiet.”

”use your words, baby.”

”what if someone hears us?”

”oh fuck yes, just like that.”

“need any help with that?”

“were you just masturbating?” - “what?! no neve-“ ”do you want some help?” - “huh?”

“relax.”

”did you come?”

”shut up slut.”

~ Funny Ones🌚

”im not wearing any underwear, thought you would like to know.”

”YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILST I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!”

”at least we didnt break any laws this time.”

”we are literally fugitives of this state.” - “so no pizza?”

”your pretty.” - “your drunk.”

”excuse you?”

”i might of had a few shots.” - “what they mean by a few is about 20.”

”if you do that again im gonna chuck you out the window- what are you doing?” - “checking how high the drop is to see if its worth it.”

”you ate all my noodles! you’ve lost toilet paper privledges.”

”OI THATS MY HOODIE LOSER!”

”haha thats so funny!” *pulls out gun* ”say it again!”

”DUDE STOP HOGGING THE FUCKING BLANKETS!”

”your bleeding!” - “oh yeah no shit sherlock!”

”for fucks sake- MOVE!”

”hey wouldnt it be funny if we made out right now?”

[⚡️] thank you for reading! have a great day!! :))

103 notes · View notes

cassieb1617 · 1 year

Text

ABOUT ME

NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

Hello everyone! I‘m Cassie, my pronouns are she/her and I‘m 21. I come from Germany so English is not my first language, my zodiac sign is Sagittarius and my Hogwarts house is Slytherin. I‘m also a big Marvel and Harry Potter nerd which is what this blog is about.

I, at first, made this blog to read fanfiction about my favourite Harry Potter characters but then decided to write some of them myself, later on I began watching the Marvel movies and started writing for my favourite MCU characters as well.

All the gifs I use are not mine unless specifically stated, they are taken from Pinterest or from here on Tumblr. You can see the original gif-maker when you tap on the light grey name under the gif on the right side. The pictures like the header image in my navigation are nace by me and my divider as well.

Please be kind when you send stuff into my inbox, I don‘t tolerate stuff like discrimination, hate, bullying etc. I don‘t want any of works plagiarized, copied republished somewhere that‘s not my account or translated. My works are only on Tumblr and my Wattpad.

I ask you to read the warnings in the works and to not interact with the post if one of the warnings is MDNI [minors do not interact] or 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption so I will not be held responsible when something triggers you that has been mentioned in the warnings.

A little disclaimer: neither the Harry Potter universe nor the Marvel Universe belongs to me. Everything that you read is purely fictional!

In my earlier fics I used (y/n) but later on stopped using it. All my readers are female or gender neutral and I won‘t write male readers. Please respect that. I try not to describe the reader‘s features like eye colour, skin colour, etc so everyone feels included, inform me if something is incorrect (unless specifically given e.g. gamer!reader).

Some helpful tags may be:

#[insert your character‘s name]

#gamer!reader

#camgirl!reader

#[insert your character‘s name] x reader

#cassie‘s masterlist

#fic rec

Please block this hashtags if you don‘t want to see this topics/fics:

#smut

#camgirl!reader

#camgirl au

#marvel

#harry potter

!To see the 18+ fics you‘ll have to change your community labels!

The characters I write for:

Harry Potter:

James Potter

Remus Lupin

Regulus Black

Lily Evans

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Hermione Granger

Ginny Weasley

Marvel:

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson

Pietro Maximoff

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

Misc:

Chris Evans

Ari Levinson (The Red Sea Diving Resort)

Andy Barber (Defending Jacob)

Frank Adler (Gifted)

Ransom Drysdale (Knives Out)

Lloyd Hansen (The Gray Man)

Billy Loomis (Scream 1996)

Stu Macher (Scream 1996)

Sam Carpenter (Scream V)

Amber Freeman (Scream V)

#About me #cassie‘s about me

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maybe-your-left · 1 year

Text

I posted 4,000 times in 2022

237 posts created (6%)

3,763 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@daydreamsofren

@kylosolo

@tashastrange89

@skyyguy

I tagged 258 of my posts in 2022

#adam driver - 125 posts

#kylo ren - 90 posts

#adamdriver - 77 posts

#my writing - 33 posts

#kylo ren x reader - 31 posts

#ben solo - 29 posts

#modern kylo ren - 27 posts

#kylo ren x female reader - 25 posts

#daddy kylo ren - 15 posts

#charlie barber - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 75 characters

#tells you to stay still on the sofa and turns on some of your favorite show

My Top Posts in 2022:

Bed Bug - Part 2 of 3

slut shaming but also slut praising?

Enjoy Part 1 before reading!

“I can’t believe him, he didn’t even respond to my texts last night! It's so rude of him-typical man baby.”

“Yeah.”

“Like when someone texts you, it’s common courtesy to answer them! Especially if they're upset! It's just childish-really.”

“Uh-huh,” you sighed again, brushing through your hair with your fingers. Over and over again in the mirror, while you stared blankly at your reflection.

Your lips hadn’t felt the same since you’d kissed him, tingled even, you’d already looked up the symptoms for multiple communicable diseases. Since it was apparent he got around, but none of the things you felt were them…

Kylo Ren had kissed you.

And it wasn’t a sweet soft kiss either, it was bone-rattling, disgusting, wet, and sloppy with his full force behind it.

And now, you listened to his ex or whatever she was complaining about him not approaching her at all since you left the frat house. She wasn’t even suspicious of you when you gave her the news that he read the message!

And didn’t blink twice when Kaydel arrived looking disheveled as hell, she had marks on her neck that resembled an animal attack.

You watched her slink through the common rooms with a limp that you could only assume was from blunt force trauma.

Given what he was packing that morning…

You shook your head, no.

He was bad news.

It was a one-time thing-a fluke! He had plenty of other girls to run through and you made a firm choice that you wouldn’t be one of them.

You quickly got dressed for the Sunday meeting of the greek council, everyone in greek life was required to attend if they were in a leadership seat.

And you were, handpicked by the club president to represent your pledge class out of 20 other girls who joined. You were flattered-and it meant you could hang out with the upperclassmen. Connections blooming between generations of bigs and littles, you had to look your best.

You were representing a group of girls who depended on you, even if you didn’t say much at meetings.

You got dressed in your pink and white gingham, house colors, and slipped on your heels. Smearing on some gloss before heading downstairs. You waved goodbye to your friends and stopped at the doorway where Bazine and Kaydel were waiting.

Kaydel looked stressed as all hell, wearing a turtleneck in the fall heat. Bazine in a frilly polka dot mess that made your eyes hurt just looking at it, they looked you over.

“That’s cute,” Kaydel gestured to the dress.

Bazine rolled her eyes, “In a picnic table sort of way… Let’s go, I need to talk to Kylo before we start.”

You gulped, Kylo would be there.

Expecting a… hug.

————

“Come on,” Bazine dragged you by the wrist, “I want a seat up front.”

You bobbed and weaved through the multiple groups of sororities and fraternities, grabbing your nametag at the check-in table. Everyone dressed in their Sunday best, you waved a hand over at your friends who pledged with other clubs. Rose with her older sister Paige sitting with Red One, and Phasma with the Imperials, older clubs. You quickly followed Bazine and Kaydel as you found your table.

Draped with signs from your upcoming charity pancake event, with the First Order brothers, and a few refreshments from the school.

See the full post

104 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

Could you write a piece on Frat boy Kylo/ Fuck boy Kylo. Like y/n is in a sorority but she’s a quite girl so Kylo see’s here as a conquest. But falls for her

wrote this while listening to this song on repeat, I hope you enjoy it.

also, no taglist because no one interacts anyway!

I made a little sign for it because I felt like it needed some cover art :)

ALSO ALSO, we are sorority girls (sisters) and sororities have paired fraternities (brothers) so the First Order is our brother frat. AND, Xi is pronounced ‘Z’ in the Greek alphabet and is the nickname of our sorority we are in. which is called the Xi Wings (like x-wings but not).

The house is a mess.

Walk through the front door, that's held on by barely three screws and smearing in maybe... eggs? Greeted by a dark brown leather couch that has someone slumped in it, maybe sleeping off a hangover? A blue bucket by their head in case of emergency, god knows you wouldn't use the bathroom here.

Leftover gym equipment is scattered around a faded green pong table, with leftover cups that were filled with beer maybe 12 hours ago. Pong balls litter the floor, crunching under your shoes as you walk on the equally crunchy flooring.

A hallway comes next, narrow and without a light. Was punched out a few weeks ago during a fight that resulted in the faded bulb shattering someone's fist. Fluorescent lights blind your vision while you enter the next rooms, the kitchen, and the back living area. Where someone has dragged the backseat of a minivan’s chairs into the middle of the floor, faded and green with stains and other items that make you want to gag.

The stove is cracked in the front.

The counters are sticky and smell like someone spilled Malibu rum all over the glasses, and a stray glass of orange juice sits precariously by the edge of the sink. And also a jack o’ lantern, that someone took a bite out of?

You huffed a sigh and stepped over the glass on the linoleum before peering over the crowded kitchen island. Spying more bodies scattered on the floor of the back living area. String lights strobing over the darkened windows, covered in the fraternities flags, to keep people from peering in on them, apparently.

One-two-three…

“Hey,” you cleared your throat, holding tight to the strap of your shoulder bag, “Hey, guys?”

A chorus of groans responded to you, along with two of the three lumps moving under blankets or jackets. The beanbag occupant rolled so you could see their face, green eyes. Not who you were looking for.

“What,” a burp, you could smell it from where you stood, “What the fuck, Xi”

You purse your lips, looking around the rest of the kitchen instead of answering. You were just doing your job-checking on the brothers to see if they were breathing… and didn’t do too much damage to the house. It was essential recruitment 101, you were the newest so you had to do the dirty work for monitoring the brother fraternity.

“I-I was just checking on you guys, Bazine t-told me I had to follow up with the president?”

Another groan, green eyes rubbing his face with a suspiciously dirty-looking hand. You stepped back into the crunchy kitchen, “Sorry-I just let myself in…I can come check later?”

“Nah,” he shot off the bean bag, launching his hands to his knees before taking a disgusting-wet breath. Your nose scrunched, preparing to watch this man throw up all over himself… how hard did these guys party last night?

“Sorry,” green eyes stood up, running a hand through his short, curly hair, “I’m not mad, just seems early for one of the checks. Are you new?”

You popped your lips, arms crossed over your chest. Wounded, only a little, maybe, he didn’t recognize you? After rush and pledge week, you’d been around him dozens of times, and introduced yourself to him, albeit that was when he was drunk… You smiled, raising your hand to move on and try and make a better impression, “Yes,” regretting putting your hand out when he took it with his gross one.

“Kuruk,” he pointed to his chest.

You feigned a smile, of course, Kuruk.

“So, you’re looking for our fearless leader?” Kuruk chuckled, stepping past you barefoot on the broken glass. He didn’t even flinch! You spun around and walked around the mess, determined to get this over with and let the president know your message. “He’s probably upstairs in his room, sleeping off a wicked hangover. That guy went too hard,” he laughed again while you followed him throughout the various dirty rooms.

Grabbing items along the way, you cringed as he lit up a glass-blown pipe, smelly weed crumbled in an end. He didn’t hesitate to smoke some right in front of you, thank goodness for him blowing it away from you…

And then walking through it.

You stepped over various obstacles, from a full-grown man to a pile of women’s high heels that must’ve been left here throughout their parties. Softly saying sorry every time your boot hit the edge of someone's shoulders, or squashed that one girl's pinkie…

It felt like you’d been walking forever until you came to the top of the stairs. You were faced with a long hallway littered with trash, and a mirror on the floor for some reason. You followed him right up to the sharpied black front door at the end.

Kuruk turned to you, pausing his raised fist to knock, “Be careful, he has a lizard and it bites.”

See the full post

123 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

what goes up must come down - masterlist

Summary: Your phone rang with a photo, grainy and dark. Showing a darkened room with flashing strobe lights and a musty-looking couch, a pair of long legs bent over the edge, black jeans pulled open.

A pair of small hands on top of strong thighs, sucking on the culprit's cock like it held onto all the secrets of the universe...

Too bad it belonged to your boyfriend and future father of your child.

mind the tags: kylo ren x reader, kylo ren x female reader, previous lovers, Slow burn to love, Happily Ever After, Smut, All the Smut, quick smut scenes, kylo is an ass, we are terrible, kylo and reader have a child, child is 6 years old, Nyx Ren original character, Tobacco use, mention of rape, thats why the rape noncon tag is on, but no rape ensues, Getting Back Together, Abandonment, Mention of previous relationships, kylo sleeps with other women, kylo gets a blow job from another woman, but its a flashback, not mentioned in great detail, Kylo is a dad, i love dad kylo ren, hes trying to connect with his child

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

A link to my Mega Masterlist, Kylo Ren Masterlist, and my Random Ren Masterlist for all your stalking needs.

130 notes - Posted March 26, 2022

Will You?

Welcome to the content dump, where I'm clearing out my WIP folder from my YEAR of writing fanfic... so be ready for a bunch of random posts that don't fit together and have no central plot other than me wanting to write a one-shot that was so specific I had to just get it out.

Supreme Leader garbage, order up.

TW/CW: mild NSFW, mention of injury, lite-angst, fluff is there too, this is sappy shit, established relationship, Kylo doesn't enjoy telling people his personal information, female reader insert, swearing.

Here is the Mega Masterlist, the Kylo Ren Masterlist, and the Supreme Leader Masterlist (this is currently my hyperfixation) :)

“Hey…could you come down to the medbay for a little bit? We’re having a situation.”

You sat up in bed, tablet squished between your shoulder and ear. “Yeah what’s going on?”

A sigh, “Look, just come down and I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

Hanging up, you rolled off the bed. Walking to your closet, pushing past all of Kylos robes to find your clothes. You made a mental note to have a droid come down and remove all his stuff. Since you kicked him out yesterday evening, you weren’t expecting him to come back. You threw on some black leggings, boots, and a long-sleeve black shirt. Ruffling your hair so it didn’t look like you had just laid in bed and cried for 14 hours.

When you arrived at the bay everyone was scattered around. Nurses and doctors shuffling patients all over the place. You made it to the front desk, patiently waiting for Kate and Christopher. Your old coworker, and an ex-boyfriend. It had been about 6 months since you ‘resigned’ from working, which was all Kylos doing. He didn’t like you not being available for him 24/7.

Kate turned to you, a thick file in her hands. She looked exhausted, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she looked at you. Chris was no better, glaring at you while he had his arms crossed. Both of them looked very pissed off at you.

“Look,” Kate sighed, rubbing her temples with her free hand, “I’m going to be blunt, and I need you to answer honestly. Are you dating the Supreme Leader?”

Your eyes widened, mouth gaping as you tried to think of a response. Kylo had never called you his girlfriend, he referred to you as his ‘cum bucket’ ‘little girl’ or even the occasional ‘princess’ if he was feeling nice. He definitely didn’t want people knowing he was fucking you daily. Saying that he didn’t want to put you in danger, but he barely gave you affection that wasn’t a ploy to get inside you. You swallowed, crossing your arms defensively, “No. I’m not dating, or have ever dated the Supreme Leader.”

“Okay,” she groaned, “Well I need you to come with us.”

You trailed down the hallway, everyone staring at you as you followed. Mostly faces of pity, and fear, especially the closer you got to the issue. Kate paused in front of the doorway, turning to you again.

“So here’s the issue,” She stared you down, “The Supreme Leader was admitted this morning, after collapsing on the bridge. He was brought in kicking and screaming while bleeding profusely from a wound on his side. He also sustained a significant amount of damage from his fall and a recent combat he returned from yesterday evening.”

You nodded along, waiting to see where you came into this.

Chris cleared his throat, “They also believe he broke his knee, but he won’t let anyone touch him. He’s attacked three medics and keeps ripping out his IV.”

“And,” Kate mumbled, “He also threatened to kill Chris, because ‘he was the reason you dumped him’.”

“When he came in he was begging for someone to go get you, and began to get violent when we told him unless you were his emergency contact we couldn’t involve an ex-medic.”

Suddenly the door slid open, revealing a very angry Kylo Ren. His chest was rising and falling in shallow bursts, face red and sweaty. Blood seeping through his armor, he immediately hissed at the two medics. “If you even so much as touch me I will rip off your limbs one by one-.”

“Kylo Ren!” You shouted, moving around Kate and Chris. Standing directly in front of him, scowling up to his face. “Is that how you fucking talk to people? Hmm?”

His eyes immediately dilated, taking in a short wet breath. Shoulders dropping in defeat, “No.” He wiped his nose, sniffling away small tears that slipped through. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “I didn’t know you were so injured. Now get back in that bed and let them help you.”

Kylos hand reached out, attempting to grab your wrist. But you ripped away from him, walking into the room. Standing directly next to the bed, face neutral as he watched you avoid him.

“Come here,” you growled through your teeth.

He slowly limped over to you, his own face now holding a scowl. Sitting down loudly next to you, his eyes not leaving your face. You looked over at your friends, who were still out in the hallway, “So, we aren’t dating. We never have-.”

Kylo butt in, “Yes we are.”

“No, we aren’t,” you groaned, “You have specifically told me that under no circumstance am I to tell people that we were sleeping together.”

He clicked his tongue, “Well I’m not the one who kicked me out of our shared chambers...”

See the full post

144 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

don’t talk to me i’m thinking about Doctor Ren at a medical conference rn

184 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

5 notes · View notes

mrs-gucci · 2 years

Text

Frosting & Sprinkles [blurb] {Charlie Barber x Reader}

just a fun, sexy birthday idea I had :) also, it’s been way too long since I’ve written for Charlie. I’ve missed him!

warnings. SMUT, FLUFF, dom!Charlie, some fun with frosting and sprinkles, dirty talk, oral sex, blowjob, face fucking, roughness, cum on tongue, funny & cute end. **no actual use of ‘Y/N’ in this fic.

no tw’s.

word count: 972

When Charlie wakes up and looks over at his bedside clock...at first he panics, because it’s almost ten-thirty and he’s still in bed. But then he quickly remembers that he took the day off for his birthday, which allows him a long sigh of relief.

Then, he smells something sweet coming from the oven downstairs, a fact that brings a smile to his face. You know he doesn’t really like dessert all that much, but there’s a certain young one coming over later this evening that will very much enjoy some birthday cake.

He groans softly as he gets out from under the covers, cursing his aging limbs as he makes his way into the bathroom. After he finishes up and tries to make himself look at least halfway decent, in joggers and a grey t-shirt, he heads downstairs.

You’re plenty busy in the kitchen, the countertops littered with dirtied mixing bowls and dusted with flour. Charlie can’t help but laugh at the sight, shaking his head.

“Oh my god woman, what have you done to my poor kitchen?”

You turn around, smiling as he leans down for a kiss. “Hey, I’m gonna clean it all up!”

“God, I sleep in for one day...” He shakes his head sarcastically, kissing you again. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Happy birthday, Charlie.”

His cheeks flush as a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks, kid. I’m looking forward to spending the whole day with you.”

You smile, reaching up for another kiss. He immediately deepens it, cradling the back of your head with his large hand while his arm slots around your waist.

He gives your ass a quick swat, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as his fingers knead at your ass cheeks.

“Mmmm,” You hum, opening your eyes and tapping his chest. “Mm, Charlie…”

“Nooo.” He groans with a playful smile, continuing to kiss you.

“Charlieeeee—mmm—Charlie, I need you to—mmmffhhh—baby, I seriously want you to taste this frosting…”

“Mhm, and I've got some frosting that I need you to taste.” Charlie smirks, pushing you up against the edge of the counter and grinding his pelvis against your lower stomach.

Your eyebrows raise as his lips begin their ministrations on your neck. He kisses that spot behind your ear that makes you shudder.

“Please?” His voice is subtly pleading, masked by its husky, lustful rasp.

“Of course baby, you know how much I love doing that for you, but can I at least put some sprinkles in the fros—”

He’s shoving you down on your knees before you can even finish your sentence, which gets you even hotter than you care to admit. You love when he takes control like this.

You lean in and mouth at the bulge in his joggers before reaching up to yank them down, letting his erection spring free. He’s already hard and leaking from the tip, the sight of which makes you smirk, licking your lips before licking a stripe from his balls up to his head.

His head tips back, hand snaking through your hair and encouraging your head forward as a shaky sigh pushes past his lips.

“Mmm, c’mon.” He ruts his hips forward, trying to force his cock past your lips. “Take it.”

Your mouth opens eagerly and immediately, you’re filled and gagging around him. His hips thrust forward as he pushes your head down at the same time, allowing his entire length to be enveloped in your velvety saliva.

“O-Oh.” It’s more of a choked groan than it is a spoken word.

“Gggnnnhhhh.”

No time is wasted in establishing a thrusting rhythm, tip hitting the back of your throat each time, just turning you into a gagging mess all over again. Tears are swelling in your eyes, threatening to spill out and down your cheeks any second.

“So good--fuuuck, I love this hot little m-mouth.” He’s panting breathily, now looking down at you as he fucks your face. “Look at you, beautiful...you n-never look better than on your knees with my cock down your throat.”

You shudder, moaning softly around his length. “Mmmmgggghhhh!”

Charlie knows he’s close already, even though it’s only been a couple minutes. His hips become desperate, forcing lewd slurping noises from you as drool dribbles down your chin.

“God, I’m right there...gonna c-cum so fuckin’ hard.”

Right before he cums, he pulls out and holds the base of his shaft firmly. His face is bright red, jaw clenched as he staves off his impending release.

“Open that mouth and stick your tongue out.” He growls, quickly pumping his length. You do as he says, mind still a bit rattled from having your face fucked.

His release comes moments later and he groans loudly, shooting his load onto your tongue. He strokes himself dry, then tucks himself back in his joggers quickly.

Just as you go to close your mouth, he stops you.

“Wait, hang on. Just...”

He looks around the kitchen quickly, and your eyebrows furrow.

“Wat are lookink for--”

“Ah ha! Got it!” He grabs the small bottle of sprinkles, then comes back over to you.

You look up at him with a confused expression as he opens up the container and sprinkles some onto the globs of cum that were spurted onto your tongue just moments ago.

“Okay, now you can swallow.”

Laughing, you close your mouth and chew the bittersweet morsels before swallowing it all. You’re still giving him a perplexed look and he chuckles.

“What? It’s my birthday, and I wanted to give it a little something extra today. I figured sprinkles were an appropriate garnish.”

“You’re a weirdo. But I love you, and you’re my weirdo.” You shake your head playfully as he helps you up off the floor, pulling you in for a kiss immediately.

“Mm, I love you too. You taste like sprinkles.”

“Oh my god.”

🎉written as part of mrs. g’s birthday week 🎉

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hedgy-hog · 2 years

Text

Let Yourself

Charlie Barber x F! Reader

Words: 12.3k

CW/Tags: Reader has a child, Mentions of food, Alcohol, Implications of Masturbation, Reader is referred to as “mom”

Read on AO3:

A/N: This fic was written for the @adcuficexchange Fall 2021 Exchange and inspired by a prompt that @kittensmctavish sent to me. Thank you for the amazing ideas!

When Henry befriends a boy at the park, Charlie finds himself gaining a new friend as well in a single parent. But as the days pass, and the text messages grow in abundance, so does Charlie's apprehension. He can't afford to lose a good thing. But when you smile at him like that, the risk may be worth it.

His sneakers skip through the mud, reminiscent of the rain that happened last night. Rain in California is a rarity. So when, to your surprise, you heard the crack of thunder and the pounding of heavy rain against the roof of your home, you thanked Mother Nature and cradled your son tightly to you. The thunder rattled him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to you. Now you wish you purchased rain boots. The mud is going to be torture to get out of his sneakers fully. But for now, you let him play, hopping over the puddles and splashing about in the enclosed playground.

His father canceled again, stating he had to take care of business and would make it up to him. Little by little, you watch your pride and joy become crestfallen, head slung as he hears your harsh whispers over the phone. Alfie doesn’t deserve this. No child does. Your arms cross over your chest as you watch him play without a care in the world, distracted for the time being by the pain you know he has to be feeling. He doesn’t understand what an asshole his father truly is, rather spending time on his escapades than his own child. He uses the excuse of business; he’s just too busy to take him to lunch today, loads of meetings. But you know, and he knows you know. You hate lying to Alfie, but you are not going to tell your nine-year-old son that his father would rather be with another woman than him. You sink in on yourself at the thought. Sometimes he gets it, he’s a smart kid, but the times he curls in on himself, eyes glazing over with unshed tears asking why Daddy doesn’t want to see him, you wish to cradle him close and punt your ex into the sun at the same time.

You should have seen it coming -- he had grown distant the moment you announced you were pregnant. He tried to be a dad, at least you think he did. But it was just too difficult for him to handle. The marriage had already been on the rocks when you found out, your husband leaving earlier and staying out later. You did all you could to make your home more appealing to him: having meals prepped and set although you had to go work all day -- which left you exhausted, making sure the space was clean, appealing to his every desire in hopes he’d be satisfied to stay around. But it was never enough for him, slowly morphing away from the man you had fallen in love with. You thought maybe the pregnancy would save all of this, your combined love for this human you created soaking into one another. Even Alfie wasn’t enough to make him stay. You two separated by the time he was four, the divorce finalized two weeks before his sixth birthday. You believed there would be a silver lining with it landing like this. Alfie would get two birthdays, twice as many gifts, twice as much cake. His father called the day before, apologizing that he had to cancel so late. No gift had been sent, not even a card. Already broke from the divorce, you took Alfie to Disneyland in hopes of making it up to him with the money you received from your last paycheck, your mind clear of any thought that would cause your chest to cave in as you witnessed your pride and joy giggle more than he ever had in his entire life

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the familiar sound of his giggle, eyes refocusing to capture what has grabbed his attention. Coming into view, you see he’s not alone. There’s another boy at his side, scratching his head in curiosity as to why he would be splashing around in the mud. He’s nine, yes, maybe too old to be hopping around like this, but who are you to deny him. You listen keenly as he explains that he finds it so fun and that this new friend should try it out. The new boy is still hesitant, waiting to see if his dad would let him play.

Charlie’s long legs help him navigate up the minuscule hill, the charm of his car locking behind him. Henry insisted on getting a head-start, afraid the playground would be occupied by the time they got there. Charlie doubted, most of the parents not wanting their child to get dirty from the recent rainfall. But it is his day, and who is he to deny his son? He huffs, shoving his keys in his back pocket opposite his wallet, fingers escaping from the fabric holder to brush the hair that fell into his eyes away from his face. The damp earth slightly gives way beneath his soles, making his steps a bit quicker to avoid sinking. Cresting over the hill, his gaze finds his son almost instantly, Henry’s shoe digging into a wet patch of grass. But today, he’s not alone.

“Dad, can I play in the mud?” Henry inquires, eyes alight and brow raised.

“Honey, mom just got you new shoes. Don’t dirty them,” he vetos, “go play on the jungle gym instead.” Henry turns to this new friend of his, eyes just as wide.

“Wanna go on the swings?” he asks. The other boy is hesitant before he looks over at his mother.

“Mom, can I go on the swings?” He has to be a bit younger than Henry, voicer soft and less assured, Charlie observes.

“Sure. Just stay where I can see you, okay?” he nods, looking over at Henry before dashing towards the unoccupied swing set. That’s when Charlie’s eyes span over to the sound of the voice, locking on your slouched-in form on the bench. Even like this, curled up on yourself, Charlie can’t seem to look away. Your eyes are captivating, tired smile soft as you make room for him on the bench.

The first thing you notice about him is how large he is. Large and wide, the man practically casts an exaggerated shadow. He dresses nice, dress shirt buttoned and tucked into his slacks. It fits him well, nothing too loose or baggy except for where his stomach would dip. He towers over you even when he sits, bending his knees further to accommodate his size.

“What do you have against mud, huh?” you quip, sitting up a bit straighter to meet his eyes. On anyone else, they would seem too small. His features are a mismatch of slopes and angles, yet they all seem to work for his long face. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, afraid you have come off a bit too strong. But when he huffs a laugh, the corners of your mouth turn upward coyly.

“Well, it’s dirty and wet and it bullied me as a kid,” he leans towards you slightly, pointed canines peering out from curled lips. The tip of your tongue presses up against the back of your bottom lip to quell the grin from breaking out on your face. Only a line in and this stranger’s already got you smiling.

“Oof,” you force a sigh once you finally regain some composure, “that must have been hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“I survived -- narrowly, but I did,” he nods, reaching a hand out after a few beats, “Charlie.” You take it, the heat from his palm melding into yours, and give it a firm shake. You can’t help but notice his hands are incredibly soft. You give him your name in return.

Charlie can’t help but notice how soft your hand is. Your grip is strong, self-assuring. He pulls away first, hand finding its proper place upon his lap.

“What brought you to the park today, Charlie?” you ask, and oh, his name sounds so nice on your lips. His name is spoken constantly; by friends, by students, by Nicole. But there is something about the way you say it. It’s light, carefree, even if it’s such a simple question.

“Henry’s been talking about wanting to come here all week. I thought on my day with him, it’s the least I could do,” his hands run down his thighs, squeezing his knees slightly before working his way back up. Had he thrown caution to the wind? Spoke openly about the normalcy of divorce so casually with a stranger? You had only told him your name.

“You too?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“Divorced,” you complete your thought. He nods, pushing a sigh through slightly parted lips. His fingers tap in his lap, a rhythm of anxiety making its debut. Did he really have to say that? Put it out so freely that he was divorced? He pulls it together, the words that were just spoken bouncing off his brain.

You too.

It seems so common now, this way out. What once had stirred scandal had become as normal as breathing. It really makes him think. How many people have fallen in love just for it to crumble to dust? How many people believed they would spend the rest of their lives together just to sign the dotted line and continue on? How many had their own days with their children meeting strangers in the park? At least one.

“You’ve got a pretty cute kid,” you chime in, taking in the sight of the two of them conversing on the swings. Henry had said something funny, watching the smaller one cackle wildly as they both pump their legs to continue on the swings, “how old is he?”

“Ah, thanks. He’s ten. Got his looks from somewhere .” So many say he looks like Nicole. The lighter hair, the doe eyes. But Henry has his lips … and his ears, hidden away by his long hair as he does. “How about yours?”

“Alfie’s turning ten next month. It’s a big thing. I want to throw a party for him but I haven’t even begun to plan yet. I fear it’s going to be a disaster being so last minute.” He’s got a cute name to match his cute demeanor. The way he beams at Henry, curious eyes not leaving his son as they continue with their muted conversation.

“If you play into his interests and get him his favorite cake, I’m sure he’d love it. I will never forget when I got him a cake with strawberries in it for his fifth birthday and he suddenly came to the conclusion that he didn’t like them. He didn’t let me live it down for a good three days.”

You discover rather quickly that you like his laugh. You like his laugh a lot. It’s deep and hearty, originating from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re certain if you look over at him, you can witness his chest rumble from underneath his buttons. Strawberries in a cake have never been so funny. You can only imagine Alfie giving you the cold shoulder for something so simple.

“Don’t get a cake with fruit in it. Noted,” you laugh along, tearing your eyes away from the kids to take in the way his eyes pinch at the side when he laughs. It’s endearing, the redness pushing against his swollen cheeks, lips stretched wide. His arms cross over his chest, slinking further down into the bench. That’s when it hits you. This feels … comfortable. Usually, the back and forth about kids is so mechanical, asking their age, what school they attend, if they have any hobbies. Parents take the time to boast of their kid's successes, most of the time a reflection of themselves which the other parents have to question. But this is refreshing, even for being two questions in. Your index finger inches forward to scratch at the dip of your nostril, sniffling between your laughter. You don’t pick up on the way his eyes flicker down to witness the gesture.

It’s another hour and a half before the sun starts to set. The park is bathed in gold, twinges of deep oranges and pinks beginning to peek through. Charlie checks at his watch, mumbling to himself that it looks like dinner is going to be late tonight. Peering up, he takes in the sight you have been watching for the last few minutes. Alfie cheers Henry on as he swings from handle to handle on the monkey bars, lurching himself to the other end and landing smoothly. You and Charlie have rattled on about the most mundane things. You find out he’s extended a residency at UCLA for theater, originally a director back in New York. You find out he enjoys classic films, has more records than any other forms of music, and enjoys cooking. You share your interests, and how you seem to have no time for them between work and taking care of Alfie. You discuss a new film you’ve seen recently, how although it’s been over a month, you can’t seem to get it out of your head. Charlie gives in to your pleas to get him to see it, even if it’s just pretense. He excuses himself from your banter, the body that had been slung in on itself, and turned towards you returning to its previous state to look over at the boys.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get going! Say goodbye to Alfie!” Charlie calls out. Both of the boys’ faces fall knowing their playtime is over, your lower lip jutting out at seeing your little boy so disappointed. He stands, a human-shaped cloud shading you from the setting sun. “It was nice meeting you.” You peer up at him, neck almost straining to take all of his form in.

“You too. We’re here all of the time, so if you ever have more days with Henry that he wants to come and play, you know where to find us.” Charlie nods, hands coming to rest upon his hips.

“Well, I could always take down your number so we definitely know when you’ll be here.”

He really just said that. So openly and with a practical stranger. He wasn’t asking you for his own sake, no. Definitely not. It was for Henry. Henry could use more friends and people to rely on when neither he nor Nicole can fully immerse themselves in his creative world. Nicole has grown busier with her show going into its third season. It’s won more Emmys than originally expected, so the broadcaster wants to keep it on for as long as they can milk it. Charlie’s got his long rehearsals and monologue evaluations that take him late into the night. Henry deserves time with kids his age to explore and learn.

You quirk a brow at him, lips pursed at the offering. You’re silent too long for him to be comfortable, bearing his weight from one foot to another. Has he made you uncomfortable? He parts his lips, readying himself.

“Or-”

“That would be nice. I think Alfie really likes him.” He breathes a mental sigh of relief, giving you a slight nod. You reach for your phone in your back pocket, navigating some tools and whistles before gesturing for him to start. He gives you his number slowly, making sure you give a noise of affirmation at every digit spoken. “Got it, thanks. I’ll shoot you a text soon.” He gives a kind smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up ever so slightly.

The boys trek back to the bench, hugging each other before parting. Finally close, he’s able to take Alfie in. There’s no doubt that he is your son, he shares so many of your features. Your eyes, your nose. His lids appear droopy, seeing that Henry has taken all of his energy with their playtime. You part ways with lingering eyes and lingering smiles, pulling your boys close as you make your way to your cars.

It’s during dinner that Charlie’s phone vibrates in his back pocket. A quick buzz, the reminder of a text waiting for him. He waits to open it. Dinner is finished, the table is cleared and the dishes are washed, and Henry is safely tucked away in bed before he finally checks his phone. A photo from an unknown number. His brows furrow, believing it to be a mistake before he sees the context. Before him shines a photo of a professional cake sliced open. Inside, the moist sponge is stained with red, giving way to the giant chunks of strawberries.

Charlie smiles.

Hey, it’s Charlie. Is Alfie there? Henry wanted to say hello.

Hi, it’s Charlie. I’ve got a day with Henry tomorrow and wanted to know if you wanted to meet up at the park.

“Hey, it’s Charlie. I was wondering if you and Alfie wanted to come over for a movie night? Henry and I are watching Jurassic Park.”

“Charlie, you know you don’t have to say ‘it’s Charlie’ every time you call, right? I have Caller ID,” you chuckle, the phone pressed up to your cheek as you finish the final touches on your son’s peanut butter and jelly.

“Oh. Sorry, just force of habit,” he explains on the other end of the line. You wonder what he’s doing. Is he also preparing lunch for Henry? It’s quiet where he is. Maybe he’s alone.

“It’s okay. Let me see if Alfie wants to go,” you pad into the small dining room, plate in hand. Alfie peers up at you with eager eyes, licking his lips at the sight of his sandwich. It’s become his new obsession, having to have it for lunch every day for the last two weeks. Who are you to deny him? You place the plate down just for him to snatch up the sandwich, grabbing a half and shoving it into his mouth. “Do you want to see Henry tonight? His dad invited us to see a movie at their house.” Charlie waits patiently, the hand not occupied by the phone sliding into the back pocket of his slacks.

“Yesh pwl-”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, sweetheart,” you warn, watching as he struggles to chew his too-large bite. Charlie’s chuckle fills your ear, knowing those words all too well. The corners of your mouth tug up at hearing the sound you’ve grown rather fond of these last few weeks, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip to quell the impending smile. It takes Alfie a few more moments to chew, taking one large swallow before reaching for his glass of milk. “So you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” he reaffirms before relieving his previously stuffed mouth with his ice-cold drink. You shake your head, laughing again before shifting your focus.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yup,” he beams, reaching down to pick up a pair of shoes that sat neatly by the door to place in his room, “I was thinking around 6:30. I can order a pizza for dinner.”

“Pizza sounds great. We’ll see you at 6:30.”

He ordered two pies just in case. You offered to reimburse him for them, much to his rebuttal. You let him win just this once, promising to treat the next time. You have never seen someone eat like him before. Even though he tries to restrain himself, he can’t help but devour slice after slice like a man starved. It’s still not as good as pizza in New York, but he’s found a place that’s close enough.

Both of the boys are sleeping before the T-Rex shoves its nuzzle through the glass roof of the truck, the volume of the television set low enough that they will not awaken to screams. You and Charlie finish off the last of the pizza, the slice you occupy now cold. There’s always an upside to it, though. The sauce always tastes sweeter when it’s not piping hot.

“So, you’ve directed stage productions,” you begin, tearing off a piece of crust from the corner, “have you ever thought of breaking into the world of film? Direct a movie or a show? Commercials, even.” Charlie ponders at the thought, his slice moving like a hand puppet’s mouth as he folds and unfolds it. Nicole can’t seem to stop raving about the times she gets to direct. But she grew up with the screen. Charlie grew with the stage. It had always been his home, his space. Behind a camera would seem so incredibly foreign. He’d have to learn from the ground up. But he knows he could take on the challenge. He’s more than competent.

“Hm. I don’t know. I never really gave much thought to it. Theater was always sort of my thing, you know?” he takes another large bite of his slice, questioning as to why this tastes better colder. You nod with a hum, following him in popping the broken-off piece of crust between your lips. You make a note to ask about when he has an upcoming production.

“Understandable,” you reply after you swallow, “never hurts to try though.” Charlie hums, working on scarfing down the rest of the pizza. “I wanted to be an actress when I was younger.” His brow quirks, settling the remaining scrap of crust on the plate in his lap.

“What stopped you?”

“Life stopped me,” you snicker, leaning over to grab your glass. “I was a little kid, asked my parents. They said no. I didn’t ask again.” He scoffs, finishing off his slice and wiping his hands on a napkin.

“You should’ve kept asking. I bet you’d be an incredible actress.” Now he’s just running his mouth. There’s no way for him to know that unless he sees it for himself. You would probably never speak to him again if you had the guts to do so. He’d have to control himself from giving you notes. There is always a vision, always more work to be done.

“I doubt that,” you take a sip from your glass, inwardly scoffing at the irony that the colder your pizza becomes, the warmer your drink. It finds its place back on the table, rotating your front back to its previous state.

“Well, how about this: I direct a film, and you be the lead? That way, we’d both do something new and I could ultimately prove you right.” The back of your neck grows hot, a shiver tinging upwards from the base of your spine. You know it’s just banter, but why is your skin burning? You rub at the back of your neck, sending a grin in his direction.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Charlie shares in your smile, grateful his hair covers the bright red tips of his ears. He scratches at one of them, his gaze unyielding from your face. Your smile only grows, wishing you can tear your eyes away. The soft hum of Dr. Sattler gives you the strength, shifting to the screen and finishing your slice in silence. As the movie drones on, Charlie daydreams of viewing you from behind a lens.

Maybe you’re as bad as you let on. Maybe it would be torture to work with you. But what if it wasn’t? Sure, playful words will go nowhere, but that does not allow his mind to cease. He watches you intently, wondering what it would be like to thank you as he stands with an Academy Award clutched in his hand for best director. He pictures how you would beam at him, your clap the loudest in the room as you cheer him on for his accomplishment. Every other face is blurry except for yours. You blow him a kiss, and his dream state shares the same burning ears as his real-life counterpart. In the now, he studies as your fingers gently massage Alfie’s scalp, his head slumped against the front of the couch.

And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to …

The four of you take a walk together the next time you’re in the park. Alfie’s birthday party is tomorrow and all of the finishing touches have been completed. You were the good parent, opting for a cake with no fruit in it. Charlie, upon hearing this, snickered with a shake of his head. The boys race in front of you, playing a game of two-person tag. They’ve grown closer, the time they share is cherished every few weeks when Charlie has a weekend with Henry. You find yourself reaching for your phone more these days, the man semi-inept with technology sending you texts and photos almost every day. Sometimes they’re subtle things: passing by the coffee place you said was your favorite, the stage that is prepared for the theater majors’ monologue assignments, a screen of his television showcasing a movie you recommended to him.

You send him the meals you make, asking for advice on how to spice things up (literally and figuratively). You send him photos of dogs in sweaters that they don’t need (“They do”, Charlie counters every time.) You send him party plans, asking for his opinion. You send him his song recommendations, a little too modern for his tastes, but he gives them a listen anyway to humor you.

You send each other photos of your children, some with wide smiles, others with pouts. Charlie forwards them to Nicole, letting her know his friend Alfie misses him and can’t wait for him to see the photo. When your schedules are too busy, photos are sent of your time together, selfies of you and Alfie sharing fried calamari and a blondie from Connie and Ted’s. Charlie shares photos of Henry asleep in an audience member’s chair from later nights at the theater, helping out the students with their showcase.

“Did he really puke?” your eyes shoot open, mouth agape at the story Charlie is recollecting. He laughs, running a hand through his hair as he nods.

“He really puked. First thing, he was slating. Next thing, blech,” he mimics the sound of the upchuck, the sound causing shivers to run up your spine in disgust. You tremor along with it, shaking the feeling from your system.

“God, that sounds awful .” Charlie’s laughter calms, looking ahead to take in the smaller boy running after his son, a hand shot out and ready to strike.

“It all turned out fine in the end,” he reassures, “he was able to reschedule and after settling his nerves, the monologue went smoothly. He also got new shoes.” You wrap your arms around your middle as you continue your stroll, smiling once your eyes follow the path that Charlie’s have taken. Henry groans in defeat, Alfie giggling as he breaks off in another sprint to begin the game again.

“Well, that’s all that matters, right? New shoes? Who needs to ace a monologue when you got new shoes?” you jest, gaze landing upon Charlie once more. His smile only grows, the pointed tips peeking out again that you’ve come to adore.

“Oh, definitely. Words don’t matter when you’ve got new shoes.” You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent the growing smile at his response.

“When I puke on my shoes when I make my film debut, will you buy me a new pair?” Is this what flirting is like? Are you flirting? No, this is simply bantering between friends, right? Two friends where one finds the other extremely handsome. Two friends where one does not wish to admit that the other has been in their dreams on more than one occasion, two friends that will never admit the way their one’s stomach flips when the other friend’s name is the first thing they read in the morning and the last thing they read at night. This isn’t a crush. No, this can’t be.

“Pick out the designer and it’s yours,” his smile morphs into something you had never seen from him-- a smirk. He squints his eyes when he does, only one cheek bunching up and swelling. Your heart jumps against your ribs, banging against the bones like a feral lion in a zoo.

“I’ll take a pair of Louboutins, please and thank you,” you pray your voice remains steady, your arms tightening around yourself in the hopes of steadying your frantic nerves.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It’s one of those nights; the night where he’s slumped in on himself in a too-quiet apartment. He stares at nothing, eyes glossed over and growing blurrier with every tick of the clock. Blinking does no help, not when his gaze is so focused on this spot on the wall. His chest feels empty, yet weighs a ton. His fingers twitch for a cigarette, yet there’s close to no strength to grab them off the top of the drawer on the other side of the room. He sighs, clearing out his throat in the dead silence of his room. The bed he occupies is too cold; the sweats he wears are not comfortable enough as he lays on top of his cleanly-made sheets. He picks at the material, trying to focus on the soft feeling between his fingers, yet nothing alights in him. With another sigh, almost on instinct, he reaches over to the bedside drawer to reach for his phone. His eyes finally focus as they look on the screen, fingers tapping a few times before he finds what he needs.

“Hello?” your voice fills his ears, an instant calm washing over. He continues to toy with the bedding, something to occupy his other hand.

“Hey,” his voice is gravelly, the sound of his voice foreign to his own ears. There’s silence for a moment, afraid he’s lost you.

“Are you okay?” you sound concerned, voice raising in pitch by the end. Had his voice given it away without having to say anything? He sighs again, taking in the solemn sight of his room. There are constant reminders everywhere, yet his home is still empty.

“Yeah. I just,” he pauses, trying to find the right words, “I miss Henry. Today was supposed to be my day but something came up and I won’t be able to see him for another two weeks. I know we FaceTime every day, but it’s just … it’s not the same.”

“Oh, Charlie ,” you coo, causing his stomach to do the tiniest of flips, “I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to imagine how awful that must feel.” He can explain it. It does feel awful. It hurts everywhere, consumed by this all-encompassing emptiness. Part of his brain screams at him that he’s doing the right thing, seeking out a comforting voice in hopes of being less alone. The other half screams to hang up and toss his phone out the window; he doesn’t deserve comfort, doesn’t deserve anything.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbles, “just wanted to see what you were up to.” You’re quick to jump at the opportunity, the sound of raising from wherever you are evident by the squeak of the floorboards.

“Actually, I don’t have Alfie for the night and I was thinking of seeing a new movie that just came out. Why don’t you join me?” Charlie hesitates, fingers stilling. Sure, you’ve had alone time together, but the children were never far away. You texted before, called before, but this would be different. It would just be you and him -- alone, no kids.

“Eh, I don’t kno-”

“Oh, come on! I am not going to let you sit and mope around when you can be sitting in a ridiculously cold theater eating overpriced popcorn and sodas that will cause your bladder to burst. Come on. Please?” Although your arguments as to why it would be better are awful ones, what could be worse than sitting here alone? Charlie swings his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting up and running his finger through his hair again to neaten it.

“Let me come pick you up. Give me half an hour,” He doesn’t need to ask for your address. He’s driven there enough times that he could do it with his eyes closed. He can practically hear your smile on the other end of the line.

“You’re not even going to ask me what movie it is?” you observe, “you must be down bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, fumbling with getting out of his sweats to put his slacks back on. “See you in thirty.”

“If you’re a minute late, I’m leaving without you!” you threaten. Charlie rolls his eyes in response.

“Then I’ll only be forty-five seconds late.” It’s such a bad joke, something his students would call a signature ‘ dad joke ’. Still, you laugh. He likes your laugh, likes it a lot. Maybe he should tell more of these dad jokes if this is your response.

“ Goodbye ,” you sing, a forced vibrato causing Charlie to laugh before the line goes dead.

He’s too large for the theater chairs, he always is. Still, if being scrunched upon oneself in a freezing room means spending time with you to help with his loneliness, he’ll take the sore muscles and the crook in his neck. The movie is rather interesting, a drama with much-needed comedic breaks. Otherwise, it would be too much. He takes it all in, the expressions, how it would translate to the stage if he were to take on something like this. He laughs at the right moments, knowing you made the right choice in your selection. In particular, one moment strikes him, a moment between two friends who know they have to go their separate ways. He feels it before it comes: an ache in his chest and sinking to his stomach. His sinuses go first, stuffing up at the tears well up in his eyes. He breathes a heavy sigh, shooting his head up in hopes the tears somehow get reabsorbed by magic. You see him out of the corner of your eye, the light of the screen illuminating off of him. You turn to head to look upon him in time that he brings himself to look back at the screen.

“You okay?” you lean over to whisper to him, making sure he meets your eyes. He nods, swallowing a forming lump in his throat in hopes of fighting it off for longer.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay,” he lies, the dam breaking with a quivering lip. You cock your head, taking him in. He knows he’s lost, the tears making their descent down his cheeks. You mouth an ‘aw’, reaching for the napkin you had for the buttery residue on the popcorn and pat just below his eyes to soak up whatever remnants remain.

“Got to you, huh?” you implore under your breath, continuing to dab at his cheeks. They burn under the paper, nodding with a breath of a laugh. “You’re passionate about this stuff. You’re cute. .” Suddenly, the breath he holds hitches in his chest. Cute? You think he’s cute? God, why do his cheeks burn even harder? Why do his ears feel like they’re on fire? He’s not fifteen anymore. “It’s alright. You’ve got me to comfort you.” Your hand drops the napkin in your lap before taking a hold of his, giving it a reaffirming squeeze.

He hasn’t touched you like this since you first met. Sure, you gave each other hugs in passing, but to feel your soft skin against his is unlike anything else. Suddenly, his eyes widen. This isn’t a date, right? Like a date date? This is just two friends watching a movie and holding hands. You ask if it’s okay, if you can continue holding his hand. He doesn’t stop you. He would never refuse you, he concludes.

Later in the night, when he takes himself into the hand you held, your name on his lips, spilling all over himself with the thought of your soft hands and kind smile occupying his mind, he knows why his body burned so bright.

You think of him often, too often. You’ve memorized his work schedule throughout the last few months although you tell yourself you haven’t. You know when he wakes, know the exact time when he sends his good morning text. During one of your outings a few weeks ago, he told you that he was never the one for texting when he could call, but you changed his stance on it. You speak whenever you have the chance, reaching out to Charlie rather than banging your head against a hard surface at work like you want to. He’ll check in during his day, pointing out things that caught his eye: a performance, good or bad, images of your favorite animal that he comes across. You ask him what’s for dinner, he tells you. Your dishes, even when he’s cooking just for himself, never amount. When you can find someone you trust to watch Alfie, you’ll offer to meet him for a meal. It’s the perfect time to decompress and just be . No work, no kids, just venting and enjoying one another’s company. It gets harder to look him in the eyes the more you spend time with him. You find Charlie, your friend , attractive. So what? Friends can find their friends attractive, right? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with looking into your friend’s eyes and getting lost in them. Nothing wrong with holding your friend’s hand when you take a walk. Nothing wrong with thinking of a friend before you drift off to sleep.

You find yourselves this time at Du-Par’s, way too late for the rest of the world to be awake. Alfie is with someone you trust, Charlie leaving work way too late for his own good. You sip on your respected coffees, Charlie indulging in his dinner as you pick at a muffin.

“So, I don’t mean for this to be intrusive, but you never told me why it never worked out for you and Nicole,” you pop a ripped-off piece of the confectionery into your mouth, large flecks of sugar pieces coating your tongue. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I get it if it’s overstepping, but I can’t help but be curious.” Charlie chews slowly, for once. The chicken pot pie he ordered is far too hot for him to devour like he usually does.

“Hmm,” he ponders, swallowing once the meat is cool enough on his tongue. “No, it’s okay. It just … wasn’t working anymore. We both wanted different things, not just for ourselves but for one another. Nicole wanted to go to LA and get back into film, I wanted to stay in New York and expand Exit Ghost. Our visions for one another in these scenarios just didn’t line up and it hurt us.” You nod, idly sipping at your coffee. He hesitates for a moment to speak about Mary Anne how a slip in judgment and a need for affection led him to her bed. You admit, it’s a bit of shock hearing of this revelation, but it makes sense. The number of times your chest would ache when you were sharing a bed with someone who felt like a stranger to you after you believed they were your soulmate, wishing for a pair of comforting arms to pull you close and keep you safe. You never entertained the thought as he did, but there were times your mind would wander. His brows furrow when you take it all in, appearing to be without a single thought. But you can’t help to feel the way your stomach flips, a fear ingrained in whatever … this is. Nothing is what it is.

You share what you haven’t already about your divorce. You share how you kept holding on longer for the sake of his family, finding out you enjoyed their company more than his. His siblings always made you feel welcome, even when he didn’t. Not having that support other than in regards to your son scared you. You share how at first, you felt as though it was your fault. You feared you weren’t pretty enough, weren’t giving enough. You would bend over backward for him to receive nothing in return.

“It wasn’t your fault. He just didn’t know how good he had it,” Charlie casually lets slip between bites. Your throat is suddenly dryer than the Sahara, controlling a few coughs with another sip of your coffee. Your eyes shoot down, afraid of how he would react if he saw your eyes bulging like they are threatening to do. It was simply a compliment, nothing more. Your other friends had said just as much.

“Well, it’s not my concern anymore,” you murmur once you regain some composure, eyes honing in on the seasonal pie presented behind the glass dome, “he’s got others to deal with his issues now.” Charlie nods, his forkfuls becoming more plentiful now that the filling has cooled down considerably.

“You ever think of maybe going back out there?”

“Hm?”

“Dating again,” he clarifies. You ponder it, how at times you long for a pair of arms around you and a set of plump lips to ease your worries. You don’t want to be alone, not really. But right now, your focus is on Alfie. If someone comes along with sparkling eyes and a charming demeanor, perhaps you would entertain them.

“Maybe,” you admit, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know. Having to sit through all of those awkward conversations again and hoping something sticks is not really my forté.” Charlie chuckles, teeth flashing you. You respond with a smile of your own, fingers toying with the paper wrapping of your muffin. “You?” Charlie hesitates, thumb and forefinger pinching the corner of his eyes to keep them in focus.

“No, I don’t think so. Like you said, those awkward conversations aren’t for me, either. It’s too much trouble. But there’s also so much to focus on. I’ve got this residency, I’ve got my company back in New York. There’s just not enough time to focus anywhere else.” For some reason, his answer makes your heart fall into the pit of your stomach. It’s a shame, truly. Charlie is a great guy and anyone would be lucky enough to have him.

“And what if someone came along? Just stumbled into your life sans awkward ice-breakers,” the crumbs of the muffin break off from the paper and stick to your fingers, rolling them off with the friction between your fingertips. Charlie ponders again, taking another bite of his potpie.

Would he? Hell, even he doesn’t know. What would happen to him? To Henry? Would both of their lives spiral into something completely new? Nicole has a boyfriend and Henry seems to be doing fine. But for both parents to be seeing someone else, the fear of Henry not liking them or vice versa? Perhaps the risk is too much. It’s still a struggle to look upon you fully, a one-time promise becoming a regular occurrence when there are no prying eyes around. There’s nothing wrong with having a face put to fantasies -- better someone he knows than a faceless, nameless person, he argues with himself every time he cleans himself up. Maybe it would be good, dating again. But Henry and himself were no longer the only factor.

What would happen if they didn’t get along with you?

“I don’t know. I still think I’d be too busy,” he disregards. You nod, the ache only growing stronger as you empty your cup. Suddenly, the muffin is too sweet, the room too stuffy. Half an hour later, you part with a hug, making him promise to send you a text that he got home safe. He promises only if you do so in return. Calm returns once you slink into your home, kicking off your shoes and padding over to get ready for bed. The notification distracts you from washing your face, skin still soapy as you read over the message.

Home safe. Thanks for coming out with me. Sleep well.

The ache returns. You also forgot to text him.

I just stepped in too. Goodnight.

You hate him. You may actually hate him. If you could have spoken to your younger self all of those years ago, you would have screamed at yourself to run far away the moment he started speaking to you in the lunchroom. The way you had been so foolish to accept his advances, his touches, his kisses. The way you had been foolish to accept his proposal. You regret so much, regret close to it all. There is only one thing you don’t regret, his head propped in your lap as you run press your fingers into his scalp. Alfie has always enjoyed scalp massages; it was one of the things that put him to bed after a nightmare when he was a toddler. You will never stop, even when he comes to you in his teens with a broken heart, in his twenties when his job is too rough on him. You will always be there, unlike him.

He didn’t call, didn’t text. Nothing. Alfie was supposed to be picked up six hours ago. Now it had grown dark and with no sign of his father coming, you stop yourself from letting the tears flow. You have to be strong for him, have to be the protector. How can someone not care about their own child enough to bail again without a single mention? It is when you put Alfie to bed that you check social media, discovering a post that makes your blood boil. You close out of the app and rush to your texts.

Can you come over? Bring something strong

He responds quickly, almost too quickly. Doesn’t even ask if anything is wrong. It’s sudden and affirmative.

Be there in 20.

He’s at the door earlier than you expect him, a bottle of wine grasped in his paw that is far too expensive for a late-night crying session. You let him in, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. Everything hurts, yet the warmth of Charlie’s presence is more than welcome. It soothes you almost as good as the wine will.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, “Alfie’s asleep, so make yourself at home.” Charlie slips off his shoes, nudging them with his foot to press up against the wall.

“I thought your ex had him today,” he remarks. Your eyes meet his, chocolate and whiskey observing how you try to blink the formation of your tears away. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he carefully places the bottle down before reaching out for you. You welcome it as he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You sink into his embrace, arms unraveling from yourself to wrap around him in return. Your head rests against him, eyes shutting and breathing in his comforting and familiar scent. It’s clean, fresh, yet deep. It feels like an eternity, standing there in each other’s arms. Charlie has become the safe haven that you never wish to lose. The physical being of all-consuming comfort holding you close, letting you cry if you chose to do so. His hand rubs calming circles into your back, you drawing in a shuddering breath as you try to quell any tears. He would let you cry if you wished to and without judgment, you know this. But you don’t feel like crying right now. His chin rests atop of your head, eyes searching for the familiar cabinet in the kitchen. “Let me get some glasses.”

You don’t wish to part from him, not when his embrace is the closest thing to home besides your son. Reluctantly, you nod, sliding out of his arms. You find a spot on your couch, letting Charlie rummage through your drawers for a corkscrew. Your kitchen is too small for him, the image of him hulking around in it when he offered to make you dinner one night bringing the slightest of smiles to your face. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, holding everything he was looking for in one hand. He’s quick going through the motions, settling down next to you before uncorking the bottle of red and pouring you each a glass. You grab for it like a lifeline, impatient to let the ruby liquid coat your insides. You down almost half of your glass in the first sip, hoping it will loosen you a bit.

“Do you wanna talk?” he pipes up, swirling the wine in his glass before bringing it to his lips and taking a few sips. You white-knuckle your glass, allowing yourself a calming breath before beginning.

“My fucking ex. I have never met someone so inconsiderate,” the ache finds itself reemerging without you. “I’m used to this, him bailing. The way he thinks he can send some money every month and believe he’s being a parent when he rarely sees his son is beyond me. He rarely calls, rarely texts. He constantly bails on our son,” your breath hitches in your chest, your teeth gripping onto your lip to prevent it from trembling. No crying. Not now. “It takes two people to make a child from what I remember. I don’t understand how he can see this perfect boy that he helped create and treat him this way. It’s not fair to him.” Charlie nods, letting you speak. His chest is hollow, stomach tightening with what can only be described as rage. Charlie does anything he can to spend time with Henry. Hell, he even asks when it’s not his day in hopes Nicole will say yes. Henry is his world and that will never change. To see this gift of a child, your son, one that Charlie has come to care for so deeply, and brush him aside like he is nothing? It rattles him to his core, twists his guts to the point of sickness.

“I’m sorry. Some people don’t deserve their children. He sh-”

“But here’s the real kicker,” you don’t mean to cut him off, but it must be said before you swallow it away forever. “After he didn’t show, I was just scrolling through social media. He didn’t even bother to text because he was at a party … for his girlfriend. I’m sorry, his fianceé , now” the last word is seethed through gritted teeth. Your dam breaks, your jaw quivering as the tears overflow your tear ducts and pour down your cheeks. “They’re getting married. They’re getting married and there he is holding her, and kissing her, and looking like he’s on top of the goddamn world with no regard for someone who already is his family. He didn’t even invite Alfie to the party, and that’s going to be his stepmother. I just--” you sniffle, the back of your hand rubbing the moisture into your skin. “I hate him. I love him for our son, but I hate him.” You down the rest of your glass, reaching clumsily for the bottle with your tear-obscured vision to pour yourself another glass filled to the brim.

He says your name so quietly, his own voice breaking. His heart shatters into a million pieces for Alfie, for you. Your second glass is gulped down, rarely coming up for air. You don’t give yourself time to savor the flavor, the deep fruit and spicy notes skipping over your tongue and sloshing into your belly. You shake your head, trying to do anything you can to make the tears stop. Your shoulder wrack, blubbering sobs causing you to fumble at putting your glass down. Charlie does it for you, once again doing all he knows he can. Placing down his glass, he scoops you into his arms and sits you down on his lap. You cry into his chest, two splotches on his shirt deepening in color with the absorption of your tears. How could he do this? How could he deny your pride and joy so adamantly and gush over this new marriage? Your heart hurts for Alfie. What will become of him in this new chapter of his father's life? It is almost non-existent as it is, but now? Now you just don’t know. You don’t want to know.

Charlie says nothing for a while, doesn’t shush you. He just lets you be, lets you cry until there are no more tears left. His hand rubs your back again, lips that you have dreamed of but never wish to admit pressing kisses into your hair. When he does say things, they are only affirmations.

I’ve got you. You’re okay.

You re-emerge from his chest with burning skin and swollen eyes. You clear your sinuses, wiping at your nose haphazardly in hopes of clearing it.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” you mutter, voice hoarse. Charlie shakes his head, his hand not ceasing their movement.

“It’s what I’m here for. But … is it alright if I share my opinion? You can say no.” You snuffle again, nodding at his request. Your fingers pinch at the fabric of his shirt, twisting the dry material laying at his collarbone into pinwheels before unraveling and starting again. “He never deserved you and never deserved Alfie. I never met the guy but I don’t have to to know he’s a piece of shit.” Peering up at him, you try to clear your nose again with another sniffle. His eyes find yours, his other hand hesitantly reaching out to cup your cheek. Your face feels so small in his palm, so fragile. He scans every inch of your countenance, trying to take in any detail he could. “I’m glad I haven’t met him. I could never imagine knowing I have Henry and not wanting to see him. The next time he bails, you call me whether Henry is around or not. We’ll all go out and do something. My treat. It doesn’t even have to be when he does. Just whenever you two want.” You thought there were no tears left until a few fresh ones roll down your cheeks. The pad of Charlie’s thumb collects them, wiping them away.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, ready to burst through and tear through your chest. Uncertain if it’s the exhaustion settling in or the wine beginning to hit, but you take a hold of his hand in your own. Charlie’s lips part, the impending dialogue never arriving. You slowly examine his hand, unraveling each one of his fingers until his hand lays completely flat. Without a second thought, you bring his hand to your face, pressing a kiss to the meaty part between his thumb and palm. His breath hitches in his chest, pupils dilating at the first feeling of your lips. They are as soft as he imagined, more swollen than usual from biting down on them.

“I don’t get it,” you utter against his skin. You give him one last kiss before releasing his hand.

“Get what?” he talks lowly, his palm burning with your lips on his skin being the only remedy.

“You’re just -- you’re amazing. If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.” Every inch of his body tenses; it’s like he’s being thrown into an ice-cold bath. You must be drunk, a lightweight, unsure of what you’re talking about. You’re tired, so tired, he surmises. There’s no way you would mean such a thing. He finds the fantasy in your eyes, you propped up on his lap just like this in the park, Alfie and Henry running around like usual. His dream self plants a gentle kiss against your cheek, his thumb tracing the smaller version of identical bands on your finger. He whispers sweet nothings for only you to hear. You respond with a nuzzle into the side of his face. The words are never heard, but he can read them from your lips. The tidal wave of reality that washes over him is chilling, jolting him into full sobriety. He clears his throat, pulling himself away as much as he can with you still propped on his lap.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he asserts, arms sliding themselves from you. You ache all over, but you nod, realizing this time has come to a close. Did you say something wrong? Did he really see how this cry took a toll on your body? You slide yourself off him slowly, steadying yourself as you stand. His hand finds the small of your back, helping you into your room. Thankfully you are already in your pajamas, changing into them when you decided it would be a movie night to make up for your ex’s flakiness. You sit on the edge of the bed, your arms finding their previous position around themselves.

“There’s a key under the mat. You can lock it from the outside,” you murmur, body feeling too heavy to move as you sink deeper into the mattress. He nods, stopping himself from crossing the threshold of your space.

“Goodnight,” his tone borders on bleak, shuffling out of your space and doing as he was told. His heart is racing as he stands at the door, unable to focus on anything but the grain of the wood.

If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.

He doesn’t send his good morning text the next day. No photos either. It’s odd. Ever since you had each other’s numbers, there has always been an exchange of messages. You start it this time, or you hope to. You’re the one who sends the messages, the photos. He never responds. You brush it off for the day, as much as you feel your heart nestling in the pit of your stomach all day. He’s a busy man. He has other priorities. He doesn’t text you the next day, nor the next. He’s gone radio silent. Every text goes unanswered. You resort to calling him. His phone rings and rings and rings. At least it’s on. But it goes to voicemail every time.

Charlie, I hope everything’s okay. Please let me know if you need anything.

Charlie, please let me know that you’re okay. A call, a text, anything. I just need to know you’re alright.

Did I do something wrong? Charlie, please talk to me. If I did anything, I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last heard from him. Time and time again you have thought about showing up on his doorstep and demanding an answer or traveling to UCLA to ask what happened in the middle of one of his classes. He’s been in your dreams, almost every one of them. You wake up with your chest hallow, limbs too heavy. It’s when Alfie asks why he doesn’t see Henry anymore that’s the final straw. He can hate you all he wants for something you didn’t know you did, but to deny his son a friend of his makes your blood boil. You reassure that they must be busy and you bet you’ll see him soon. When he leaves the room, you scroll for his number again. You pull up your messages, all of them the last few weeks only being flushed on the right.

I don’t care if you don’t want to see me right now, but it’s not fair for the boys to not see each other. Please talk to me so we can settle this for them. Meet me at the park tomorrow at 12. With that, you slide it into your pocket, hoping for once he reads this.

You sway on the swing, rocking on the balls of your feet as you search for any sign of him. Charlie’s not the one for being late, so you know if it was anywhere beyond 12:05, he wouldn’t come. You check your phone for the millionth time, glossing over the time and if you have any messages. 11:58 and none. You release a quivering sigh, your palms clammy as you grip onto the chains and swing yourself further, hoping the rocking movements will calm you. It hits noon before you know it. With another sigh, you go to push yourself off the swing when a broad frame crests over the small hill. You see a tuft of dark hair first, then wide shoulders in a too-pressed button-up shirt. Your breath hitches in your throat, grounding yourself to the swing. Charlie came. Your stomach flips as more of him comes into view. You find yourself in a natural state, your teeth quelling your trembling lip. Fuck, you’ve missed him. You have missed him so much. Even the sight of him is enough to send you into a spiral like this.

You want to rush off the seat and throw your arms around him. You want to rush off the seat and scream at him until your throat goes raw and you see red. You want to cry at him, you want to hold him and be held in return. You want to-

“Hi,” his baritone tears you from his thoughts. You blink him back into focus, tilting your neck up to take him in fully.

“Hi,” you try to retain your composure, your moist palm gesturing to the swing beside you. “You wanna sit?” His lips purse as he contemplates, giving you a nod before joining you. He’s too big for the swing, much like he’s too big for a lot of things. The bottom of the seat squeezes his hips and legs in, looking out of place.

“So,” he begins, palms laid flat on his lap. “You wanted to talk.” You hum an affirmative, hand returning to the chain and holding on tight.

“I do.” You can’t stop your leg from bouncing, as much as you try to dig your foot into the ground. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he lies, unable to meet your eyes. You shake your head. It’s not good enough.

“You’ve been busy before. I know when you’ve been busy. You always warn me if you’re going to be busy, Charlie.” You’re right, he knows you’re right. If he knows he can’t come to his phone that day, he warns you in his good morning text. You always tell him to have a good day regardless with a heart. Even then, he’s always made time for you. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Charlie pauses, drumming his fingers on his thighs. It’s so hard to explain without having to admit it. He doesn’t want to avoid you, not really. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He doesn’t wish to admit that Henry has asked for Alfie as well. He knows he’s being selfish, but was there ever another choice? Did he want to do go down the path of the other choice? The one of constant pain and longing?

“It’s complicated,” he tries to explain, truly. But the words won’t come.

“I’ve got all day. Alfie's going to a friend’s house after school. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” You’ve always been a spitfire. He loves that about you. One of the many things he loves about you. It’s why he had to go. “Did I… Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Charlie’s quick to counteract. “I just didn’t handle something well. I thought putting space between us would help.” Your brows furrow, wondering what would have been the factor in which Charlie wanted to leave.

“Why didn’t you tell me you just needed space? Why was that so difficult?” you ask. Charlie runs his hand through his hair, gently tugging at his roots to keep him in check.

“I would have never been able to do it. You would have asked what was wrong and I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.” You shake your head, sighing in disbelief. Go through with what? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

“You have to understand, it’s fine if you hate me,”

“I don-”

“But it’s not fair to the boys to be kept from one another. Henry is Alfie’s best friend. He’s been devastated not seeing him recently.” He knows. So many hearts were hurting because of him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. You push yourself up from the swing, rounding out to face him.

“What did I do to make you avoid me, Charlie?” you inquire, arms folding over your chest. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I just …” he huffs, “I got scared.” Your head cocks to the side, approaching him slowly.

“Scared?”

“The last time we spent time together, you said this… thing . I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it scared the shit out of me.” You raise your brows in hopes to get an explanation from him. Now his knee bounces. “You told me that if I was your husband, you’d never let me go and I just--”

“Why did that scare you so much?” your stomach flips, inching closer to him.

“Because I had this thought, okay? We were there and we were -- fuck, we were married, and that scared me because the thought itself wasn’t so bad,” he finally lets loose. You stop dead in your tracks, unable to breathe. Charlie had thought of marrying you? You? You attempt to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You had not been the only one with the thought, then. If you could freely share the dreams you wake up from, growing lonelier each day as you wake in your bed alone.

“Why?” you manage to croak, fingers digging into your side. Charlie bends in on himself, exhaling all puffs of air left in them. He practically folds in on himself, fist pushing against his bottom lip.

“Loving someone is scary, okay? Things can be great. There’s love and happiness, and in a second, that could be ripped away. People get married, and then they get divorced. Everything that was once good gets broken and destroyed. There’s nothing but pain and loss and-” He’s silenced by the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. He shivers at the contact, missing your touch. Looking up at you, your hands run upwards to cup his cheeks. He could die right here, your skin on his. How he burns for you.

“Will you not let yourself love?” your eyes take in every inch of him, heart wracking against your chest. “Will you not let yourself be loved?” His lips part at that. Not only is it a question, but an admission. You … oh god , you-

“I don’t know,” he swallows, pupils blown wide and following your own. You don’t give him time to think. Pulling him towards you, you slant your lips against his. It is euphoria, the feeling of your lips together. His lips are soft, slightly chapped in the middle. He tastes of spearmint gum and hints of cigarettes. His lips move against yours like a man starved, large paws coming to rest upon your hips to pull you in further. This is bliss. This is months in the making. This is right. Terrifying, but right. You pull away with a heaving chest, both pairs of lips kiss swollen and glistening.

“Let me love you, Charlie. Allow yourself to be loved. I know it’s scary, I’m scared too. But you deserve love.” Half of him wants to run, the fear of inevitable heartbreak looming in his mind. The other half wants to kiss you and never stop. He wants this. He’s always wanted this. One half decides, hands running up your sides to mimic the placement of yours on his face. When he joins your lips again, he makes his choice.

Charlie practically inhales his falafel sandwich, parts of the balls clumping off and falling into his to-go tray. He’ll never stop eating like a man starved. You can’t help but laugh, grabbing a napkin at the pooling white sauce at the corner of his mouth.

“For someone so uptight about their appearance, you sure do eat like you have nothing to lose,” you tease before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Blegh! Gross” Alfie groans, palms pressing into his eyes to prevent from seeing anything else.

“Better keep your eyes closed, then, buddy,” Charlie reaches for you once he swallows, hooking his fingers underneath your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Henry is the next to groan, draping over his friend to bury his face in the back of his shirt. You laugh against his lips, chasing a few more pecks before pulling away.

“Okay, boys. The kissing is over. You can look now,” you chuckle, reaching for your boba tea. Your friend had recommended Berlin’s, neither of you expecting to see falafel and boba on the menu, yet you won’t complain. You’re still on cloud nine in his company, your free hand reaching over to take a hold of his.

“When you’re older and with someone you love, you’re going to want to kiss them too,” Charlie remarks. Alfie makes another exaggerated gagging sound, Henry’s head cocking to the side, lost for words. It didn’t take the boys a long time to accept either of you into their lives in this sense. If anything, they saw it as a plus knowing they would see each other more. Even with their farce at your affection, the transition had gone smoothly. Your fingers lace with him, shooting him a knowing smile before bringing the thicker straw between your lips. Charlie hones in on the tapioca pearls along their journey through the straw and into your mouth. He’d make your last words a lie if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

“When I love someone, I will never kiss them!” Alfie argues. You laugh as you swallow, leaning to the side to rest your head against Charlie’s shoulder. His lips find the top of your head, lingering to take in the scent of familiar shampoo. The last shower you took was at his place, insisting on using his shampoo. Warmth floods him and the tip of his nose nudges at your scalp.

“We’ll talk about it when the time comes,” you smile, squeezing Charlie’s hand. He squeezes back, a gentle reassurance of his presence, his awareness. During your time together, you’ve come to learn more things about him that you love. You love how he looks when he first wakes up, hair dark and disheveled, practically sticking out in all directions. You love how specific he is about his eggs for breakfast. You love how he takes his coffee and how he blows on it to cool it down before taking a sip. You love how he’s an incredibly safe driver, even when it drives you up the walls when he can go faster and chooses not to. You love his awful dad jokes. You love how attentive he is with Alfie. You love how he holds you when you have time to yourself. You love how his heart still races when you press your ear up against his chest after all of this time. You love how he loves.

You love him.

There are so many things he loves about you. He loves how you’re always there to wipe his tears away during movies. He loves how you support him in any way you can, showing up to his work with lunch when you can, showing up to his shows and residencies. He loves how much you love New York after he takes you there for a week to follow up with Exit Ghost. He loves how your hand feels in his, so much smaller than his own and so very soft. He loves how you feel in his arms when he holds you close. He loves the way you smell, the perfume he gifted you settling perfectly into your skin. He loves how you love.

He loves you.

His previous fear seems foolish looking back. Why would he deny himself something so pure and whole? Of course, the fears are still there. He knows losing you would crush him beyond compare. But he lives for the now, the now in which you love him wholeheartedly and he loves you in return. Fears be damned, he will live in the now.

“What do you say?” he murmurs into your hair, “should we give them one more thing to lose their minds over?” You shift your head to take him in, a soft smirk spreading across your lips.

“Lay it on me.” Who is he to deny you? His lips slot over yours, and all is right again. In the background, the boys groan again,

“Love is weird,” Alfie comments before popping a fry into his mouth. You laugh against his lips, pulling away to lean your forehead against his.

“And yet deserving,” you whisper, just for him to hear. For the moment, it is only the two of you, love surrounding each other like a bubble. Neither of you wants it to pop. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, sharp canines peeping out from his lips. The wrinkles on the edge of his eyes crinkle with his smile. Right there, you fall in love all over again.

“Can we go to the park after?” Henry chimes in before taking a fry from his own. Charlie sits back to his normal height, the loss of you causing a slight twinge in his chest. But there will always be more time.

“Sure, honey. But the swings are ours.” Henry doesn’t question as he chews on his fry. You squeeze his hand again at the thought.

“Only if you push me this time,” you smirk, bringing your joined hands up to your lips for more adoration.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber x f! reader #charlie barber/f!reader #charlie barber x femme reader #charlie barber/femme reader #charlie barber x female reader #charlie barber/female reader #charlie barber #marriage story #marriage story fanfiction #adcu fanfiction #adcu fic #adcu fic exchange #child oc

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paterson-blue · 3 years

Text

Deep End Distractions; Part 3

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

Summary: As a swim instructor, you meet a lot of parents who are either overly committed to their kid’s lessons or couldn’t care less. You aren’t 100 percent sure where Henry Barber’s father lies on this spectrum, but man, is he hot.

Word Count: 4,984

Warnings: fem! AFAB reader, sexting, naughty photos, flirting, a cute moment with Henry & Charlie, teasing, date time y'all!, some finger-in-mouth action, teensy bit of Daddy!kink (it just jumped in you guys idk), fem! pet names, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV sex (without chance of pregnancy), creampie oop!— let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: this is the last planned installment for this little series. thanks to everyone who's read & commented such lovely things! and big thank you to @paper-n-ashes for her beta expertise.

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

You wake up the next morning to two text messages from Charlie. Your stomach erupts into butterflies, pulse picking up as you hold your phone to your face to read the notifications.

‘I came so fucking hard thinking of my cock in your sweet cunt.’

You shiver, sliding your thighs together under the covers. The other message is just a photo, one you can’t see very well in the little preview. You open it quick as can be, heart in your throat, and fuck—

He’s smart enough—or maybe, enough of a tease—not to show his face or his cock. Instead, it’s the pale expanse of his torso, from his neck to the trail of hair leading down between his strong thighs. His skin is all shiny, large droplets of cum spattered over it; a sizable amount was pooled on his stomach.

Fuck.

You stare at the photo a little longer than probably necessary. God, it was dirty; he was dirty—you absolutely loved it. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, trying to figure out what to say; there was so much to choose from. You wrestle with yourself before finally starting to type, quickly, so you couldn’t talk yourself out of it.

‘Filthy Mr. Barber. Hope you saved some for me.’

You hit send and promptly abandon your phone, heading to the bathroom to shower. You’d slept into the morning, and you’re considering asking him if he wants to grab lunch sooner rather than later. You wanted him, and at this point it was pretty clear that the two of you were on the same level of desperation.

He’d sent a response by the time you came back into the room, perched on the edge of your bed with a towel wrapped around you. You hold your breath as you read the words on the screen, a little smile pulling at your lips.

‘Oh I’ve got plenty for you, sweetheart. Whenever you want it.’

Sweetheart. Alright, yeah, early lunch it was.

‘What if I want it now? Maybe get some pizza delivered first?’

He answers before you can set your phone back down, and his eagerness makes you preen.

‘Tell me what you want and I’ll order it to my place.’

‘I’ll be over soon.’

______________________________________________________________

You admittedly rush through your routine of getting ready, and not just because of the way your stomach was growling. You keep looking at the photo he sent you, your mouth fucking watering at the image. He was unfair. You grab a couple essentials before rushing out the door, deciding you might as well have some toiletries in the car--you know, just in case. You weren’t expecting anything other than a meal and what you’re sure will be an amazing fuck, but there was no harm in being prepared for otherwise.

The drive to his apartment feels like it takes ages, especially with the constant start and stop of Saturday afternoon traffic. You drum your fingers on the steering wheel, taking quick little looks over at the passenger seat, remembering everything that happened last night. It makes you fidget, nerves alight in your stomach. Shit, you needed to take a breath, to calm down--this was Charlie. There was no need for you to feel so… antsy. You knew him enough to feel comfortable, to feel secure with what you were doing, hook-up or not.

You pull yourself together in your car, sitting outside his apartment complex. He’s sent you the flat number, and you search the front of each unit as you walk down the shared sidewalk in the middle of the complex. Charlie pulls open his door the second you knock, and oh, he looks hungry.

“Hey,” he breathes, dark eyes sweeping over you. He’s wearing jeans and a loose burgundy colored sweater that accentuates his pale skin, even with the light tan he’s managed to acquire with his weekly swim sessions. He’s barefoot, clearly comfortable in his own space; you aren’t sure why that’s so endearing.

“Hi there,” you answer, stepping through the doorway as he moves to let you in. You study your surroundings curiously, looking around at his belongings. The living room was cozy, with a large couch and two oversized armchairs, plants sat around and framed pieces of art on the walls. You can see into the kitchen and dining area, and spot two large pizza boxes sitting on the table. “I see I got here just in time.”

Charlie chuckles, nods, spurred into motion from where he’d been frozen at the door. “Arrived just before you did. Make yourself at home. Would you like anything to drink?” He brushes a large hand over your back as he walks past you, his touch lingering a moment too long, the two of you sharing a heated gaze. Christ, how were you going to last through a meal with him like this?

You ask for some water, following him into the kitchen after kicking off your own shoes and abandoning your bag on the coffee table. He moves around fluidly in the small space, grabbing glasses and plates and napkins. Your gaze trails over his form, admiring the way the material of his sweater drapes over his back, the way the denim of his jeans clings to his thighs. You were used to seeing him in either loose slacks or swim shorts—this was a happy medium between the two.

“You look nice,” you say, because you can. Charlie gives you a look, scoffing at your words even as his cheeks flush a pretty pink color, accentuating the freckles and moles that dotted his handsome face. He was pleased at your compliment, even if he wouldn’t say it.

It only takes Charlie a couple of his long strides to place the dishware on his dining room table and then come back to you, cornering you where you’re leaning against the countertop. “You look nice, too,” he murmurs, caging you within with his arms, voice low.

You grin up at him, reaching to fiddle with the hem of his sweater. “Do I? That’s good. I was a bit distracted while getting ready—kept stopping to look at a picture on my phone.”

Charlie’s eyes go dark, and he leans in closer, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah? You liked it?”

You nod, arching against him slightly. His gaze falls to your lips, your chest, and back up again. “I really liked it. Thought about getting off to it but decided to wait for the real thing,” you hum, trying to sound casual despite your racing heart. The two of you were walking a fine line, each trying to gain a minuscule amount of power over the other—though, honestly, you just liked pushing his buttons.

One of Charlie’s large hands comes up, settling against your neck, his thumb and index finger notching under your jaw to tilt your head up exactly where he wants it. You swallow hard under the slight pressure of his palm, and he makes a contented sound in the back of his throat. Your hand comes up to grip his wrist, and for a split second his hold on you falters, his dark brows knitting in concern—it lets you know that he’ll stop the instant you voice any discomfort.

You just pull him closer, wanting more of that delicious pressure. Charlie groans, cursing under his breath, and suddenly he’s surprising you by crashing his mouth down onto yours. It’s not soft—it’s desperate, biting, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. Christ, his hands were so fucking big, holding you in place so he can use your mouth the way he needs. It makes you think of how easily he could use you like this between his legs, hold you still while he fucks your throat.

Fuck, you want it.

His eyes are blazing when he pulls away, his plush lips all red and puffy. He grips your chin in his hand, the large pad of his thumb rubbing against your bottom lip. “Knew you had a perfect mouth,” he mumbles, pushing his thumb further; you take it, letting him press against your tongue. You wrap your lips around the base, hollowing your cheeks to suck, looking up at him the whole time. He’s got his mouth hanging open, face flushed. “Fucking tease,” he grits out through his teeth, voice betraying the tiniest bit of a tremble.

You just hum, blinking up at him; he tugs his thumb from your mouth, smearing your spit over your lips. “I promised you a date. So we’re going to sit and eat. And then I’m going to fuck you over the table.”

His words go straight between your legs, and you dip your hands under his sweater and the t-shirt beneath, needing to feel his bare skin. “You promise?” you ask with a pout, and Charlie huffs, shaking his head at you good naturedly.

“You’re going to kill me,” he tells you, finally stepping away so the two of you can breathe. You frown at the lack of contact, but at the same time, your stomach growls. Maybe having a bite or two would do you some good. With the way he was looking at you, you think you’ll need your strength.

You sit across from one another, gazes heavy, the air heady. Your underwear is fucking soaked, you can feel it when you sit down. You squirm in your seat, biting your lip as you serve yourself some pizza—the way Charlie’s white-knuckling his glass of water tells you that he knows exactly what you’re doing. You give him an innocent smile, even going so far as to flutter your eyelashes. “What?”

Charlie just huffs before taking a giant bite of his chosen slice, watching you thoughtfully. After a moment you feel a little nudge on the side of your foot, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads over your face. He scrunches his toes against yours, and you laugh. “Footsies? Really?”

Charlie just shrugs in response, grinning as he takes another bite. You shake your head at him, nudging his foot back, the potent need for one another fading into a nice sort of buzz. It was still there, and you knew it could easily be plucked back into the forefront of your minds, but it was toned down enough that the two of you could actually enjoy being together like this.

You talk while you eat—about everything and nothing all at once. It’s easy to talk to him. You already knew as much, but you’d been a bit worried things would be different in this particular setting. That maybe the pressure or the expectation of a date might change the dynamic between the two of you. And it had, but not in the way you’d feared. It was a welcome relief.

He’s in the middle of telling you he’s decided to go ahead with the theater deal when his phone starts buzzing on the tabletop. He makes no move to pick it up, only glancing at it briefly, but then a frown settles between his brows. “Sorry—hold on—“ He sets his slice of pizza down on the plate in front of him, reaching for the phone. “Henry’s iPad is FaceTiming me.”

He wipes his mouth before answering, brows arching when the call connects. “I thought you were doing homework.” His tone is schooled into something calm and even—his “Dad” voice, apparently. You haven’t noticed it before, but now it makes you smile. You make sure to stay silent and out of sight, listening for Henry’s familiar lilt to come through.

“I was but I finished, and Mom said I could have my games back.”

“If I call Mom, is she going to say the same thing?”

“Yes, dad.”

Charlie’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he chuckles at his son’s exasperation. “Alright, alright, I believe you.” There’s a pause, and you watch Charlie make a funny face at the screen. Henry giggles, then speaks again.

“What’re you doing?”

“Iiiii’mmm eating lunch,” Charlie answers, stretching out the words. His brown eyes flicker up at you, expression warm and fond. It makes you feel all gooey inside. Henry is—thankfully—oblivious to it all.

“What are you eating?”

“Pizza.”

Henry sighs at his dad’s response, sounding mournful. “Does the pizza have meat on it?”

Charlie huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. It seems like he knows where this line of questioning is going. “Yes it does.”

“Mom won’t let me get meat on our pizza.” Henry sounds petulant; Charlie’s voice is kind and patient.

“Mom’s vegetarian, honey, she can’t have meat.”

“Well I hate vegetarian.” Henry states, resolute. You try to hide your smile in your glass, sipping at your water so you won’t laugh.

Charlie gives the phone screen a look, but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he changes the subject. “What are you and Mom having for lunch?”

“Spaghetti.”

“That sounds good. I like Mom’s spaghetti.” There’s the tiniest hint of melancholy in Charlie’s voice. Henry doesn’t notice it, going on about his day. Charlie takes it all in with genuine interest: wants to know how his homework went, what his friends are up to, where he’s going with his cousins tomorrow, what book Nicole is reading to him this week.

Part of you feels like you shouldn’t be intruding on their personal conversation, but you were already there, and you couldn’t exactly get up and leave. At least, not very discreetly. Charlie keeps shooting you looks that are almost apologetic, and you try to tell him with your own looks to stop that shit. He doesn’t ever need to apologize for caring for his son.

Still, Charlie winces after Henry hangs up, making eyes at you as he sets down his phone. “Sorry. I guess that sort of killed the mood, huh?”

You roll your eyes, giving him a (gentle) kick under the table. “Don’t apologize—Henry comes first, as he should. And no, it didn’t kill the mood.” Charlie gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you, and you stare him down. When you speak again you choose your words wisely, your tone dipping down into something akin to a purr. “Why wouldn’t I like knowing you’re a good daddy?”

Charlie freezes in place, staring back at you, and maybe you’d be worried that you’ve said the wrong thing if it wasn’t for the way his eyes go all wide and dark. You don’t even think he’s breathing.

Hook, line, and sinker.

His jaw works, and it takes him a while to respond. When he does, his tone is dark and clipped. “Alright.” He stands slowly, taking his time collecting the leftovers and dirty dishes from the table. You watch each and every deliberate movement, not daring to follow as he deposits everything in the kitchen. When he returns, he has a damp tea towel in his hands; you stand so he can wipe down the tabletop.

He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, as if nervous, or perhaps just figuring out where to go from here. Straightening back up, he catches your eye, and you see him reach some sort of resolution. He tosses the towel in the direction of the kitchen—it lands haphazardly on the countertop—before stalking towards you.

“Was it a good first date?” Charlie asks, voice low as his hands reach for your wrists, pulling you towards him. You go willingly, pressing close to him, and he lets you—lets you duck your hands under his shirts to touch his bare skin. His eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments as he savors the feeling, his palms smoothing up your arms to settle high on your shoulders where he can rub the sides of your neck with his thumbs.

He was so handsome. And he was all yours—at least, for right now.

“Oh, so the date is over now?” you tease, sliding your hands over his torso and up his back. You trail your nails back down and Charlie groans, the noise unabashed. You want to hear more.

His eyes open up to look down at you, and he moves one of his hands up to take your jaw in a soft but steady grip, his thumb on your chin. “Did you like it?” he asks, quiet. You nod, anticipation building in your stomach—you think maybe it’s been building for weeks now. He nods back at you, murmuring “good,” before he leans in to slot his mouth over yours.

He kisses you firmly, his large nose pressing against your cheekbone as his plush lips suck at yours. Charlie’s kisses are insistent but not frantic—he takes his time, like he knows you’re his to do with what he wants. He doesn’t need to rush; he can explore your mouth, swallow down your noises, savor your taste.

His grip on your jaw tightens minutely when he pulls away to trace the tip of his nose along the side of your face. “You want daddy to fuck you?”

It’s little more than a breath against your ear and his teeth graze over your earlobe, teasing. You knew your earlier words would come back to bite you in the ass but fuck, hearing him say it, you feel lightheaded. You nod quickly, and Charlie chuckles. “Bend over the table, then, honey.”

You scramble to do as he says, draping yourself over the freshly cleaned wooden surface, holding on to whatever you can reach. When Charlie’s fingertips brush over your ass you jump, still somehow startled even though you were anticipating his touch. He smooths one large hand over your flank, as if to calm you.

“… You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like, right?” he asks quietly from behind you, his tone gentle as he slowly pulls the bottom of your dress up, exposing you to him. “Any time you want to stop or change something, just let me know and I’ll do it.” Sweet, lovely Charlie, so concerned about you. It’d be even more endearing if you weren’t currently eager for him to fuck you six ways from Sunday.

“Yes, yes, yeah—I will, I swear.” You wriggle your hips back against him and he laughs, the sound settling all soft and warm in your head.

“Don’t be greedy,” he chides, hooking his fingers into your underwear and tugging them down your legs. He helps you step out of them before he’s pulling your thighs apart, settling a hand on your lower back and pushing you to arch more for him—presenting yourself for him. “I’m going to give you everything you want.” The words are murmured, and you shiver, wanting to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of relief but not daring to.

There’s silence, and then a dull thud. You don’t realize it’s Charlie’s knees making contact with the linoleum floor until he’s yanking your hips back and onto his face. You let out a little yelp, mouth agape as his large hands spread you open for him to press his tongue through your folds. He moans at the first taste of you—pulls you closer like he can’t get enough. Fuck, you wish you could see him like this.

“So fucking wet,” he mumbles against your pussy, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to himself or god or what—honestly, you’re not even sure how he’s breathing with how tightly he’s holding you, but you can’t bring it within yourself to care. Especially not when he adjusts just slightly, and suddenly he’s licking at your clit with his nose pressed inside of you.

It’s just a tease, really; the knowledge of it is probably making you more dizzy than the actual sensation. But oh fuck, that nose, that nose, that beautiful fucking nose—if you’d known he’d do this you might’ve jumped his bones a lot sooner. “Shit, Charlie, yes—“ you whimper, cheek already smushed against the tabletop.

When he pulls away you mourn the loss as well as the position you’re in; you want to see his pretty face decorated in your slick. But then he’s pressing one long, thick finger into you and you’re keening, already clenching around it as he pumps the digit in and out.

“Fuck, look at you. Perfect little pussy just for me. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long, you know that?” he talks as he fingers you open, rambling, breathless as his free hand palms your ass. “First second I saw you, you were so fucking pissed at me, so gorgeous. Thought you were going to yell at me right there in front of everyone and just the thought got me so hot.”

You let out a shuddering breath as his scissors two of his fingers inside of you; you arch up onto your tiptoes, angling yourself towards him, wanting more. He twists his fingers, curling them in search of the place that will make you whine for him. He finds it much too easily to be fair.

“Never thought you’d want me,” he continues, sounding strained. His free hand disappears from your skin for a moment and you hear fabric rustling, the clink of his belt, the soft sound of a zipper. Your heart rate speeds up in anticipation, but after a moment his hand returns to your hip as if nothing has happened. You wonder what he’d do if you fidgeted, turned around to get a good look at his cock.

“I want you,” you say, trying to make a show of it as you clench purposefully around his fingers. “Please, Charlie, I’m ready—I can take it.”

He curses under his breath, hesitates, but then apparently decides to believe you because he tugs his fingers out of you. There’s some more shuffling, and Charlie lets out a soft, shuddering breath. “Condom?” he asks, all quiet, and you reach out behind you blindly, trying to make contact with any part of him that you can.

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s fine—come on.”

Your hand comes in contact with one of his massive thighs, and you hum happily, rubbing your fingertips against his bare skin. He steps closer and suddenly his cock is right there, pressing all hot and urgent against your cunt. Your pussy squeezes around nothing and you sigh in frustration.

“Easy, honey. Be patient.” His voice is low and level, much like the calming voice he’d used for Henry earlier; it makes you squirm. The thick head of his cock slowly smears through your folds, back and forth, back and forth. Charlie lets out a soft groan, one of his large hands settling onto your hip to hold you steady. He makes no move to press into you, the fucking tease—he seems content just pressing himself against your cunt, between your thighs.

“You hear that? Hmm? Hear how wet you are for me?” His voice is little more than a purr, all quiet so you can listen to the slick, sticky noises your pussy is making. You feel your face flush, and you tense up a bit, nearly embarrassed. Charlie tuts, landing a sharp slap to your ass that makes you gasp. He palms over the sting, leaning over you to nuzzle against your ear. Fuck, he still had all his clothes on.

“No hiding, not from me. Let me in, sweet girl.” His breath is hot against your skin, there for a moment before his body heat disappears again as he straightens back up. There’s a moment where you’re holding your breath, and then he’s slamming into you, splitting you open all at once. All your breath leaves you at once in a cry, and you scrabble at the tabletop to find some way to anchor yourself.

“Fuck,” Charlie grunts out, his hands gripping your hips hard, holding you onto his cock. You take a couple shuddering breaths, closing your eyes as you adjust to his size. Shit, he was huge, you could feel him in your fucking stomach. His cock was a delicious ache filling you, and you can’t help but squeeze your pussy around him, like you want him deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” he curses, voice hoarse, and he shoves your dress further up your back so he can arch himself down and press a kiss to the middle of your back. He trails his kisses upwards until he’s draped over you again, pressing his nose to the side of your face. “You okay?” His question is murmured to you, shaky and almost timid.

You reach up blindly to brush your palm over the back of his head as you nod. “S’good, Charlie, fuck, you’re so big. Need you to fuck me, please—please.” Your fingers tangle in the ends of his hair, tugging lightly, needing him to move.

Charlie hums, the sound dark and pleased. He starts moving his hips torturously slow, the drag of his cock inside you making you whine. “You need it, do you?” His voice rumbles in his chest, vibrates against your back. “Like this? Or more?”

You want to scream; want to shove him back onto the floor and ride him into oblivion, to take what you need without his teasing. But you swallow back the urge, fumbling for the words he’s searching for. “More. More, please, Charlie. Harder.”

His hips snap forward and your eyes roll back in your head, mouth falling open as you keen for him. He presses kisses over your jaw, sliding a hand up and around your neck, pulling you up just a little so he can press his lips to yours. His palm presses deliciously against your throat and you moan into his mouth, kissing him hot and hurried.

“Mmm, fuck, you taste good. Feel even better.” Charlie nips at your bottom lip before arching up just a little to get better leverage, hand still around your throat. “Such a wet, sloppy pussy, just for me, yeah?” Yes, you chant, yes, yes, yes, yours. And then he’s fucking you in earnest, holding you steady by your neck and hip as he pounds you into the tabletop.

You think you’re probably drooling onto the freshly cleaned wooden surface but you don’t care. All you can do is focus on the feeling of his cock in you, the smack of his hips against your ass, the squelch of your pussy. You’ve got wetness dripping down your thighs; his balls keep slapping against them with each of his powerful thrusts. You know you’d be sliding up the table if he wasn’t holding you down so tightly.

Have you ever been fucked so good? If you have, you can’t remember. There’s nothing in your head but him. Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. You think maybe you’re saying his name out loud but you’re so out of it you don’t know for sure. He says your name back to you in a ragged breath, groaning afterwards as if the very word went straight to his cock.

“Next time—“ he pants, leaning back over you to snarl into your ear, “-next time I’m stripping that fucking dress off of you so I can see your pretty tits, have them in my hands.” One of his giant hands paws at your breasts, squeezing over your clothes to accentuate his words. The sensation makes you clench around him hard, and he fucking growls.

“Fuck, honey, you feel amazing--” His voice breaks and there’s a pause, his hips grinding into you. Charlie lets out a hoarse laugh, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re gonna make me cum.” The words make you moan, and you nod, fumbling for any part of him you can touch. The thought of him cumming in you, because of you--fuck, it’s all you want.

“Give it to me, Charlie, I need it,” you encourage him, arching your back slightly. He groans, hips stuttering, and you smile, breathless. “C’mon, baby. You wanna cum in me, don’t you? You wanna show me who I belong to--wanna fill me till I’m dripping.” You’re not fully conscious of the words you’re saying, not with your head spinning the way it was, but they seem to do the trick because Charlie shudders and yanks you back against him.

He sets a brutal pace, chasing his own pleasure now that he has permission. He’s fucking impossible noises out of you, ones you aren’t sure you’ve heard yourself make before. It's nearly animalistic, his pace, his grunts, his hands on you.

You love it. You fucking love it.

“Gonna cum--you’re gonna be so fucking full of me, fuck!” His hand moves from your throat to slam beside your head, his long fingers stretching to grip the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. “Gonna f-fill you up and then l-lick it out of you, eat you till you cum all over my face,” he grits out between his teeth, sucking in a strangled gasp--and then he’s slamming his hips into you once more as he cums, filling you with warmth.

Charlie lets out a shaky moan, trembling as he slumps on top of you, chest heaving. You’re still on edge, but you know--you know--he’ll take good care of you, just like he promised. And he does. Because as soon as he’s caught his breath, as soon as he’s planted a kiss to the back of your neck, he’s helping you to the couch and falling onto his knees in front of you.

“Spread those legs, honey, let me see you.” You do as he asks, reaching out to run your fingers through his damp hair. His eyes are dark as he admires your pussy; as if on cue, you clench, and you feel his cum drip out of you. Charlie lets out a quivering breath, licks over his bottom lip. “Oh, you’re perfect, you sweet girl. Let’s see how many orgasms you have for me, hmm?” And with that, he’s pressing his face back between your legs.

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