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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”

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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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modernpaw · 3 years

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It's a Beautiful Day for a Wedding (Part 3)

Charlie Barber x Female Reader

Summary: When your ex-husband shows up at your cousin’s wedding, old wounds can’t help but resurface. Lucky for you, a certain theater director is also in attendance.

Notes: I had to write this whole thing twice because right after finishing it the first time, I accidentally pressed something and deleted much of the text, with no way to undo it. My last draft had been hours ago and so much had already changed in the scenes. You guys have no idea how much I wanted to cry, so I'm just glad someone's reading this. SNIFF. Lesson learned.

CW: N S F W, SMUT, swearing, unwanted advances, PIV sex, divorce, painful breakup, implied past infidelity, unprotected sex, AFAB reader

Words: 4.3k

Read Part 1 here

Read Part 2 here

The sound of knocking brings you back to your senses, and you push Charlie away in alarm. A look of hurt crosses his face, but it only lasts for a second. Before you can even open your mouth to apologize, however, the knocking starts again, and your attention returns to the door.

"Hellooooo," the person on the other side calls out. "Anyone there?"

"Sorry, occupied!" you shout, voice hoarse.

Aren't there other bathrooms in the house?

"Oh, honey! Are you okay?" You now recognize the speaker as one of the bridesmaids. "We haven't seen you since the reception began!"

"Y-Yes!" you answer, looking around for an alternative way out. Your eyes land on the frosted glass window on one side of the wall, which you know for a fact faces the back of the house.

You look back at Charlie. You may need him to climb out that way, but you're not sure how you can ask him to do so without offending him more than you probably already have.

"Are you sure? You sound like you're coming down with something!" the bridesmaid replies. "Let me in! Maybe I can help!"

The doorknob jiggles.

Panic surges in you, and you feel like throwing up. You're going to have to choose between making Charlie leave, knowing full well that you're the one who pulled him in here in the first place, or getting caught in a compromising situation. Either way, you're going to have to deal with the fallout.

Fortunately, Charlie seems to have come to the same conclusion. He taps you on the shoulder and points wordlessly to the window.

You nod at him before opening the faucet, hoping that the running water will help mask the sound of his escape. As he slides the glass up, you flush the toilet and slam the seat down, trying to make as much noise as possible.

For good measure, you shout back at the bridesmaid. "Uhm, on second thought, you might be right. I think I might have caught a bug or something."

"Oh dear!" she cries out. "You know, there's a stomach bug going around! Half my family is coming down with it!"

You say something in reply, rambling on and on about how sick you feel, while leaning your forehead against the door. Much of what you're saying probably doesn't make sense, but it only helps sell the idea that you're not feeling quite like yourself.

"Do you think you're well enough to come out? Perhaps you need to drink some water," she says helpfully.

You look behind you to check if it's safe to open the door. Charlie is nowhere to be seen, the open window the only indicator that he was ever there in the bathroom with you.

Aside from the taste of his lips on yours, of course.

You let out a sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror, recomposing yourself as best as you can. You fix the smudge of your makeup and rearrange your dress, all the while thinking about how his absence doesn't make you feel relieved, only hollow.

From experience, you know that you need to talk to Charlie right away. So many things have been left unsaid, and the longer you leave things unresolved, the harder it will be to sort out later.

You open the door abruptly, surprising the bridesmaid waiting on the other side. She takes one look at you and shakes her head. "Honey, you look so pale. I think you need to lie down."

You admit that you feel faint, but you also know that you need to go back to the reception to find Charlie. "I'll be fine," you say with a placating smile. "I just need to get something to eat."

She doesn't look like she believes you, but escorts you back to the garden anyway. You station yourself right by the dessert table, so you can nibble on a slice of cake while you scan the crowd for any sign of Charlie.

The party is still in full swing. From your vantage point, you can see your cousin and her husband engaged in an animated conversation with another couple. Everyone else is either talking, laughing, or eating, all having a good time.

There's no sign of the theater director anywhere though, and you blink your tears back, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

It's very likely that he's already left the party.

He probably doesn't want to see you again.

You really fucked this up.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice your ex-husband approaching you until he's right by your side.

"Look, I'm not really in the mood for you, Steve," you say when he calls your name. You keep your face turned away, eyes still searching the crowd for Charlie. Maybe if you don't look at him, he'll go away.

"I just want us to talk, sweetheart," he says, using his pet name for you.

The urge to vomit returns in full force. "D-Don't call me that," you say, putting your plate down when you feel a cold chill seep through your bones. Your hands turn cold and clammy, and it feels like you've actually caught a bug.

"You used to love it when I called you that," he continues, moving closer to you, lips brushing against your ear. "Remember the first time I called you sweetheart?"

You know where this story is going, but you don't want to hear it. "You lost the right to call me that a long time ago," you say as firmly as you can, finally looking him in the eye, and pushing him back. "Please just leave me alone."

Steve doesn't seem to know how to take no for an answer. "That wasn't the case a few months ago," he presses. "Weren't you my sweetheart when we spent that whole weekend in bed?"

You feel a dizzy spell coming on, and you sway a little where you stand. You steady yourself, trying to block Steve out as he recounts the details of your time together. Does he really think that reminding you of that weekend would make you want to jump back in his arms? If anything, it only reinforces your decision.

You've just about had enough, but when you try to walk away, he takes your hand and pulls you back. "Let me go, Steve," you hiss quietly, not wanting to call any attention by struggling harder, not that you have the energy to.

At this point, a stiff breeze would blow you over.

Before he can answer, you feel a strong arm curl around your waist, freeing you from Steve's grasp.

"Baby, here you are," Charlie says, putting himself in between you and your ex-husband. "I couldn't find any meds for your nausea, but maybe this watermelon drink will help."

On instinct, your body curls around Charlie's, one hand resting on his back, the other on his chest. He holds the glass before you and gently lets you sip from it, much to Steve's bewilderment.

Improvisation isn't necessarily your strongest suit, but it's not difficult to play along when your partner is Charlie.

"Better?" he asks.

You nod. "Can we go?" you ask in a small voice.

Charlie deposits the glass on the table. "Of course, babe," he says, before giving Steve a smile. "If you'll excuse us," he says before gently walking you back to the house.

You don't spare your ex-husband a second glance, choosing instead to focus on Charlie's arms around your waist and the feel of his body so close to yours. His presence is warm and comforting, and you feel the symptoms of what might have been a panic attack recede.

As you lean closer to Charlie, you think you feel his arm tighten around you, but you're not certain. It might have just been your imagination. You keep your hands on him anyway until you're safely inside the house, only letting go when he breaks away from you.

"There's a guest bedroom upstairs where I'm staying," you say as soon as you're out of anyone else's earshot. You don't want to risk getting interrupted or Charlie leaving before you get a chance to explain. "Do you think we can talk there?"

Charlie considers you for a second. "That depends. Am I going to have to climb out of a window again? Because I don't know if I can manage it quite as easily as from the second floor."

Guilt floods you and you look down on the floor. "No, it's my room. No one will—" You cut yourself mid-sentence, realizing that you couldn't, shouldn't, impose this conversation on him if he doesn't want it. "But if you don't want—"

Charlie sighs and gently cups your face. "I'm sorry. I meant it as a joke, but I think it came out the wrong way."

You blink up at him in surprise. "So you're not... you know...angry?" you ask.

He bops his forehead gently to yours. "No, c'mon. Let's talk."

+++

Upstairs, in your room, you sit on the side of bed, while Charlie, after unbuttoning his coat with one hand, takes the desk chair right beside it.

You take a deep breath, not really sure what to say first.

Do you say that you're not normally that promiscuous? That that thing in the bathroom was your first time acting on your desires so indiscriminately? Do you apologize for pushing him away earlier? For making him leave through the window as if you're embarrassed to be caught in the bathroom with him?

Once again, however, Charlie beats you to it. "I'm sorry if I overstepped," he says.

"No!" you say, quick to contradict him.

You don't want him to think that you didn't want any of it or that he was alone in his actions. You're just as responsible for what transpired. "I wanted it," you say. "And I'm sorry for pushing you away. I was just surprised."

He studies your face for a moment, wanting to make sure he doesn't miss any important non-verbal cues from what you're saying, that it's not just wishful thinking on his part. "I understand," he finally says.

And he does. While he did feel hurt earlier, it was more of a reflex than a conscious emotion, and it wasn't something he would allow to take root without talking to you first. After escaping through the window, he went in search of another bathroom where he could compose himself and make himself more presentable before rejoining the reception.

That was when he saw you standing by the dessert table with whom he assumed was your ex-husband. As a director, Charlie is very used to reading body language, and he could tell within a second of watching you that you were very uncomfortable in the other man's presence.

He had already been on his way over, but when Steve pulled your hand, Charlie had to stop himself from making a scene. He grabbed a drink on the way, so he wouldn't accidentally break your ex-husband's nose for putting his hands on you, knowing that that last thing you wanted was to call any attention to yourself.

Now that he has you all to himself, all sorts of thoughts are running through his head, such as the fact that he probably should have asked you to dinner first, and he says so as much.

"But I can't say that I regret what I did either, unless, of course, you do," he says, watching your face carefully.

You stare back at Charlie in awe. "I-I don't regret it either," you say. "I like you Charlie."

Charlie smiles as he holds his hand out to you. "Well, just in case it's not obvious, so do I."

You reach out to place your hand in his, returning his smile. "It's been quite a day, hasn't it?"

He squeezes your hand. "I think we deserve a break."

The break is apparently a nap, which, according to Charlie, you desperately need. You don't have the energy to argue, especially not when you know he's right. Your emotions have been running on high since earlier this morning when you heard that your ex-husband was attending the wedding.

Charlie admits that he may have exacerbated the situation.

"Exacerbated," you yawn, "is one way of putting it."

Now, lying on your side, you feel your eyelids start to get heavy. The bed is so soft, and Charlie is so warm. He's taken his coat off and is positioned right behind you, one arm slung over your body, pulling you close to his chest.

You put a hand over his and hum in contentment. Charlie smiles when he hears it, likening it to a cat's purr.

He drapes one leg over yours. "Sleep now," he commands, and you find yourself obeying without question. His weight is a welcome anchor for your frazzled emotions, and soon, you find yourself dreaming.

You're on a boat, bobbing up and down, in the middle of the ocean. There's nothing but water for as far as your eye can see, no other person around you, not even land on the horizon, but you don't feel scared or alone. You just feel at peace.

When a large wave rocks the boat gently, you rush over to the side of the craft, only to realize that the wave is actually a blue whale. Its sheer size should have been overwhelming, but its presence only calms you.

Then the dream changes, and you feel lips pressing against the back of your neck and hear sweet nothings whispered in your ear.

You're gorgeous.

Stay here.

I'll be right back.

You try to shift closer to the warmth behind you, and that's when you wake up.

Blinking your eyes open, you register the fact that you're alone in bed, alone in the room, in fact. You push yourself up on your forearms. Charlie's side of the bed is still warm, so he probably hasn't been gone for long.

Before you can even speculate about his whereabouts, however, the door opens to reveal the man himself with a plate of food in one hand and two bottles of water in the other. "Hey," he says, placing them all on the desk. "Thought I left you sleeping."

You crawl over to the edge of the bed before standing on your knees before him. While you appreciate him taking the time to bring you food from the reception, it's not exactly what you're hungry for. You reach for his belt, pulling him towards you, before laying gentle kisses on his stomach.

Charlie swallows. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, cradling your face.

You look up at him and nod. "Very sure."

Charlie leans down to kiss you softly on the lips before joining you on the bed. You move back to make room for him, until your head hits the pillow and the entire length of his body covers yours.

"You look so beautiful," he says, before gently parting your legs. He nudges your left leg to the side, and slides his hands up the smooth expanse of your skin, bringing your dress up as he does.

Your breath hitches in anticipation when he raises it to your waist, revealing your seamless underwear. A new wet patch is already forming on the crotch.

Charlie gives you a heated gaze before devoting his attention back to your core, his undivided attention making you feel even more aroused.

"Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted earlier?" he asks softly. Before you can even comprehend his question properly, however, he leans down to sweep his tongue across your slit through the jersey fabric.

"Oh f-fuck," you whimper as soon as you feel him on you, the panties barely a barrier from the warm, wet, and firm assault of his tongue. The soft, sensual motions of his mouth make you hotter and wetter, and one of your hands lands on his head, while the other clutches wildly at the sheets.

As he proceeds to lick long stripes up and down your core and lap at your clit through your panties, your desperate pants and gasps redirect blood flow to his cock, filling it up even more. He groans against you as he palms himself through his trousers. He can't wait to be inside you, to plunge himself in so deep, he'll never find his way out again.

Charlie moans against your pussy and wonders if you know just how much more depraved his thoughts about you can get. He's never felt this way before, has never wanted to give in to his desires as much as he does with you.

Leaving one last kiss on your pussy, he pulls away to make quick work of his pants and his shirt.

Despite feeling lightheaded, you sit up to follow his lead, pushing the straps of your gown down until the entire dress slides off your body. Without breaking eye contact, you stand back on your knees, and reach behind you to unclasp your strapless bra. Before you completely release the band, however, you hesitate for a moment, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It's ridiculous, you know, but even though he's already had his lips on your most intimate places, this is the first time you're going to be baring yourself to him.

Will he like what he sees?

Before you can back out, you remove your bra and lower yourself to sit on the backs of your legs, hands on your lap, inadvertently squeezing your tits together.

Charlie is silent for a moment, staring at you unabashedly, and you wonder if you're not what he expected.

Finally, he kneels down on the bed before you. "How are you even real?" he whispers, reaching out to touch your chest. Your hands fall to your sides, as he caresses your tits up and down, over and under, tracing their natural shape, letting them bob against his palms. At his ministrations, your breasts start to swell. They become heavier and seemingly fuller in response to the largeness and roughness of his hands. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him, as your pussy quivers and flutters in anticipation.

He has yet to touch your nipples, but he doesn't have to, they're already hard and swollen, waiting for him to lavish his attention on them. Charlie licks his lips. You can tell—or maybe you hope—that he wants to lick them, suck them, but that can wait another time. There's something else that needs attention.

You reach for the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down. Charlie helps you pull them off, and you barely contain your excitement when the head of his cock slips out and the rest of his length is finally unsheathed.

It's big, bigger than what you're used to, and it looks—fuck—it looks so hard and heavy, the head barely managing to lift itself. The tip is shiny with pre-cum, the balls drawn tight and large. Your mouth waters at the sight. You've always had a bit of an oral fixation if you're being honest, and you can't wait to have his cock between your lips.

Charlie groans as he watches you watch him with undisguised desire. He gives himself a few strokes, but you stop him before he could get anywhere, pulling him down to the bed. He soon finds your positions reversed, him with his back against the headboard, you right between his legs, kneeling down on all fours.

Seeing your ass up in the air and hearing your delicate moans as your nipples rub against the sheets—it's all nearly too much for Charlie, and more pre-cum gathers at his tip. He stops breathing altogether when you hover your mouth over his cock and raise your head to look up at him. He feels like he knows what you're about to do, and he's not disappointed when you hold his gaze as you give his head several experimental licks.

"Ungggggh!" he moans, his hands digging into his thighs at the sensation. He doesn't want to rush you, not yet, but god does he want to thrust up into your mouth.

"That's it—fuck—take it," he groans when his cock finally slips between your lips. Holding the base of his erection with one hand, he pulls your head down with the other, gently feeding you his length one inch at a time.

"C'mon, baby girl," he groans encouragingly as you take in more of him. "You can do it."

You close your eyes in pleasure, and you take him in further, sucking softly as you do. You're not a world champion at deep-throating, but you do enjoy giving head. In fact, you enjoy it so much, your pussy's already salivating.

"You feel—fuck—you feel so fucking good," Charlie says. You moan in reply, and he involuntarily tightens his fist in your hair when it sends vibrations through his cock. You hardly feel it, however, focused as you are on the singular task of taking in as much as you can of his length and the sheer pleasure you get out of servicing his cock.

Charlie nearly loses it when he looks down to see your eyes half-lidded and strands of saliva around your mouth. You look so thoroughly debauched, so fucking dirty and unrestrained in your pleasure, that he can't help himself. He begins to face-fuck you, hand urging your head to keep up with his thrusts.

You gag slightly, eyes tearing up immediately when Charlie's dick hits the back of your throat, but you try to relax your muscles, taking what you're given. You love how he sounds above you, his groans raw and broken, his growls bordering on animalistic.

Just as you think he's about to come, however, he pulls his dick out and pulls you onto his lap. You place your hands on his shoulders, moaning when you feel the full extent of his hardness against your core. You feel your cunt throb, swelling up at the prospect of having his cock inside.

"Y-You want my cock?" Charlie asks with a hiccup, still breathless after nearly coming in your mouth.

"Mmmhmmm," you answer, as you lean back, hands on either side of his hips, indulgently rubbing yourself against him. Charlie allows it for several seconds, knows how much you deserve it, before lifting you back up on your knees. You're still wearing your panties, but he doesn't care. He simply pulls the crotch of the fabric, wet as it is, to the side. As he positions his cock right under your pussy, he inhales sharply at the sight if your glistening folds. Slick. Sopping. Dripping. He can't wait to get inside you, can't wait to feel your wet pussy ride his dick.

Slowly, you sink yourself on him, and although he's larger than what you're used to, your cunt instinctively makes room for his cock. Not enough that he can just slide all the way in, but just so that you're taking more of him with every move. It's a tight fit, but it's comfortably snug, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at how good it feels.

"Mmmm... yeah," you cry out. "F-Feels so good."

Charlie groans as he watches your pussy swallow him down. "Fuckkkkkk," he swears. One of his hands hovers just over your shoulder, resisting the urge to push you down. "So damn greedy for this cock."

He's not wrong. You gasp when you finally seat yourself fully on his lap. You've never felt this full or this close to bursting before.

While he waits for you to get used to his size, Charlie distracts himself by running his hands all over your body and leaving feather-light kisses everywhere—on your shoulders, your neck, your ears, your breasts.

"Oh, Ch-Charlie!" you cry out when he catches one nipple in his mouth, the suction of his wet warmth making the already sensitive bud ache. The delicious throbbing causes your walls to contract, which then squeezes his dick in a solid grip.

Charlie lets your nipple go with a raspy plea. "Baby, need you to move now," he says urgently.

You lift yourself back up and try to find a rhythm, but when Charlie sees how much of your slick is covering his dick, he decides that you can go a bit faster. Grabbing you by your waist with both hands, he takes over the pace and starts bouncing you on his dick, the constant fwap-fwap-fwap sound of your fucking filling the air.

"L-Look at how well you're taking me, baby girl," he groans, watching as his cock disappears in and out of your pussy.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh!" you moan as his thrusts repeatedly hit your g-spot and your clit rubs against his pelvic bone. "Ch-Charlie, Charlie, Charlie!" you chant his name as if it's the only name you've ever known.

"Th-That's right—fuck!" Charlie exclaims, thrusting upward frantically now. He wants to leave his mark in you, wants to ruin you for any other man, wants you to know only his touch.

He's so, so close, he can taste it. "So fucking good!" he groans.

You're not that far off yourself, but then Charlie lets out a deep, rumbling growl and bites down on your shoulder.

Oh fuck.

You let out a high-pitched whine as pleasure sweeps through every cell in your body. You feel yourself literally crying out in ecstasy. Without a doubt, this is the best orgasm you've had in a long time.

Charlie grits his teeth when he sees the tears in your eyes and feels the exact moment you reach your peak. His balls draw themselves up, and his cock prepares to ejaculate. He wants to come in you, but you haven't had the chance to discuss anything, so he lifts you up and pulls out at the very last minute.

"F-Fucking—"

As soon as his hand touches his dick, it spurts out gobs of semen, painting your pussy, your stomach, and even his chest and your breasts white. Some even land on your face.

Charlie groans when he sees you slip your tongue out to lick the spot near your lips where a bit of come landed. He doesn't have it in him to get hard again, but his dick still twitches at the sight.

"Come here," he says, pulling your head close, so he can kiss you. Chest still heaving, you part your lips for him, letting his tongue in. Charlie kisses you tenderly and lovingly, and then pulls you closer so he's cradling your body on his lap sideways. You two remain like that for some time, kissing away the aftermath of your orgasm, oblivious to the rest of the world.

When you two eventually break apart, it's not because you two get tired of kissing, but because your tummy finally makes its hunger known.

"Looks like someone's finally ready to eat," he says, chuckling.

You smile back at him. "Well, I'd say we deserve it."

END

Tagging: @cornmousequeen, @fizzywoohoo, @paper-n-ashes, @morby, @shygirl268

Tagging (for this story): @clydesfavoritegirl, @alpha-lobito, @gurl-ly, @boltonbritreads

If you would like to be tagged in future adcu stories or only those for specific adcu characters (which I cannot promise will actually happen), let me know! :) Otherwise, thank you for reading!

Likewise, if you want to be untagged, feel free to let me know! No need to explain and I won't be offended! :)

#charlie barber x you #charlie barber x female reader #cw: N S F W #cw: sex #cw: swearing #cw: PIV sex #cw: AFAB reader #cw: unwanted advances #cw: unprotected sex #cw: smut #cw: implied past cheating #cw: divorce #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adcu

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anessthesiaa · 4 years

Note

Since we’ve opened the door, how about your HCs for hugs with Charlie, Clyde, and Flip? I just want them all to hug me! I vote Clyde as the warmest and softest, Flip as the strongest, Charlie as the most emotional lol.

Charlie has most definitely and certainly mastered the art of the dad hug. And everyone could use a dad hug. Charlie knows just how to hug you, exactly how much love and warmth to put into a hug, reassuring you as he does so, soft words and little “I know, it’s okay, I’m going to take care of you.” The man definitely, definitely, knows how to give the love you need and deserve.

Clyde loves hugs, point blank, loves the warmth, loves the closeness, and will jump at the opportunity to just hold you for a few moments, loving the feeling you body all close to his, his hand strokin’ up and down your back and playin’ with your hair, gentle whispers; “It’s alright to be sad, darlin’, c’mere and let me hold you.” Never in a million years would you face anything alone if Clyde could help it.

Flip loves to hug- but also loves to protect you. His hugs are the most secure, bracing you against him with every ounce of strength he has, whether that’s to comfort you from a bad dream, protecting you from the imaginary demons or monsters, or protect you from bad thoughts that are hurting your heart, he knows just how to wrap his arms around you all tight, squeezing on you and letting you take as much as you needed from him, telling you the whole time “I’m gonna keep you safe, honey, I’m gonna take good care of you.” And he keeps true to his word, standing right beside you, willing to protect you, no matter what cost it takes.

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber headcanon #charlie barber x you #clyde logan #clyde logan x you #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x y/n #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman headcanon #can you tell its mothers day and i feel sad and just want a dad hug and to cry on charlie barbers shoulder bc i have unresolved trauma f #rom being neglected and abandoned at 11 nope yeah sorry enjoy i love yall

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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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#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x fem!reader #charlie barber x female reader #charlie barber fic #charlie barber smut #charlie barber #adcu fic #charlie barber x afab reader #tori writes #feedback always welcome & appreciated!

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iwishtobeastorm · 2 years

Note

Hi! It's Anya, the daddy!Charlie fan, I've moved accounts but I'm back for more fluff/light smut. Could I request something for Charlie with a reader who wants nothing more than to be the only one who turns him on but she is nervous that him only being attracted to her is too good to be true? To her it feels natural that he's the only one she desires, but she's worried he doesn't feel the same.

A/N: Hi Anya! Thank you for this little thing, I enjoyed writing it very much. I'm sorry it's so short but I hope it fulfills its purpose. Let me know what you think, Ily!

Only you - Charlie Barber/F!Reader

Word count: 900+

Warnings: Reader is insecure, light angst, comfort

Masterlist

"Sooooo how was the rehearsal?" You ask, squeezing Charlie's hand in yours softly as you walk down the street together. Today you decided to surprise him and visit the theater so you could go home together and Charlie couldn't be happier to see you sooner. "Good. We finally made progress with that scene I told you about," he murmurs and you turn your head to him with a grin. "That's great!" You say and he smiles, nodding. "I was thinking we could maybe have a little relaxing day today? We could order food, watch a movie, have a bath," you offer softly, your gazes meeting. "That sounds very nice, sweetheart," he states and your smile. "Okay," you murmur, turning your focus to the street, the world around you that you're always able to ignore completely once you're in Charlie's presence.

Just now you notice a group of girls around your age, all dressed up in pretty clothes that outline their even prettier figures. They giggle at something as they pass by you and you turn your head to follow them with your gaze just to find them looking at Charlie, smiling and commenting on how handsome he is, how tall and broad and well dressed. Your heart sinks in your chest, your contented expression fading. You quickly look away, lowering your gaze, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You stay quiet for the rest of your way home, brushing off Charlie's attempts at initiating conversation until the door of your shared flat finally closes behind you. "What's going on, baby?" He asks as he watches you hang your coat. "Nothing," you murmur, trying to fake a smile before you head down the hallway to get to your shared bedroom so you can change. Charlie doesn't give up that easily though. "No, something's up. What's troubling you?" He follows you, worry creeping inside his chest. "It's nothing important," you lie again, tugging your sweater over your head. Charlie watches you getting undressed, his eyes roaming your body as he leans against the doorframe. On other occasions, he would probably let his thoughts wander in a dirty direction but he knows something is going on with you and he won't let it slip. "Tell me about it, darling," he pleads, which makes your heart clench. You know how much Charlie cares about you but you really don't feel like having this conversation right now and ruining your relaxing plans with your overreacting. "I promise everything's okay," you say softly, looking at him briefly before putting your folded clothes into the closet and taking out pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. Charlie clenches his jaw softly, before he crosses the distance between the two of you, grabbing your arms gently and making you look up at him, your gazes meeting. "Don't lie to me, baby. I know something's wrong. Tell me about it. I want to hear it," he says, his baritone making your muscles melt. You take in a shaky breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head no. "Come on, darling. I don't want to see you sad," he states and you sigh softly. "I- I saw these girls today," you begin, looking down so you don't have to face him. Charlie waits patiently before you proceed, swiping his thumbs over your shoulders to show you his support. "They- they were looking at you and commenting on how handsome you are and stuff and I just- they were so pretty and I felt invisible compared to them," you murmur, trying to hold back from getting emotional. "Invisible? Darling, you are never invisible to me," he states, cupping your cheeks with his big hands, making you let out a shaky breath. "You could have every single one of them, if you wanted," you murmur, looking up at Charlie with tears in your eyes. "But I don't want to. Y/N, you're the only one I want," he says as if it couldn't be more obvious and it really couldn't to him. You are perfect for Charlie. He loves everything about you. How could you not see? "Really?" You assure, searching his eyes for confirmation, the tenderness you're met with making your heart weak. "Really. Why would I want anyone else when I have you? You are kind, smart, sweet, caring, funny, and compassionate. And you are probably the most beautiful girl I've ever met. Why should I ever want anyone else?" He questions and you bite on your lower lip. "Because there are people more attractive than me?" You offer and Charlie chuckles. "No such thing," he shakes his head, running his thumb over your cheek. "You know it's true," you protest and Charlie shushes you. "No. There might be people more attractive but not in my eyes," he states, leaning down to kiss your forehead softly, making your heart flutter in your chest. "I don't want anyone but you, I swear," he says quietly, nuzzling his prominent nose against your hairline. "Me too," you whisper and Charlie smiles. "Good," he murmurs before he leans in to kiss you on the lips finally. It's all gentle and tender, making you melt in his arms,

the heaviness in your chest finally dissipating, Charlie's words playing through your head on repeat, making you smile against his lips. Charlie pulls away after a moment, giving you both space to breathe as he plants kiss after kiss to your nose and cheeks, making your face tingle. "I'm gonna get the bath ready for you, baby," he whispers and you nod, silly smile still on your lips. "Yes, please," you murmur. "I love you," he states, gazing into your eyes, his words mirroring in them. "I love you too."

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Taglist:

Thank you so much for your support!

@rosi3ba3z @lovelylostminds @lokigirlszendaya @Gabr-Marie @hypnoash @xoxabs88xox @janebby @black-rose-29 @sirwaddlefuck @mssbridgerton @zooeyglassbathroom @lmarielondon @kacctus @Lovelyleti2 @bunnyxdriver @ro-sary @hnnybee24

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber fanfiction #charlie barber fanfic #charlie barber #female reader #marriage story #tw angst #tw insecurity

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

Adult Swim, Part 2 of 3 {Charlie Barber x virgin!Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! happy fourth of july to everyone celebrating. here’s part two of “adult swim” :) things are heating up, y’all!

warnings: smut. some fluff. making out. nose kink oops. over-the-clothes touching & oral (f receiving). handjob. some grinding. thigh-fucking.

(possible) tw’s: age difference. infidelity/extramarital affair. semi-public smut.

table of contents pt. one pt. two * pt. three

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea @gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

(can we just take a moment of silence, dedicated to the masterpiece that is adam driver’s/charlie barber’s side profile? *drools*)

July.

You’ve come to dread Fourth of July weekend ever since you became a lifeguard. Although it’s a fun celebration, the pool stayed open much later than normal for the whole weekend, which meant that you had to work longer hours.

Sure, you liked cashing the overtime paycheck, and you always managed to get a few free meals out of the deal thanks to community members, but it was hard work.

Luckily, this year, you had Charlie to help you through the long days. You couldn’t actually see him, not properly anyway, but he did come over and chat with you a few times for a bit while Nicole watched with a suspicious glare.

Rain clouds have shrouded the sun’s warm glow and a bolt of lightening streaks across the gray sky, followed by a clap of thunder that rumbles the Earth. Everyone is forced to get out of the pool and sit under the covered patios until the rain and storm have passed over.

You’re making your way towards the lifeguard’s lounge when a large hand holds your shoulder, effectively stopping you in your tracks. When you turn to look at who the hand is connected to, you smile.

“Mr. Barber.” You say, politely.

He nods. “Coach. Do you need to, uh...check on anything in the storage area?”

The breath catches in your throat as he looks into your eyes, sending a chill down your spine. You know what that look means...

“Now that you mention it, the manager asked me to check on the cleaning supply stock...” You say, a lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’d like.”

He looks over his shoulder, happy to see that Nicole is deep in conversation with a group of other moms.

“You had me at ‘now that you mention it’, coach.”

The two of you scurry off to the back storage area, which is basically just a cage with a roof, and Charlie immediately pins you against the wall. He kisses your neck while he grinds his pelvis against your lower stomach.

You move to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, but he stops you. You look up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Wanna fuck your thighs today, coach.” He breathes against your neck. “Turn around and keep your legs together for me, alright?”

Nodding, you flip yourself around so that your front is now pressed up against the cage, making sure to keep your thighs together. You look over your shoulder as he begins untying his swim trunks.

“No peeking, Y/N. You know the rules: you’re not allowed to see me until I spread your legs and take your virginity.”

Your head turns back to its normal position and you hear him stroking himself behind you. You want nothing more than to see his cock, touch it, appreciate it; but alas, he won’t allow it.

His small grunts and groans are more erotic than they ought to be and you can feel the slick beginning to dampen your folds. He's standing at full attention, now, and he takes a step forward to press himself up against you.

Your breath hitches as his thick length slides between your thighs, earning a small breathy grunt from the large man behind you. He lets out a shaky sigh before drawing back, then snapping his hips forward again.

“O-Oh, coach.” He breathes into your ear, hands planting next to the top of your head on either side. “Thaaaaaat’s good, so good.”

His little grunts and groans are music to your ears and, mixed with the smack-smack-smack of his skin colliding with yours, it’s an erotic symphony.

“We’ve gotta h-hurry. Storm’s gonna pass over s-soon.” You whisper.

Charlie nods, increasing his thrusting rhythm two-fold. He pants into your ear, one hand sliding down from the wall to wrap around your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck your little virgin cunt so hard.” He growls, reaching down to grab your hip. “Gonna f-fuck you just like this, coach. Right after your pussy stretches out around my cock, I’m gonna fuck you nice and h-hard, make you cum.”

You moan, biting your lip. “C-Charlie...fuck.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, Y/N, I’m c-close. Gonna cum--” His hips come to an abrupt halt and he buries his face in the crook of your neck as he cums, a low groan muffled against your skin.

Your head tilts down just in time to see the liquid ropes erupt from between your legs and you can feel the way his length pulses before each rope shoots out.

He’s panting against your neck, planting the occasional open-mouthed kisses on your skin as he catches his breath. Once he regains control of his breathing, he tucks himself back into his swim trunks and turns you around, holding your hips.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to make you cum, coach. I’ll make it up to you next time, I promise.”

You shake your head, smiling up at him. “No apology necessary, Charlie. I still had a good time, regardless. You know I like helping you get off.”

Charlie bends down and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, laughing softly when your face crinkles up. “You’re the best. Now, you should probably get back out there before anyone gets suspicious. I’ll hang back for a bit, have a cigarette or something.”

“See you soon, C.” You say before heading towards the door.

“You’ve never used that one before, coach.” He says, causing you to turn around.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It just sorta slipped out. Sorry.”

“No need.” His lips tug up into a smile. “I kinda like it.”

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The union between Charlie and Nicole has been noticeably shaken and strained as of late, you’ve noticed. You wonder if she somehow found out about you and Charlie.

Ever since the first private swim lesson, you and Charlie have been rendezvousing under the starlight on a weekly basis. Sure, there’s been some swimming involved, but it usually doesn’t last very long. He can’t keep his hands off you for more than about fifteen minutes at a time when you’re together.

It’s not just the physical connection; you and Charlie have incredibly compatible personalities, too. You get along really well and there’s a lot of natural chemistry between the two of you. You find yourself counting the minutes until the pool closes on lesson days, count the seconds until Charlie walks through the gate.

Tonight, you’re already in the pool when Charlie arrives, practicing your own technique. He sets his bag down on one of the loungers and watches as you make your way back down the lane in backstroke. He can’t help but look at your breasts, he’s got the perfect angle to look down your suit...

You flip back over and pull the goggles up over your head, smiling as you swim up and pull yourself onto the side of the pool.

“Hey, C.”

He smirks, walking over and jumping into the pool, swimming up to you with just his eyes above the surface. You giggle as he grabs hold of your ankles and lifts them up, forcing your upper body to fall back against the pool deck.

“Good evening, coach.”

His lips kiss and nibble at your ankle bones before trailing up your leg. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as his kisses draw closer and closer to your clothed center, which has already begun to heat up from his actions.

Your eyes never break away from his as he sucks at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, just at the hem of your bathing suit bottoms. You suck in a sharp breath when his nose lightly drags across your crotch, and his eyebrows raise.

“What was that, coach?” He asks, grinning to himself. “Did you...like something that I did, in particular?”

You’ve always sort of had a thing for Charlie’s nose, you have no idea why you found something so not traditionally sexy attractive, but now all you’re thinking about is how lovely it’d feel to have his nose bumping against your clit as he eats you out.

“Um, w-well, I--”

His nose swipes back over your crotch, cutting you off and replacing the rest of your response with a gasp. He grins wickedly.

“Oh, so that’s what you like.” A low chuckle escapes his lips.

He does it again, and again, nose dragging against your damp crotch. You’re practically dripping by now, the feeling and sight of him rubbing against you is simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Charlie...” You breathe, chewing your lip.

His finger comes up and teases your entrance over your suit, pushing some of the fabric in before letting it snap back into place. Your legs instinctively fall open further at his movements, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth hovers over your clothed crotch.

He looks up at you, then. “You’re gonna cum just like this, coach, or you’re not gonna cum at all. Understood?”

You nod. “Y-Yes, Mr. Barber.”

The formality, the seeming innocence of that name always seems to drive him crazy and he grunts, quickly diving in. The tip of his aquiline nose swipes all around your covered folds while his lips and hot breath teases your center.

You’re embarrassingly close already, both the sights and sensations being created between your legs impossible to resist. You simply can’t bring yourself to peel your eyes away as he continues to bring you closer and closer to a soft release.

“Are you close already?” He asks with a smirk, eyes meeting yours.

Before you can respond, his finger presses up against your entrance, pushing in just a little bit and swirling around. You gasp at the feeling, hips naturally pushing down against him in an attempt to encourage him deeper inside.

“Mmm, look at that. You want to be filled so badly, don’t you, coach?” Charlie says, voice low. “You’re so fucking desperate, trying to impale your little virgin cunt further on my finger. You want someone else’s fingers shoved up your pussy, want to cum on fingers other than your own, isn’t that right?”

You nod, chewing your lip while your hips gyrate against his touch. “Y-Yeah, I want i-it.”

His finger pushes up just a little bit more, bathing suit fabric stretching as it’s shoved up inside your quivering arousal. Your back arches and your breath catches in your throat at his movement, suddenly thrust to the edge of climax.

“Charlie...” You breathe. “Please.”

He grins cockily, circling his fingertip inside you while he mouths at your clit and scrapes his teeth across the clothed bud. You cum only a few moments later, groaning shakily as your hips jerk erratically.

Once you’ve ridden it out completely, Charlie pulls away and covers your inner thighs in kisses. You sit up and run your hands through his hair, smiling down at him.

“You’re incredible.”

Charlie smiles, tugging your legs, encouraging you into the shallow water. “C’mere, let me kiss you.”

You allow yourself to slide down into the water, reaching up to wrap your arms around the back of his neck as his lips crash down onto yours. His hands grab your ass and pull you against him, a small growl rumbling through his chest when his erection rubs against your lower stomach.

“Let me touch you, C-Charlie.”

His eyebrows raise and he pulls away, looking into your eyes. “You know the rules, kid...”

“I don’t have to see you to make you feel good. I promise I won’t look, I just...I want to t-touch you. I want to make you cum.”

He inhales sharply, biting his lip as he thinks it over. He can’t pretend that he hasn’t wanted this since he first met you, but the thought of not allowing you to see or touch him until he’s ready to take your virginity is incredibly arousing...

“Alright, but you can’t pull me out of my shorts. Got it?”

You nod eagerly, pressing your lips onto his once again. He scoops you up and walks you over to the underwater bench, setting you down gently. His hand cradles the back of your head, cushioning it from the harsh pool ledge as you pull at the tie of his swim trunks.

His jaw clenches tightly and his eyebrows knit when your hand wraps around the base, a shaky breath leaving his flared nostrils. He keeps his forehead pressed against yours as you begin to stroke him slowly, breath hot on your lips.

“I-Is this okay?” You ask quietly.

He simply nods, back hunching and buttocks clenching as his hips begin to thrust forward in time with your pumps. His eyes squeeze shut, growling and mewling softly with each flick of your wrist.

“Ohhhhh god, Y/N, I...it’s b-been a while since someone’s tttttouched me like this. Your little h-hand ffffeels so nice.”

Your lips pull up into a small smile, flattered that he likes your touch so much. You reach up with your spare hand, spreading it out across the back of his head, pulling him down for another kiss.

Charlie fulfills your silent wish, moving his lips against yours. He disconnects a minute later, a line of sweat gathering at his hairline as his thrusts become more and more desperate and full of need.

“J-Jesus, I’m gonna cum s-soon, can’t last a-any longer.” He groans shakily, reaching down to grab your wrist, halting your touches. “Quick, l-lay back on the d-deck.”

You nod, hopping up out of the water and laying back, allowing enough room for him to get on top of you. His hand moves quickly on his cock as he climbs up and positions himself on top of you.

His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up while he tugs his shorts down enough to expose his pulsing length. He begins grinding his bare cock against the fabric covering your stomach.

“Look at me, Y/N. I’m gonna--fuuuck--gonna c-cover your belly in m-my hot cum, s-stain your fuuucking b-bathing ssssuit. Are y-you ready?”

Right after you nod, his hips suddenly rut roughly against your stomach and he groans loudly, spurts of warm milky seed spreading across your torso. He snarls, grip tightening around your jaw as he cums all over you. His eyes never close or break your gaze, pupils blown wide with lust and arousal.

Seeing Charlie coming undone above you is a sight you make sure to commit to memory, not wanting to forget the way his face contorted in pleasure, the way his hips bucked against you, the sounds that fell from his pillowy lips.

You’re convinced that there are little other sights more beautiful and erotic than the one you’ve just witnessed.

He lets go of your jaw and tucks himself back into his trunks while his lips leave open-mouthed kisses all over your face and throat. You sigh softly when he pulls away and stands up, already missing his presence on top of you.

“Sorry about the stain.” His eyes dart down to the dark red stain on your suit.

You shake your head, sitting up. “No worries. The chlorine will help.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrow and you chuckle, standing up in front of him.

“You heard me right, Mr. Barber. I’m swimming along with you tonight. We’ll see how you hold up against a competitor.”

He smirks, reaching around to land a playful swat on your ass. “Try to catch me, coach.”

You gasp as he quickly turns around and leaps into the water, beginning to swim towards the lanes. You laugh, following behind.

“Oh, it is so on!”

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