UNPRECEDENTED. UNPARALLELED. CHARLIE BECKER
Summary: What started as a date night turns into something more when a snowstorm ruins the original plans Charlie had.
Warnings: suggestive, cursing, reader being a lil anxious and Charlie being a sweetheart about it, not proofread yet
Requested: Yes! “Oooh also want to request first time sleeping over w Charlie plzz”
A/N: I have a Will fic coming out soon y’all I promise I just had it mostly written and then scrapped it because I got mad
Speaking in relative terms, three months isn't that long. For some, that's one refill of their medication. For others, that’s the healing period for a major surgery.
For you, that was how long you'd been dating Charlie. It was still new, fresh, both of you walking steady but careful, trying to do everything extra right.
His phone call came on a random Wednesday afternoon. It wasn't shocking. You knew at this time he'd be out of class, maybe on his way to lift or to another practice.
“Hey,” you say into the phone when you answer, a smile plastered on your face.
You can't help it. Charlie makes you smile like an idiot more often than not.
“Hey. Um, I was wondering what you were doing Friday night?”
It comes out as a question, his inflection ticking upward at the end ever so slightly, but it's noticeable enough that your heartbeat picks up.
“I don’t think I have anything planned. Why?” you ask, looking through your calendar. It's stupid because you know you don’t have anything planned at all.
“Do you want to have a date night? We can go out or stay in, I don’t really care, but I want to see you. It feels like I haven't seen you in forever,” he says, and it has you flushing a deep red.
“Charlie. You saw me Saturday. It's been four days.”
“Y/N. That's four days too long.”
“Whatever you're so dramatic,” your eyes rolling as you say it.
“C’mon I miss you,” he's exaggeratedly whining, acting like a child whose mom won't give him dessert before dinner.
You sigh before asking, “What time?”
“Yes! Okay, probably around 7, I can pick you up.”
“Let's just stay in though. I’m exhausted. This week kicked my ass and it isn't even over yet.”
You'd had a statistics exam Monday, a chemistry exam Tuesday night, and then a project due Friday that you'd barely started.
“Yeah sure anything you want.”
You talked for a little while longer before deciding to head to bed, the beginning of the week catching up with you.
Friday came faster than you expected. You stood in your bedroom, staring at the clothes in your closet. You wanted to look at least halfway decent, but you didn't know what he was expecting you to wear.
After putting on and throwing off dozens of tops, t-shirts, pants, and a fancy bra you decided was way too early for him to see, you settle on leggings and a sweater. January in Bloomington was colder than you ever thought it could possibly be.
His knock on your door seems to rattle the walls. When you open the door, his eyes find yours, his smile lighting up his face.
“Hi,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Ready?”
“Almost, just need to grab my bag,” you say, pulling him in and shutting the door.
You make your way into the kitchen, retrieving your bag before making your way back to the front door.
And the entire time, Charlie follows like a lost puppy.
“You could've stayed by the door.”
“I didn't know what you were doing.”
You stand with your hands on your hips, giving him a less than amused look. After a second of staring he copies you, looking down at you with a look that's supposed to mirror yours, but looks more like he's trying his hardest to hold back laughter.
“Are you done?” you ask, tone laced with faux seriousness.
“No,” he says, but turns to open the door for you anyway. “After you.”
When you get to his car, you reach to open your door, but he moves your arm out of the way to open it for you.
“Charlie. I can open my own door.”
“I know you can, but a lady shouldn't have to,” he says, pecking your cheek as you stare at him.
The ride over to his house is nerve-wracking. You've never been over before. You knew he shared it with some of his teammates, but other than that, you didn't know what exactly you'd be walking into. You had the thought that maybe this is where he wanted to lead you, get you alone in his room, have sex, and then leave like three months of your time didn't matter. Maybe his friends were in on it.
You hate thinking this way because Charlie has been nothing short of a gentleman in your three months together, and it never faltered. It wasn't an act, it was who he was raised to be.
When you both walked in, it wasn't overly quiet. You could hear exclamations from somewhere upstairs, something adjacent to shouts about a video game. There was music that was audible but you couldn't distinguish melody or lyrics and it didn't have bass that rattled the walls. The spaces were tidy, but well lived in, jackets laid across chairs and tables, shoes lined up by the door in what you're sure is the neatest fashion one group of men can muster, backpacks sitting in a pile.
And you feel bad about your earlier assumption. You don’t think he'd try anything with his friends here, though you were still the slightest bit wary.
He leads you into the kitchen, pulling out a barstool for you. You sit, watching as he shuffles around the space like it’s second nature.
“You want something to drink?” he offers, gesturing toward the fridge.
“Water would be great,” you say, pulling at your fingers and cracking your knuckles. You don’t think Charlie notices until he speaks up again.
Your eyes go wide, immediately putting your hands by your side. He just looks at you with a raised brow.
“Is it me or them?” he asks, nodding toward the sound of the cheering men playing video games.
“It's only for a few hours, and then you'll be back in your apartment, safe and sound.”
“I just want to make a good impression,” you say, looking at your hands again and notice you'd started pulling at your fingers again.
“They don’t bite. They'll love you, I promise,” he says, setting the glass of water in front of you before wrapping an arm around your back, pulling you into his side, and dropping a kiss to the crown of your head.
You hear the stairs creak and you stiffen against his arm.
“Charlie!” you hear from your right, and you turn to see a guy taller than Charlie.
He daps Charlie up, but Charlie’s arm never leaves your back.
“Quinn, Y/N. Y/N, that's Quinn.”
“Nice to meet you. Hope you give him a hard time. He needs it,” he jokes, turning to the fridge to grab snacks and drinks.
“I try to,” you say quietly, and you aren’t quite sure he hears you. You feel Charlie’s gaze on you, and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. He mouths ‘you're okay’ but it does little to ease the nerves and anxiety pushing your shoulders to your ears and making your heart race.
“I would drag him away so he can kick Alberto’s ass and shut him up, but I won't because you look like you could kill me right now.”
The comment makes your brows furrow.
“Horrible RBF,” he says. “But I get it. You guys have a good night. Use protection!”
His comment is made when he's already running up the stairs.
“Quinn, dude. What the fuck?” Charlie yells after him. “I’m sorry. He has the manners of a toddler sometimes.”
“Seems to get him pretty far, clearly,” you say, and Charlie smiles back down at you.
“Not really,” you say, not wanting to have him go out of his way for you.
“Y/N, baby, when was the last time you ate?”
You know he's got you caught, but you push it anyway.
“A little before you picked me up.”
“Then why is your stomach growling?”
“Baby. Look at me,” he says, grabbing your chin gently and turning your face toward him, his eyes searching yours. “If you're hungry, I'll make you something. I’m starving.”
“What are you going to make?”
“I have pasta, I can make some chicken to go with it,” he trails off because he doesn't know what he has that he could use for a sauce.
“Let me see what you have.”
And there isn't a whole lot of ingredients to pick from.
“Can we go to the store?” you ask.
The drive over isn't overly exciting. It's comfortably quiet, and Charlie’s arm rests on the console.
You notice the way his eyes drift to you occasionally, how his hand twitches like he's trying to hold something.
You reach over, grabbing his hand and putting it against the skin of your thigh. It rests on top, nothing sexual, nothing overly intimate, but enough to cross into a newer territory in your relationship.
When he's stopped at a red light, he looks over and smiles at you. You quickly lean over to peck his lips softly, and he can't kiss you back before you pull away. The soft glow of the green light illuminates his side profile.
“Light’s green,” you say with a smile that you're sure looks like the beginning of a smirk.
At the store, Charlie holds the basket as he follows you, watching as you grab and drop things like it's second nature.
Heavy cream, a block of parmesan, an onion, fresh garlic, butter. Charlie doesn't know what you plan to make, but all he can think about is how his stomach flutters at the thought of you and him cooking together, how domestic it would feel.
Charlie hands you his keys to unlock the front door because he decided to carry all the bags in one trip.
Once inside, Charlie sets the bags on the counter, getting pans and dishes out to start making the pasta.
“Don’t overcook it,” you joke. He gives you a glare with no real heat behind it.
You start with the chicken, cutting it up and adding seasoning, throwing into the skillet on the stove.
You get into a groove, flipping this, stirring that, cutting something else. You and Charlie move around each other with an unpracticed ease that is surprising to you both.
What you two don’t see as you sneak glances at each other, smiles on your faces, is Quinn, Alberto, and Fernando peaking around the corner, hidden from view, watching the two of you cook.
Quinn wants to poke fun at him because Charlie is a guy cooking like he's a housewife, doing exactly what you tell him to do. Alberto wants to steal some of the food you've made because it smells good. But Fernando can't help but smile seeing that Charlie's met someone who complements him so well.
Fernando pulls the two away, going back upstairs to continue their video games.
By the time you and Charlie are eating the chipotle chicken fettuccine alfredo you two made, you're wiped. You two talk about random things, your classes, his football schedule, the weather. You didn't know that there was a chance for Bloomington to get some snow.
You quickly do the dishes, loading them into the dishwasher before making your way up to Charlie’s room.
It's cleaner than you expected. You expected a few articles of clothing, maybe a couple of old water bottles. You knew how busy he was with football and classes, so you didn't expect a completely clean room. But you're pleasantly surprised at the freshly vacuumed carpet, the bed that's made, the clean desk.
“I cleaned up for you,” he says, a hint of nerves curling around the syllables. He rubs the back of his neck, only looking at you briefly, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. It makes your stomach flutter. He's impossibly sweet, enough to make you flush slightly.
“It wasn't that bad. Some laundry, a couple of cans, an unmade bed. But I wanted it to be clean for you.”
He throws his duvet down to the end of the bed, motioning for you to sit down, get comfortable.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks, flipping through potential options.
“Ooh that romcom is one I've wanted to watch for a while,” you say, pointing in the general direction of the TV, not necessarily at the movie.
He turns it on, and about halfway in, you'd elected to eye Charlie every so often. Charlie notices, but he keeps his eyes fixated on the screen.
At one point, he catches you looking at him. You quickly look back toward the movie.
“You're allowed to look, Y/N. I’m your boyfriend,” he says gently, pulling you into his side.
“But it's so much fun this way.”
“You're something else, you know that?” he asks, and you turn, now face to face, but you're only a few inches apart. His eyes search your face, lingering the longest on your lips.
He leans in a little, stopping so you can pull away if you want. When you don’t, his lips slot against yours easily. The kiss is hungry, but in a soft, intimate way. It's the stage where you're both testing the waters before diving in deep. No teeth, no tongue, just lips on lips. His lips are soft. Softer than you would've expected. Almost like he lathered them in lip balm all day in preparation for this very moment.
Your hands tremble in your lap, idle but itching to reach for him. As if Charlie is in tune with your thoughts, he grabs your hands, guiding them to the back of his neck. His hands move down to your waist, pulling you into him slightly as yours play with the hairs at the nape of his neck.
When you pull away, you're breathless, face flushed, eyes averted from Charlie’s.
When your attention turns to the TV, you see the end credits, and you wonder just how long you two had been kissing. Maybe your brain lacked oxygen for a moment too long and you spaced out.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks, and your heart drops. You want more than anything to stay over, but you don’t want to overstep.
“Yeah,” you mumble, trying to fake a yawn to hide your disappointment.
You gather your things, slipping your shoes on, your bag lazily thrown over your shoulder.
Charlie opens the door, and the whiteout snow storm that was still raging outside is what you're met with.
“I thought we were only supposed to get some snow. This isn't some,” you say.
“Well. You can stay the night if you want.”
Charlie looks down at you, and you nod, slipping your shoes back off.
Your heart races a million miles an hour as he leads you back into his room. You most definitely don’t want to sleep in these clothes, but the alternative is slightly more frightening.
“You can wear some of my clothes. I can get you a shirt and some sweats?”
He rustles through a couple of drawers, pulling out some gray sweatpants and an old IU shirt.
You got into the bathroom to change, and when you look at yourself in the mirror, you're surprised that his sweatpants fit you decently well, only a little loose, but not enough that they don’t stay on your hips. The shirt is looser, a little oversized, but not unbearably.
You walk back out, Charlie laying on the bed with his hand under his head as he scrolls on his phone, black sweatpants on and no shirt.
You're staring at him, mouth slightly ajar. He looks good. Unfairly good. A little too good. His abs, his broad shoulders, his biceps. Oh good Lord, the biceps.
“See something you like?”
You snap back into reality, looking down at the clothes balled up in your hands, moving to set them by your bag. You hear him shuffle over, and you feel his presence behind you.
His hand moves to your waist, the touch barely there, but enough to have your skin heating up. You stiffen, nerves plaguing your thoughts.
“You scared of me or something?” he asks gently.
“Then why do you look away when I catch you looking at me?”
You shrug your shoulders, not really knowing how to explain how you're feeling.
“There's gotta be a reason. I’m yours, Y/N. You have me all to yourself. You get to look at me, you get to boss me around. It's all yours.”
“You're way out of my league Charlie. I feel like a fangirl sometimes.”
“Not a chance. You're outta my league. You're beautiful,” he starts, kissing your cheek as his hands splay against your stomach, pulling you into his chest.
Another kiss to your jaw.
“You love your family and friends with your whole heart.”
Another kiss on your neck, right on the pulse point beneath your ear.
“You're passionate about the things you care about.”
Another kiss on your temple. He spins you around, lifting your chin to make you look at him.
“You're allowed to act like a girlfriend, baby. You get to look, you get to touch. You get to cuss me out when I do something stupid.”
That pulls a laugh out of you, and that in combination with the fluttering in your stomach from the pet name makes you feel all warm and tingly.
“You're allowed to show your feelings for me.”
He kisses your lips gently, making a small smile pull the corners of your lips upward.
He pulls back the duvet, lets you get comfortable before getting in on his side and covering the both of you.
Charlie pulls you into his chest, and the heat radiating off of him seeps into your bones, warming you up in a way no blanket or hoodie ever could.
“G’night Charlie,” you whisper into the crook of his neck.
“Night sweetheart,” he replies, laying a kiss on your forehead.
The sun pouring through the blinds is what wakes you up the next morning. The snow makes it seem brighter, almost to the point where you can't keep your eyes open.
You feel Charlie shift beside you, letting out a soft grunt, but he ultimately doesn't wake up.
You get up, stretching out your limbs and back, a few joints cracking with your movements.
Your stomach growls, and as much as you want to crawl back into bed with Charlie, you know your stomach will get physically painful if you wait too long.
You carefully creep downstairs, not hearing any movements or any signs of life from his roommates.
You rummage through the pantry, looking for something, anything with sustenance. You don’t find much, so you move to the fridge.
You spot a bag of apples near the back of the fridge, bending down to reach for them. When you grab one, you stand up and close the door, only to be met with Quinn, who you didn't even hear walk in, and it makes you jump.
“Oh my God. You scared the hell outta me,” you say loudly.
“Sorry. Charlie still asleep?” he asks. He starts looking through the fridge, pulling out eggs and a package of bacon.
“How'd you two meet?” he asks.
You aren’t uncomfortable by any means, but you want Charlie’s friends to like you. And you're nervous that you're being too quiet, too shy, too something that won't fit in with Charlie’s world.
“I left one of my textbooks in a lecture hall and he tracked me down and gave it back. Talked my ear off. Here we are.”
“Sounds like Charlie. He's a nerd. Like he's a guy who just happens to be good at football. But I’m surprised he talked your ear off. Usually doesn't do that around strangers too often.”
“I wouldn't know,” you say, taking a bite out of your apple.
“He seems to like you a lot. It's not too often that you see him willingly let someone boss him around.”
“If he'd stop doing stupid shit I wouldn't have to.”
You're surprised that those words are what your brain went with.
“Whatcha guys talking about?”
It's Charlie. Groggy, tired, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
You look at Quinn with narrowed eyes, cursing him with your features for selling you out.
“Oh really?” Charlie says with a smirk, standing in front of you as you sit on a barstool.
“Neither confirming nor denying,” you say, taking another bite of your apple.
“First you leave me in bed, by myself, and I wake up and reach for you and you aren’t there. Then you go talking about me behind my back. Girlfriend of the year award goes to her, everyone,” he says, gesturing to you while talking to whatever imaginary audience he's picturing in his head.
“You're so dramatic,” you say, staring out the window at just how much snow had accumulated overnight.
“And you make me regret that decision all the time,” you joke, hiding your smile behind the apple core you're still holding.
Quinn finishes making his breakfast, the knobs of the stove clicking off and the clank of silverware against dishes becoming the background noise for you and Charlie’s banter.
“That's so mean,” he says, fake pouting, wrapping his arms around your back, looking down at you.
“Can you two flirt somewhere else?” Quinn asks as he pulls another barstool over to the other side of the island.
You and Charlie say it at the same time, and it's what has you two smiling at each other.
“Fuck, whatever man you two are annoying,” Quinn says, but you can tell by the faint smile that he's happy for Charlie.
“Fuck off dude,” Charlie says, reaching over to shove his shoulder. His attention turns back toward you. “Do you want something more filling for breakfast?”
“Only if you're making it.”
“That can be arranged,” he smirks, pulling you all the way into him, hugging you, wrapping you in his warmth. He lays a gentle peck to your hairline before moving to grab stuff for breakfast.
He decides on French toast, and you sit perched on the counter, watching his every move.
“I hope they cancel classes Monday. They probably won't but it'd be nice.”
“Yeah they probably won't,” Charlie agrees, flipping a piece of bread before looking up at you. “You look really pretty like this.”
“What do you mean?” you ask. You fail to see how your bedhead and having his clothes on makes you look pretty.
“Just seeing you in the morning. No makeup, no stress of the day. Just you being a little more carefree. I love seeing you like this.”
“Well maybe it's because I’m with you,” you smirk, and he smiles at you.
“Is it because of me?” he questions, not taunting, not challenging, just a little bit of pressing.
“Mhmm,” you say softly, nodding once.
He takes the finished French toast off the pan before pulling your neck down gently to kiss you. All of the worries for next week have been pushed to the back burner, all of the stress from this past week has melted away. Right now, it's just you and him.
When you pull back, you're both smiling like idiots. It's perfect. Well that is until you hear someone yelling.
“Fuck off!” Charlie yells back, the smile still bright on his face, before pulling you back in for another kiss.
Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!
Written by: @alliwritespuck (2026)
