Warnings: 18+ sexual content, reader is tatted, pierced, and has hair. Race, weight and height are unspecified. blowjobs, piv, drinking, smoking, death, grief, parent issues, mommy issues, abuse, reader is kind of a loser, sawry, facesitting, oral fixations, injured animals, one-night stands, boxing, cockwarming, open ending
photo credits: here, here, here
Part 1
shapsara's masterlist
A/N: I know fuck-all about boxing and a whole lot about mommy issues. I had so much fun writing this series, and these two are a very special little couple to me. The title is taken from an Ethel Cain song titled Mondays. Thank you once again to @dolliecowboys for the encouragement to post as planned, mwah, my tender alien.
"Who's this?"
The man in the photograph has a nice smile. He's blonde and sits in a camping chair, his hand closed around a bottle of beer. Charles is beside him, his hair pulled back, and his face turned away from the camera, saying something to him. The man's eyes are creased in laughter, but you can tell they are blue.
"My old roommate," Charles says, his voice flat. "D'you want sugar?" The question makes you turn your head. Charles never asks. He always knows.
"Sure." You peer at the photo curiously, "Are you two close?"
"Were. He passed." Charles says shortly and hands you the mug.
"Oh. I'm sorry." You say, nearly dropping the mug. "I didn't mean toâ"
"S'fine. You didn't know.
You take a sip of your coffee.
"When did heâ?"
"A year and a half ago. Cancer."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise." He shrugs, "It's fine. It was quick. Small Cell Lung Cancer." His voice is easy over the name, practised. "Fruit?"
"You don't have to cut it." You pause, and then ask a question nagging at the corners of your mind. "Is that why you came here?"
Shrugging, he takes a sip of his coffee and turns to the counter. The slice of the knife against the apple makes you shiver.
"Yeah. We worked together, and when Arthur got sick, it all sort of fell apart."
You stare at the photograph, your heart pinching a little. Setting the mug of coffee down, you approach him at the counter and slip your arms around his waist.
"Careful. Knife."
You bury your face between his shoulder blades, his hair tickling your cheek.
"You don't have to do that." His voice is quiet, but he sets the knife down and squeezes your hands, clasped over his belly. When you release him, he sweeps the applesâcut into sixths into a bowl and hands it to you with no airs.
You curl up on the couch, Taima in your lap, and eat your apples. Charles tidies his apartment around you, shoving the sheets and the clothes you wore last night into the washing machine and vacuuming his already-clean carpets. The past few times, you had been too preoccupied to properly notice everything, but staying here has become a habit for you. Go to work, fuck, and spend nights curled in his queen bed before you inevitably go home to the whitewashed apartment. You find yourself more and more unwilling to leave.
Thick textbooks are stacked in all corners of his apartment, and you peer at one titled "Understanding Silviculture Technology."
Charles sets the vacuum aside and sits beside you on the couch. You lift the book onto your knee and open it.
"Are you in school?"
"Uh." He scratches the back of his neck. "In a way."
"What the fuck does that mean?" You laugh, setting the book down.
"I do it part-time." He says quietly, "It's my first year."
"Is itâagriculture or something?" His mouth quirks up.
"Forestry." He corrects, "and Conservation."
"I didn't even know you could study that."
"You can."
"And the bar?"
"Helps pay for it." He gestures to his apartment, "And this."
"What'll you do after it?"
"I ain't sure yet." He says softly, "I wanted toâto help, I guess. "
Charles has an odd, sheepish look on his face. You think of the man in the photograph, Arthur, his wide smile. You set the bowl of apples aside and rest your head on his shoulder
You spend the weekend lazing on his couch and playing with Taima. Charles studies at his desk, and you nap in his bed. He slips in with you in the late afternoon, fucks you lazily before tucking you back into his plaid duvet.
When you wake, he's in the living room on his sagging couch.
"Sleep okay?" He says, looking up. His glasses suit him, surprisingly. He does not look so glacial. A book about soil is balanced on his knee. Fascinating.
"I always sleep well here."Stretching out beside him, you lay your head on his thigh. He's wearing pyjama pants, and the fabric is soft and worn under your cheek.
"'Cause you sleep in a real bed." Charles's voice is dry. Absently, he strokes your hair back, fiddling with the hoop at the top of your ear.
"My futon has a lot of life left in it."
"Afterlife, you mean."
"How would you know? You've never even been to my place."
"Cause you won't let me."
You are silent. This is true. He has dropped you off at home many times, and you have not once invited him in. Charles must think it odd. You can tell from the way he lingers a moment after you step inside.
"You're just full of good habits." You say, shutting your eyes. "Studious, non-smoker. Could put that on your Tinder."
"Mhm. I don't use apps."
"You're too good an influence. I haven't smoked since I got here. Or used an app."
"I'm not stopping you."
"From what? Smoking or using an app?"
"Neither. But I figured you weren't using an app, so I meant smoking."
"That's a bold statement."
"Are you?" His voice is flat.
"No." You admit.
"I'm talking about smoking."
"I feel so guilty because you're stuck with your nicotine patches." And your roommate, who tragically died of the most clichĂŠ disease a smoker can die from. Whoops.
"It ain't my place to tell you that you can't."
"I don't really want to." You say quietly, and he weaves bits of your hair around his fingers. "Just gives me something to do."
"I've got gum", His voice is soothing, "Tastes awful, but it'll help."
You wrinkle your nose.
 "I'll take it as a no."
"Read to me." You say suddenly.
"You wanna hear about soil formations?"
"Sure, if you're the one telling me about them."
He begins talking about something called pedogenesis, but you aren't really listening. Mostly, you float away on the soft cadence of his voice and drift into a half sleep only interrupted by his hand in your hair.
Slowly, you rub your cheek against the soft bulge in his pyjama pants. It hardens under your touch. You raise your head from his thigh, heaving yourself up on your elbows to take him out of them. He's almost fully hard, and you stroke the vein running up the underside of his cock.
He grunts, trailing off. Moving to set the book down, his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.
"Keep reading."
"How am I meant toâ"
"This gives me something to do." You cut him off. "Let me."
Charles begins again, voice slightly breathless.
Sinking your mouth around him, you settle back down, eyes fluttering shut.
You aren't moving, not really. Only the lazy swirl of your tongue and the occasional bob of your head. He reads on, and you feel your mind go blissfully quiet, drooling around him. Spittle dribbles down the shaft, and you mindlessly reach up to grasp him, smearing it along the length of him. His hips buck involuntarily, and you gag softly.
"Sorry." His voice is strained, and one of his hands comes to pet your hair apologetically. Releasing his cock from your mouth, you look up at him. His glasses slide down the broad slope of his nose. "Didn't mean to."
"I don't mind." You kiss the tip of it, licking at the precome beading at the top.
"If this is what gets you to take a break from smokin', " He says, voice hitching a little, "It's better than gum."
You smile around him as he goes on about the three different types of soil, slowing and speeding up. His hand tightens in your hair as you hollow your cheeks in to take him against the back of your throat, bobbing your head a little bit. His cock twitches, and he groans mid-sentence. As you look up at him, you flutter your lashes at him. Setting the book aside, he removes his reading glasses, and you suck him deeper.
"Come in my mouth." You gasp as you come up for air, stroking him with your hand in place of your mouth.
"Yeah?" He grunts, thrusting into your hand. You lick at the tip where it oozes.
"Please?" You fix him with your most pleading look and smile internally as he groans heavily.
"Open." Charles hooks his thumb into the corner of your mouth, and you open it for him. You feel a little foolishâa little porny- but the way he looks when he comes on your tongue makes that thought dissolve. You swallow it without thinking, and his eyes go dark.
As he settles his big hand on your head, you expect him to push your head down to take him deeper. Instead, he lifts your head off his cock. It's slick and shiny from your mouth. His skin is so deep in colour that the head pulses purple. Wiping the spit and precome from your lips, he leans down to kiss your swollen mouth. You whine as his stubble rasps against your cheek.
"Charles." You say dreamily, still a little drunk off having him in your mouth like that. "I like sucking you off."
He smiles against your lips. "Do you?"
"More than I like cigs."
"I'll take it as a compliment." His voice rumbles through his chest, and you sit up on the couch, turning to face him.
His muscled arms bulge through his t-shirt, and you twine your arms about his corded neck to kiss him. His big hand comes up to cradle your breast through your soft tee, kneading it in his palm till the nipple pokes through the fabric.
Afterwards, you lie on the couch, the throw tangled over your legs and your cheek pressed to his sweat-slick chest. Lazily, you kiss up his bare chest, flicking his nipple with your tongue and nuzzling the smooth skin there. He chuckles as you nip at him, running your teeth along the smooth planes of skin.
"Quit. I'm no good for a while."
"Can I ask you a question?" You say, still nipping at him. You find the vein in his throat and lick up the line of it.
"Sure."
"What happened here?" You reach up to lay your hand against his cheek.
"I was stealin' from a store." He tilts his head to leave a tiny kiss on the pad of your thumb. "And my father found out."
"Your dad did that?"
"Yeah. With a broken bottle."
Running your thumb along the lines of it, you tuck your face into his warm neck. He adjusts the throw around both of you.
"How old�"
"Nine."
"I'm sorry." The air has turned thick and awkward; you wish you'd never asked.
"I hardly think of it." He says, yawning.
"Sorry. I didn't realise."
"What were you like?" He smiles. "As a kid."
"I was straight laced." You say, giggling.
"I find that hard to believe."
Propping yourself on your elbow, you stick your tongue out at him
"I was. Straight As, braces, didn't lose my virginity till I was twenty."
"That's an advanced age to lose it." His voice is serious, but he's holding back a chuckle.
"I lied and told everyone I had a boyfriend called Hans. From Germany."
He strokes the curlicue of a tattoo up your shoulder, tracing the design.
"Then what happened?"
"Uh. Well, I moved away from home and went a bit wild, I guess." You look at his handsome face, the full mouth and the shadow of his stubble along his cheeks. His dark hair is spread out over the arm of the couch, and his ankles are on the opposite arm. "I was studying, and I started working part-time at this tattoo shop."
"Did you like it?"
You smile. "Clearly I did."
Your hand has curled on his collarbone, he takes your wrist and pulls your arm straight. Running his thumb upward, he examines a cascade of images up your arm and forearm. When he releases it, you stretch it over his stomach, studying the contrast of his smooth dark skin against the swirling ink.
"They suit you."
"I think so too." You beam at him. "My mom hates them, though."
"You two close?"
"She calls me sometimes." You fiddle with the necklace he always wears; the surface of the turquoise bead is smooth. "I haven't seen her in a while.
He nods thoughtfully, shifting you to lie atop him rather than next to him, chest pressed to his.
"Family can be like that."
"Is yours?"
"I don't know." He rests his chin on the top of your head, rubbing it against your hair. "I ain't seen my father in years."
You do not ask about his mother, and he does not tell you.
You are just beginning to doze off as he taps you awake.
"I was going to ask you" He says quietly
"Ask me what?"
"I've got a boxing match on Saturday." He hesitates a second."Was going to ask if you'd come."
"As your date?"
"You don't have to." He says hastily, as if you aren't both naked. "Justâthe other fighters bring their girls."
"But I'm not your girl." An unease roils in your stomach.
He runs his hand down your stiffening back.
"No. But you're new here and I thought you might enjoy it. Their girlfriends make a night out of itâbets and stuff. They dress up."
"Okay. Yeah. I'll come." Relaxing, you settle back down on his chest.
"I'll pick you up at seven, then."
The venue is tucked into some alleyway, only a small neon sign indicating that it even exists. When you enter, it is like a different world. A bar is set up, and the bartender is slammed with people shouting over him. The corner next to the makeshift ring is a tiny woman with cropped hair standing on a stool. A small herd of men are gathered around her. With the air of a war general, she begins to sermonise. They all nod in unison.
"That's the other gym's owner." Charles's hand is warm on your lower back as he guides you through the crowd.
"And your gym?"
"Over here." He steers you towards a small cluster of foldable chairs, sticky notes are plastered to them with "RESERVED" scrawled on each one. Charles's gym consists of four scraggly-looking fighters, thick with muscle. The girls they brought are squashed together in a row of seats, sparkling and pretty. Charles turns to you.
"Gonna go warm up and change. You'll be alright here?"
One of the girls looks up at you and beckons you onto the free seat beside her.
As he turns away, you catch him by the sleeve of his t-shirt. Impulsively, you press your lips to his cheek, right over the scar. You can feel its ridges against your mouth.
"Good luck." You whisper, and when you pull back, a smudge of dark lipstick stains his cheek. Briefly, he lifts his hand and touches the spot where you kissed him. Then, he nods and disappears into the throng of people.
The girl you sit beside is called Ellie, she slips her arm through yours and compliments your tattoos. She smells like bananas. Pointing out a huge bald man, she blows him a kiss that makes him flush bright red.
"You're with Charles?" She waggles her eyebrows, twisting a curl of her pale hair around her finger.
"Yes. Iâwe work together."
"The Lone Wolf." She giggles. "They've all got stupid names like that. Simon calls himself "Viking" and that one over there with the "Annihilation."
"Lone Wolf? Charles chose that?"
"It's better than "Annihilation."" She shudders. "Or "Viking."
"Anything's better than Annihilation." And the two of you burst out laughing.
The two of you find the bar and take shots of strawberry-flavoured vodka. Ellie showcases an incredible memory of statistics and picks out each fighter with the precision of an expert. As you are starting to think that they would probably benefit from having Ellie as a coach, the lights in the audience dim and a buzz of excitement fills the air as the first two fighters walk out to music so loud that it makes you clap your hands over your ears. She points to a skinny fighter called Grant "THE PROFESSOR" and tells you he is going to win.
You decide Ellie knows her stuff.
The noise is too loud, too immediateâEllieâs hand clamped around your forearm, bodies surging to their feet, the sharp metallic ring of the bell still echoing somewhere in your skull. Charles is already moving across the canvas, light on his feetâgraceful.
He looks different in the ring.
âWatch his left,â Ellie shouts over the noise, though you donât know who sheâs talking about, Charles or the other man.
The opponent is stockier, heavier in the shoulders. He comes in swinging fast, sloppy power. Charles doesnât meet it. He slips it. Steps back. Let the blows cut air where his head used to be.
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
âSee?â Ellie leans close to your ear. âHe waits. Thatâs his thing.â
Then, the other man moves so fast that Charles reels backwards.
"That's a foul!" Ellie says indignantly.
"What?" You say distractedly, watching Charles fold over a little as he catches his breath.
"He used his elbow. The ref should call it." Ellie says, her voice snapping. The murmur of the crowd turns much the same, and an uneasy silence settles over the audience as they wait for the referee to call it. He does not.
Someone shouts, echoing Ellie's sentiment. Still, the ref doesn't call it, and the other man swings another blow at Charles. This time, Charles dodges it neatly and lands a blow that sends the fighter reeling into the canvas.
He wins. The crowd roars, and the referee raises Charles's wrist over his head. The men from his gym claw at the cage and clap each other on the shoulder. As he shoulders his way through the throng of people around him, laughing and cheering, you hang back. But he pushes past them all, nodding and shaking hands until he stands before you, skin gleaming from exertion, the hot flush of adrenaline still on his face and his hair plastered against his face. He kisses you, punch-swollen knuckles grazing your cheek. You slide your hand against his sweat-slick cheek and tangle it in his damp hair. The other fighter cheers louder, and when you finally break away from each other, Charles slips his arm over your shoulder, keeping you close to him.
The two of you take a taxi to his placeâdespite the insistence of everyone to stay and get drunk. Charles declines politely, his hand clamped on your waist. He dresses and practically hauls you into the taxi. The driver rolls the partition up, and you tear at each other.
"That was so hot." You whisper into his mouth, your arms around his neck, yanking him closer in the back of the taxi.
"That's what gets you off?" Charles murmurs, mouthing your neck. "You're a strange girl."
"It was." The radio blares, making your ears ring."Think I'm lying?"
"I think you're good at feeding a man's ego."
Taking his hand, you guide it under your skirt, to the damp spot in your panties. He stifles a groan against your neck, and you buck your hips against his fingers.`
"Feel how wet I am. Think I'm just saying it?"
"Wait" Charles grits out, shifting to adjust himself in his jeans. He withdraws his hand, and your cunt clenches painfully. "Ain't long till we get back."
You whine softly in protest. Taking his hand, you mouth his fingers, tasting yourself on them and hollowing your cheeks. You can barely see the gleam in his eyes in the dark cab, and you paw around in his lap to feel the heft of his cock through his jeans. He closes his hand around your wrist, hard.
"Wait. Or I'llâI won't be able toâ" He swallows. "Wait. I want to be inside you."
"Jesus. Okay, Yeah. I want that too." You say breathlessly.
He drags a hand over his mouth, not letting your wrist go. You settle into his side till he slips his arm over your shoulder, smelling his sweat, his aftershave.
Finally, finally, you make it back to his place, and he limps inside, collapsing on the couch, his eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion.
"You need a shower," You say blithely, sitting beside him and leaning forward to sniff at him.
"Yeah." He leans back, not moving. You curl into his side, and he winces, but slips his arm around you. You poke his ribs.
"Quit." He grunts. "It's sore."
"Poor baby." You giggle. "Guess you'd better rest."
"I didn't say that." He says hastily. "Ain't that bad."
"Wouldn't want you to overdo it."
"Pfft, I'm used to this."
"Want your prize?" You whisper, and he turns his head towards.
"Depends on what it is."
Good lord.
"Go shower first." You nip his earlobe and leap off the couch to catch Taima in your arms and kiss her little forehead. Charles scowls and heaves himself off the couch, limping into the shower. You hear it turn on and stand on the carpet in his bedroom. You stare at the shower door. Then, you pull your top over your head, unzip your skirt and take off your socks. You step into the steam-filled bathroom. Charles stands under the hot spray, hair soaking wet and water streaming down his chest. From the neck down, he's black and blue. Some parts of him are just swollen, but bruises are beginning to form on his stomach and his chest. His lip is split, and when you press your nude body to his, he grunts a little.
"Thank you." You barely hear yourself over the shower. "I had fun."
He strokes your damp hair back and presses his lips to your forehead.
"I'm glad." He murmurs. "I liked having you there. Was nice to have someone there for me."
You try to hide the surprise from your face.
"You haven't brought anyone before?"
"Nah. The boys there keep tryin' to set me up with friends, butânothing stuck."
He opens his mouth like he may say something else, but you silence him with a kiss. Charles's mouth opens to yours, you taste the blood on his lip and his tongue slides against yours. He searches between your thighs and slides a thick finger into you. You gasp.
"I'm supposed toâ" You say as he crooks his finger inside you, the hot water almost scalding against your skin. "You're tiredâ"
"Hush," Charles adds another finger. "Never too tired for this."
"Let me." You say, reaching for his cock. He's already hardening when your fingers brush him, but he swats you away. Thumbing your clit, he eases another finger in, and you whine into the damp plane of his shoulder. You've come twice when the two of you stumble out of the shower, flushed from the water. Your knees knock together as you dress in one of his shirts, and he slumps onto his bed in just his boxers. You settle in beside him, poking at his arm.
"Charles." You hiss. "Charles?"
But he's already asleep, still half hard but snoring quietly. You tuck the blankets over yourself and burrow under his armpit. The vodka, the hot water and the orgasm send you to sleep so fastâbut not before you think
Charles didn't even come. You'll fix that tomorrow, you promise yourself. Fair's fair.
Morning comes fast, light spilling through the curtains. Charles is still asleep, and bruises are splotched across his face and torso. Splotchy, flowering in violet bursts across his body. If he was sore yesterday. Jeez. He rolls onto his back, throwing the blanket off his legs, and you catch a glimpse of the bulge in his boxers. You reach across his stomach to cup him in your hand, and he hardens. Muttering, he stirs.
"Morning." You whisper.
"Mm. G'morning."
"You look like shit."
"Feel like shit too." He chuckles, yawning. "You'd think I'd get used to this."
"Getting beat up?"
"Mm. Been doin' it for years now."
"Are you a masochist?" You ask curiously.
"Do I like gettin' beat up?"
"Hm."
"I don't get off on it if that's what you mean."
"Not exactly. I justâwhy would you do it otherwise?"
"I'm good at it." He says quietly. "I have always been
Tracing the tattoo curling along your shoulder, he sighs.
"D'you like gettin' these?"
"I've never really thought about it. But yeah. I think so. It helps with other stuff. It turns my brain off, I guess. "
"Guess it's the same then. It helps."
Reaching down again, you press the heel of your palm to him. He grunts softly.
"Want me to?"
Charles gives an affirmative grunt, and you slip your hand into the waistband of his boxers. He's rock hard by the time you circle your hand around him. You prop your chin on his chest and stroke him gently. The tip of his cock leaks down the shaft, and you spit in your hand to slick him. He bucks a little, lifting his hips off the bed.
"Shit." He says, all breathless. "I don't think I can move."
"That's okay." You soothe, thumbing the leaking slit. "You don't have to."
"Wanna fuck you though. Didn't get to last night."
"Lie back." You release him and let him prop himself up against the headboard, groaning as it jostles his bruised ribs. Swinging a leg over his hip, you straddle him. He slides a hand up the soft t-shirt you pilfered from his drawer and thumbs your hardening nipple.
Raising yourself onto your knees, you push your panties to the side, lifting your shirt so he can see the tip of his cock breach your entrance.
"Sit." His voice is strained. "Please, just sit on it."
"I will." You promise, reaching down to rub at your clit. "You're always saying to be patient."
"There's a time and a place."
Charles's eyes go dark with want. You decide you'll tease him another time. You sink onto him slowly, feeling every vein, every ridge of it inside of you. Your wet dribbles down his cock as you fit yourself around him. Charles throws his head back, a soft groan escaping his lips, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Move." He whispers, voice laced with desperation. He does not sound like himself; his cock twitches. "Please move."
"Relax." You run your hands over his torse, admiring the thick, muscular build. His biceps, a vein in them bulging as one hand comes to fist in the sheets. His stomach, painted with bruises, quivers as he pants. "Relax. I'll take care of you."
Painfully slow, you begin to rock your hips in slow, controlled movements, only the slightest undulation makes his hips jerk and his cock pulse. The upward curve of it drags inside of you, a loud moan escapes your lips, but you keep the pace. Lifting your shirt over your head, you toss it to the bedroom floor, bringing your hands up to your breasts to squeeze them together. You pinch one of your nipples till it is swollen and painful and then lean over him so he can suck it into his mouth. Raising yourself, you sit back up, watching his face, flushed with pleasure.
"Charles." You whimper. "You're so deep. I'm so full."
He runs his big hand up your belly and cups the bulge of his cock in your belly for a moment.
Then, he flattens his palm between your breasts, spreading it so wide that his fingers bite into the soft flesh there. You toss your head back, hips stuttering.
"God, you're pretty." He mumbles. "So pretty. Could come just from lookin' at you."
"Yeah?" Your voice is breathy.
"Thought that when I met you." He goes on, voice slurred with pleasure. "I got hard just watchin' your mouth round a bottle.
â That easy?â You murmur, adjusting the pace so you are raising yourself, almost off his cock and sinking back down, painfully slow.
The blooming bruises on his ribs have darkened, and his grunts are half-pain, half-pleasure. Tentatively, you stroke your hand up his belly and press down on one.
Charles comes immediately, filling you with spurts of hot come. A garbled apology escapes his lips, and he falls back onto the pillows, chest heaving.
"You are a masochist." Unable to hide the glee from your voice, you roll off of him, his come dripping down your thighs.
"Shut up. Was justâit was just a lot." He groans, resting the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead.
"Mm. It was." You fall back next to him.
"Sorry." He says abruptly. "You didn't finish."
"That's fine. I can take care of it myself."
Charles looks horrified.
"Nah. No. Let me make it up to you."
"Ha! You can't even sit up." You tease.
"Sit on my face." He says firmly.
"Huh?"
"My mouth still works."
"Jesus. Charles." You feel your skin grow hot and prickly.
"Are you embarrassed?" He says plainly, as if discussing what to have for dinner.
"No!" You say quickly, "Just concerned for your well-being. You took a few swings to the face."
"My face is fine." He says patiently, "Sit on it."
"There's stillâit's a mess down there." You gesture towards your cunt, swollen with use and dripping come. "There's come everywhere."
"It's my come, ain't it?" He arches a brow.
His logic is irrefutable.
You toe off your soaked panties, discarding them somewhere in the room. Hesitantly, you brace a knee next to his head, gripping the headboard for support. He squeezes your trembling thigh.
"Sit properly." His voice is a little muffled, his come and your wet trickle down your thighs in an embarrassing display of desire.
"I am sitting." You grit out.
"You aren't. My neck hurts trying toâ" Putting both his hands on your ass, he drags you down till you are flush with his mouth.
"Charles." You gasp. "I'll suffocateâohâyou."
He laughs, or tries to. All that comes out is a quick exhale that hits your clit and makes you squirm, white-knuckling the headboard. His hands are so strong that there is nowhere to move, no respite from his relentless mouth. He licks down the sensitive centre, making you arch your back and grind into his face. Your thighs muffle his sigh of approval.
"Y'taste good." He mutters, taking your clit into his mouth and sucking hard. His teeth graze it gently, and you make a humiliating noise.
"Charles." You lean forward, forehead bumping the headboard. "S'good."
Tangling your fingers in his hair, you buck your hips against his face as he spears you with his tongue. He cleans up his own spend, kissing and licking at you till you are so sensitive you could cry. You close your hand over your mouth to stifle your moan when you come on his face. Your clit throbs, reddended and abused. You slump as the orgasm thrums through your body. Charles grasps your thighs and drags them down, arranging you so you lie on top of him, your head tucked under his chin. When you look up blearily, he's grinning and passing the back of his hand over his glossy mouthâfilthy man. Your limbs are loose and pliable under his touch, and he drapes you around himself, uncaring of his sore spots. You yawn.
"Could sleep a couple more hours." He pets your hair slowly.
You are already gone.
You wake to Charles's gentle hand on your shoulder.
"Hey." He says softly and briefly, you remember the way your mother used to wake you. Shouting through the door and barging into your bedroom. Charles has dressed, his hair is tied back, and he wears soft sweatpants and a hoodie zipped over his bare chest.
"What time is it?" You mumble.
"Five." He strokes your bare shoulder lazily.
"Five?" You shoot up in his bed. "I've slept the whole day?"
"Not the whole day. Just most of it."
"I've got a shift at seven," You moan, slumping back and pulling the covers over your head.
"I know." He says, pulling them back. "I made dinner. Then I'll take you."
"What if someone sees you?"
"I'll drop you a block away if you want." He soothes. "C'mon. Eat something. Must be hungry.
You are hungry, you realise. You haven't eaten since yesterday.
You sit at the table, legs crossed and his shirt soft against your skin as he puts a gargantuan bowl of pasta in front of you. You take a tiny bite. It's good. Better than all the buttered toasts and microwave meals you eat at your own place.
"This is fuckin' good." You mumble through a mouthful of pasta. "Really good."
"That's because it's real food." He says blankly.
"I'm an awful cook." You say, swallowing. "I could never get the hang of it."
"You don't have to." He says so quietly that you barely hear him."Want more?"
You eat three bowls of pasta before you finally step into the shower to clean the sweat off your skin. He drives you to the Old Light, a thermos full of coffee pressed into your hand and drops you off a block away. Before you get out, you press a kiss to his cheek, right over his scar.
"Thank you, Charles." You say quietly. "It was good pasta.
. . .
 You wake to the loudest noise you've ever heard.
If someone is robbing me, they are going to be disappointed.
The afternoon sun floods in. Sitting up on your futon, you fumble for your rubber slides. They live somewhere under the nightstand you'd dragged in from the curb. You find one and hold it up in defence. Pressing your back against the terrace window, you pull the curtain back a tiny bit to peer through it. Slowly, you open the door and creep onto the balcony.
"Who's there?" Your voice comes out shaky. Not very threatening. "I have a weapon!" You slap it against your palm threateningly.
Crickets.
Bursting out onto the balcony, you brandish the slide at the intruder. There is nobody on your small concrete balcony.
Then, your eyes land on a heap of mussed feathers. The heap lets out a pathetic little noise, and you inch closer.
It's a bird. A crow, to be more exact. Its beady little eyes stare up at you beseechingly. It lies on its back, the wing stretched out at an odd angle. You stare at it and then look back at your window.
"Hello." You whisper. It lets out a half-hearted cheep in response.
Charles is at yours in about ten minutes.
The bird that you have carefully transferred to a shoebox that used to contain a disintegrating collection of CDs. Charles said not to feed it, so you don't. Instead, you sit cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, peering into the shoebox. The crow chirps occasionally, but mostly just looks at you with those disturbingly human eyes.
Carefully, you poke your finger into the box. The glittery acrylic nails that you'd paid dearly for flash, and the crow nips at your finger gently.
"No need to be a prick." You say to it, it gives an indignant chirp and snaps its beak at you again.
The knock at the door is brief, but unmistakable. You open itâCharles stands with a plastic bag in his hand. His hair is ruffled, and his high cheekbones are flushed from the cold. You look down at yourself. The worn-out pyjama pants and slippers.
"I stopped for some stuff. I figured you're still movin' in."
Widening the door, you let him in. He takes his shoes off at the door. His socks say "BEST UNCLE EVER" and have an arrow pointing up to him.
"I didn't know you had siblings." You point at his feet, barely concealing a smile.
"I don't. It's my friend's kid. Jack."
"Must be close friends."
He nods briefly and sets the bag down.
Kneeling beside your futon, he squints into the shoebox. The crow looks back at him, framed by your worn-out dishrag. Charles rests the tip of his finger on the edge of the box. The crow does not nip it. Little asshole.
"Looks young."
"How can you tell?"
Closing his hand over yours, he guides it into the box. The tip of your finger brushes the crown of its head. The charcoal feathers are fluffy.
"The feathers are softer, lighter when they are young." You withdraw your hand. "The adult feathers are coming in, though."
He points to its back, where sleek black feathers begin to poke through the fuzz.
"What's wrong with it?"
Reaching into the bag, Charles pulls on a pair of disposable gloves. He lifts the bird into his big hands with supreme gentleness. Raising it to eye level, he examines it. It caws indignantly as his fingers brush the wing.
"Yeah, something's up with the wing. Ain't sure if it's broken or not."
He sets it down carefully.
"The wildlife centre's closed on Sundays. I can drive it there tomorrow."
"Should weâfeed it or something?"
"Might still be shocked. Could try water."
You find a straw from the takeout you got the other night and hold it under the tap. You hold it out to Charles.
"You wanna try?" He says softly.
"I don't want to hurt it."
"You won't."
Kneeling beside him, you let him guide your hand, clasped around the straw to the birds mouth. It opens it, gulping down the drops of water thirstily.
"That's enough, wouldn't want to shock it more."
He sets the lid of the shoebox over it.
"Won't it be dark?" You sound anxious, to your own surprise.
"Yeah. Let it rest a bit. Ain't too good for them to have so much handling."
Stripping off the gloves, he tosses them in the trash can beneath your sink.
"Is this all your stuff?" He scans the apartment. Your CD player is plugged into the wall, the empty walls. The cardboard boxes still have not been unpackedâdespite months of being here.
"I moved on pretty short notice."
He looks at your futon pointedly.
"It's comfortable."
Pressing his hand to the corner, he presses down on it. It makes a soft deflating noise.
"I got you some cleaning stuff." He gestures to the bag, "Theres food if you want it."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't." He says patiently. "I want to."
"No ulterior motives?" You raise a brow at him.
"I've struggled before." He says plainly. "It's not easy."
"I'm not struggling!" You say, stung.
"I'm not talking about money." His voice is flat. "It's tough to move alone. It's tough not to have anybody."
You open your mouth to say something nasty, but the words die on your tongue.
"This is what friends do." His voice turns low, soothing. "Help each other."
"I don't help you." You mutter.
"It isn't meant to be transactional." He smiles, and you feel your heart soften a little.
The little crow has quieted.
. . .
The text from your mother is deceptively casual, but you know that it isn't. The little heart icons at the end and the endearment of darling mean nothing coming from her. It is a veiled request to nose around your apartment, to see how you've been living since you left her beloved-to-be son-in-law in the middle of the highway. To tell you: See? You should call him. Look at how you've been living. You don't even have a bed. You will never forget the look on her face when you told her you would not marry him, the ashen realisation that could not show-pony you to her friends. You will not be the daughter with a shiny degree above the mantle and a husband who will be a surgeon. You will not give her grandchildren, despite her insistence that your biological clock is ticking and that one child is really not that difficult.
You decide you will buy a bed.
After hours of searching online and weighing up the expenses, you decide on one. It's a wooden framed bed. You buy sheets tooâdark red ones. They'll brighten up the space a little. The box is finally delivered, and it stares at you, a cardboard behemoth that takes up most of the space in your apartment.
You do the only logical thing, and phone Charles.
He picks up after a few rings, and you hear a soft female voice in the background. You stiffen.
"Hey. You alright?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Iâsorry, am I interrupting you?"
"No. I got a minute."
"Um. I ordered a bed from Ikea." You falter. Maybe it's his girlfriend, a hemp-wearing, incense-burning, granola-eating woman. She also hikes. "I can't figure out how to build it."
"Okay. I can come over tonight."
"I don't expect you to do it for free." You say, "If it was your job before, then I'll pay you what you would have made."
He is over at seven, still wearing his reading glasses that sit slightly askew and carrying a toolbox in his hand, filled with things you don't even use. You sit cross-legged on your floor watching him squint at the instructions and thenâas if by magic. The bed begins to appear in your apartment. His biceps bulge as he hammers nails and lifts the slats of wood. You fix yourself a bowl of cereal and watch him quietly.
"How come the change of heart?" He says, turning his head back to look at you.
"No reason." You shrug, staring into your bowl of Lucky Charms.
"That so?"
"My mom is visiting." You say shortly. "I don't want to give her another reason to be disappointed in me.
"Why would she be disappointed in you?" He looks up.
"Because I'm a dropout, I'm broke, and I'm fucking my co-worker."
"You're figuring it out."
"How would you know?" You say, a little nastily. Charles does not take the bait.
"I spend a lot of time with you." He shrugs, pushing his hair off his face. "It's okay to take a different path."
"Which path is that?"
"Whatever is right, I guess." Setting the hammer down, he slumps beside you on the wall.
"I was engaged." You say, abruptly. Charles turns his face to you; it is carefully blank."I broke it off with him."
"Why?"
"I don't know." Your voice trembles, unable to stop the flood of words. "He was fine. Perfect, even. My parents loved him. I loved him."
Charles looks at you, and you look straight ahead.
"But, I made him pull over, and I told him I wasn't going to do it."
"Do you regret it?"
"No."
"Then it's alright. Your mother will get over it."
You set the bowl of cereal down and look at your newly made bed. Suddenly, you are elated. A bed. A whole bed, just for you. No more waking up with a crick in your neck, or peering under the futon for black mould. A real bed.
"Thank you, Charles." You set the bowl of cereal down and look at him. He's a little sweaty, the smooth brown skin and dark hair gleaming with it. You nose the curve of his bicep, bulging through his t-shirt.
"You're welcome." He says, lifting his arm so you can burrow into his armpit. The clean scent of detergent fills your nose.
He stays at yours for only the second time. You do not fuck. You strip down to your underwear and curl into your new bed, staring up at the ceiling. Charles lies beside you, his breathing soft and even.
"If your landlord is okay with it, I can help you paint the place." He says quietly, over the whir of the fan.
"Pink." You murmur. "I want pink."
"Sure. Make sure it's okay. I'll take you to the hardware store whenever you want."
The idea fills you with ridiculous joy. A pink apartment, just for you.
Shutting your eyes, you dream of this. An apartment, cotton candy pink.
The mother who visits your apartment, all cleaned up just for her, is not the mother you left behind.
Your sheets are starched, and the bed is made with tucked-in hospital corners. This is the work of Charles, who had woken up before you and tidied your whole place. For his size, he is surprisingly silent, mirroring his cat. He leaves quietly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
The mother who visits is softer, quieter. She has more silver hair and wrinkles around her eyes. She brings you a bag of food, stacked tupperwares full of childhood favourites.
The mother who visits does not outwardly criticise; she does not prod with harsh tones. It is only her look of disdain that lets on, when she sees your empty home that had looked so full with Charles cooking breakfast, building your bed. The sheets you bought look stark against the white walls of the place, and your piles of CDs and high heels look juvenile. She does not tell you that she wants you to see the surgeon who was to be your husband; she only says that he came to dinner, and did you know he got a pay raise? And did you know he fixed a baby's heart? And didn't you know thatâ? You tune it out, you pick at the food she brought you. You tell her briefly of the bar, of your life here. You carefully omit details, Charles, the nights off you spend together. You imagine what she would say if she saw his face, his long hair and scarred cheek. Somehow, you want to protect him from that. You want him to be untouched by her disdain. Charles, your best friend. Your only friend since you moved out here. You do not want her to lay a hand on him, even in your mind.
But she does. When you go to the washroom to collect yourself, to smooth your hair and take three deep breaths. You hear her sharp cry, your name.
When you come out of the bathroom, she holds up two items of clothing between her thumb and forefinger. A man's sock that says "BEST UNCLE EVER" and a bra of yours, lacy and purple. Her face is livid.
Shakily, you ask her why she has been rifling through your laundry hamper. You try to set a boundary; you've read that word so many times. You are so very good at it. I'm not your girl, I'm not your fiancĂŠe. But you are your mother's daughter. This is inescapable. So when she asks you if you've been sleeping around, you feel your gut full of gunfire. Only a humiliated, strangled noise comes out. Is this the way you were raised? Is this the way I raised you? Did I pump all this money into your school, into your success, for you to turn out like this? It is not the whorish bra or the sock left behind. Your mother leaves, kissing you primly. You watch as she turns, her shoulders squared with rage. You pick up the phone and dial Charles's number.
"You alright?" His voice is low, concerned. It makes you madder.
"This thing between us?" You snap. "It's done. I'll give you your shit at work."
"Did seeing your mother go okay?"
"It's none of your business." Your temper flares in your belly, your vision swims red.
"Okay." He says softly. "If you don't want to tell me."
"I don't want to see you again." You repeat helplessly, trying to gauge some reaction from him. "It's pointless."
"If that's what you think."
"I don't want you to come over and play houseâI don't want to babysit your fucking cat." You hiccup. "I don't want any of this. I don't want you."
The line goes dead.
You see him next at work, where he gives you the slightest of nods. You put his socks in front of his locker, the only things he left at yours, and you find your clothes in a plastic bag in front of yours, all folded and laundered. You eat alone in your apartment and find yourself eating packet after packet of instant noodles. You bite into an apple and throw the rest away because you can't be bothered to cut it. You ask your landlord if you can paint the place, and she says yes. You go to the hardware store and buy the most atrocious shade of pinkâfar from cotton candy, more Pepto-Bismol. You fall asleep with paint in your hair, and one wall painted a patchy pink.
You go out to some dive bar alone and get drunk, as per your routine. Once you are done, you slip outside and vomit into a bush. Before you know it, your phone is in your hand, and you are pressing Charles' contact on it, a little boxing glove icon at the end of his name.
You hear him breathing on the other end, Taima's soft purr.
"I'm just calling to sayâI'm sorry." You mumble, "I shouldn't have said it. I didn't mean it."
"Are you okay?" His voice is urgent. "Did something happen?"
"No, no." You hiccup, "No, I think I'm fine." A heaving sob escapes you, and you clamp your hand over your mouth.
"Are you crying? Charles' voice is soft, and the phone static crackles.
"I'm just really fucking drunk." You sit down on the curb and try to wiggle your toes in your boots, which pinch you punishingly. "And my feet hurt."
"Where are you?" You can hear him shuffling.
"I don't know." You sob, "I'm sorry. I don't know."
"That's okay." His voice is soothing, "Are there any signs or shops?"
"There'sâa 7-11, I think. Near the bus stop."
"Okay. Stay put." He says quietly, "I'll come get you."
When you see his car, you almost collapse with relief. He comes out and, taking one look at you in the stupid red sweater and skirt you wore, pulls you close to his chest. His big hand threads cradles your head to his chest, and you snuffle into his hoodie. The clean smell of his detergent fills your nose.
"It's alright." He says softly, rubbing your back. "C'mon, I'll take you back."
"I'm a failure," You are wailing drunkenly, clutching at him. "I'm a bad daughter."
"You aren't." Charles murmurs. "It's okay. Doesn't matter what she thinks."
"I care what you think." You howl, and a rumble of wry laughter goes through him.
"Thought you didn't want me and my fucking cat." He pulls back, stroking your hair from your face.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was a bitch."
"You ain't." Charles's brow knits.
"I am." You snuffle into his hoodie.
"How 'bout I take you back?"
"Where?"
"Mine, if you want."
Before you can think, you are nodding gratefully. He helps you into his car, tucking his hoodie over your bare knees and clipping on your seatbelt.
"Charles?" You say, as the engine kicks into gear.
"Yeah?"
"You're my best friend." You whisper.
"I know. You're mine, too."
Resting your head against the glass pane, you watch streetlamps whizz past you in man-made comets. The nighttime spell of a new city, the cool glass against your cheek. The golden glow turns fuzzy with the alcohol coursing through your system. You look at Charles, his dark hair. His face illuminated by the streetlights, and you thinkâthat even if your family abandons you for the sin of being mediocre and the world courses aheadâsurgeons and lawyers and self-made millionaires- that you will be alright, just where you are.
Could you do Charles Smith x a reader with very long hair
Cuz I think itâs canon that Charlesâ hair is very important to him and I think it would be a cute bonding thing xx
OOO YES!!!
Head to Toe
masterlist
Synopsis: After a long stressful day, you retreat to your boyfriend's tent for some comfort
paring: Charles X long hair fem reader
warnings: FLUFF. established relationship, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, uses of: "hon" and "lover", flirting, massage, hair brushing/touching/braiding, kissing, fade to black at the end (so, slight sexual content).
wc: ~1k
My head aches. My feet ache. My body aches.
Every part of me aches.
Dutch was barking nonsensical orders left and right, Arthur was in a sour mood with John before we even stepped foot out of camp this morning, and Bill was being himself, making the train robbery a...well, train wreck.
I needed some TLC, and I knew just where to get it. My sweet fella, Charles.
I scanned the campfire nearby. Some gang members were congregating around it, talking about the day or succumbed to their slumber. Charles was usually there either sharpening his knife, or crafting some of those natural tonics he makes, but I couldn't spot him anywhere.
I limped into his tent, finding him sitting relaxed on his bedroll. He looked up as soon as stepped into his space and gave me a small, warm smile. "Hey you."
"Hey hon. I went looking for ya by the campfire."
Charles let out a soft huff. "I was there, but Micah was being...Micah."
Micah was always putting himself in other people's business and calling folks names. It was odd how a grown man could act like a disgruntled adolescentâno offense to teenagers.
"Oh." I kicked off my boots and sat beside him on his bedroll. "Just ignore him the best you can."
"I do. I just didn't want to hear it. So I came in here for some peace and quiet. I would've come out to welcome you home if I knew you arrived."
I rested my head against his shoulder, taking a long, deep breath. "It's alright." I closed my eyes and tried to forget about the clusterfuck that occurred just a few hours ago.
"You were limping when you came in. Is everything alright?"
I didn't even bother looking at Charles. "Mhm...fine. My body's a little sore, but that's it."
He was quiet for a moment. "Are you sure? Nothing else is hurting?"
"My head...but it's okay, trust me."
Charles softly jutted up his shoulder where my head resided. "Come on, sit in front of me." My eyes peered up at him, and they seemed like they were lighting up the whole tent.
I scooted in front of him, us both sitting criss-cross, and flipping my long, voluminous hair to my shoulder. I felt Charles' fingers start at my lower neck, rubbing in circles that were forceful, but felt wonderful.
I let a moan slip out and my eyes closed once more, the force of his touch moving me forward slightly.
"This okay?"
I couldn't respond with words, so I nodded eagerly. I heard Charles hum, and moved his fingers to the base of my neck. His fingers worked their magic, as he bent down and pressed soft kisses along my skin that was exposed on my back and on my neck, slightly sucking and nipping. I loudly moaned and moved my neck to the side to give him more room, earning a soft growl from him.
His hands did not waste time traveling to my scalp. I felt his nails dig into my hair and drag down. A loud hum escaping my lips. He continued scratching up and down my scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair and softly brushing out tangles from the day.
"Oh my God..." I purred.
Charles released his lips from my neck and let out a soft chuckle. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Mhm...vvvery."
His fingers found their way to my forehead and temples, massaging just like he had at the base of my neck. My headâand as a matter of fact, my whole bodyâfelt like I did not endure the hell I did today. It felt like how it did this morning, before this whole mess, when I was lying with Charles in his bedroll.
That being said, who needed any sort of medicine when you have a boyfriend with magic fingers?
Charles removed his hands from my head, and grabbed my hair that was still over my shoulder, guiding it to him. He smoothed out my hair, combing it the way he had just moments ago.
"I'm so lucky." I heard him whisper. "You're so gorgeous."
"Are you talking to my hair or me?"
Charles let out a laugh. I could picture him shaking his head with that soft grin on his face. "Every inch of you, from head to toe, is more beautiful than any landscape on this Earth."
I felt my cheeks burn up, hot like the roaring campfire outside. Charles never fails at making me feel like the only woman in the world.
He skillfully separated my hair into three equal parts, but before he worked his magic, he placed his hands on my head and leaned in. "Do you want me to braid your hair? I'll go gentle, since you have a headache."
I nodded. "You know I can never pass up your braids, Charles."
With that, he went to work, crossing my strands of hair over one another. He made sure to be careful, going slower than usual so he wouldn't accidentally pull too hard.
I shut my eyes again, letting relaxation spread through me. I could easily fall asleep like this, with my lover's hands taking care of me and my hair.
A moment later, I felt a soft tap against my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked behind me at Charles.
"Done. It looks beautiful."
"I bet it does." I turned myself around to face him. I swung my hair over my shoulder to admire the braid. My face lit up at the intricate style of the hairstyle. "I love it."
"Yeah?" Charles smiled. "I love you."
I rolled my eyes playfully and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Charles cupped my face in response, pulling me closer to him. My hands traveled up his chest and settled behind his neck.
He groaned into my mouth and lifted me onto his lap. I wrapped my legs around his hips in reaction. Charles released my face and let his hands splay across my back instead. He broke the kiss as he carefully laid me down on the bedroll.
I looked up at him with rosy cheeks and my chest rising with each rapid breath. "Charlesâ"
"If you wanna stop we can. I know you're sore."
"No. I want to."
He smiled, but before he would move or do anything else I spoke. "But... could you go slow?"
A big smile spread across Charles' face. "Of course. Anything for you."
a/n: thank you for this request anon! i really enjoyed writing this! <3
summary: It's the heatwave, and you were gifted some unexpected luxury to bring you and your husband some relief.
pairing: husband charles smith x wife f!reader.
rating: general
word count: 3.1 k
warnings: it's just a little fluff. Charles and reader are married, it's post canon. Reader is the school teacher. slice of life, domestic bliss despite the scorching heat, kissing, a little bit of nudity. English isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes. Charles picture from pinterest. Dividers by @/pxrce-lain
a/n: just a tiny little fluffy fic I thought about during the first heatwave, and got to write during this second one... (part 2 during the 3rd one maybe lol) I hope you enjoy this very self indulgent, cottage core domestic fluff with perfect husband charles fic. I am very excited about it, i worked on that wip all week to keep me sane despite the scorching heat. It should have been finished earlier but anxiety got the best of me. A reminder to stay hydrated even if you don't feel thirsty, try to keep yourself cool as best as you can, shower every hour if u can't stay somewhere with AC, and check on your loved ones too.
Thank you to my baby @thedilfdiaries for agreeing that it was a great idea, and encouraging me to post tonight, i love you so much â¤ď¸đâ¨. And to my sweet @mezzaninebeetle55 for feeding the Charles brainrot hehe, love you honey đŤđŤśđź now there is a bit of rain outside, I am gonna go open the windows â¨đ
The unrelenting heat accompanies every single step you take on the small path leading to your house. The sun is setting, but not quickly enough for everyoneâs liking. Itâs the third consecutive day of the heatwave, and the toughest one by far. These temperatures have never been seen before according to the elders youâve talked to when you stopped by the general store. The world is heading for its own destruction, yelled some while shaking their heads in despair. The expansions of the cities and the railroad are to blame, proclaimed others while fanning themselves with their freshly used train tickets⌠You smiled politely, agreeing with whatever they were saying before asking the owner for some chalk sticks. You tried as best as you could to keep your studentâs attention for the first part of the day, but the afternoon was rough, and you let them draw on their little slates. Most of your supplies are gone, the flowers, animals and other abstract patterns have disappeared into colorful dust. And you know some kids sneakily snatched some sticks into their little pockets to play at home.
As you step onto your front porch, you notice Charles standing in the kitchen. You take off your hat and hang it on the wall, before quietly approaching your husband.Â
âThere you are,â Charles says, wiping his hands on a rag. You quicken your pace and get on your tip toes to press a kiss on his cheek, murmuring a sorry as you step away.Â
âI have a surpriseâ You exclaim, setting your wicker basket on the wooden table. The muffled thump catches Charlesâ attention. He turns around and starts emptying the content around the plate he just set for dinner. A fresh bottle of milk clicks against a glass and Charles quickly puts it away from the heat, safe in the pantry. You hand him the rest of the groceries for the week.Â
âWhatâs the surprise?â He asks with a frown, wondering if he has missed something.Â
âLook what the kids' parents offered meâ You uncover the burlap and reveal the precious transparent square at the bottom of the basket. Charlesâ eyes grow wide as he inspects the ice block. You take his warm hand in yours and place it on the cold surface.Â
âI forgot how nice it feels,â He says, flinching at the sensation.Â
âRight? It almost made me regret the snow and the mountainsâŚâÂ
âThat's extremely kind of them⌠I tried to get some in town the other day but it was much too pricey. I thought maybe with an extra week of work we could get one butâŚâ
âI know! They said it was a present for being so helpful with the kids and keeping them occupied during the past week⌠I was so surprised!â You reply, smiling proudly. âThey were just waiting for me in front of the school, all together just to thank me⌠Thatâs why I am a little late, they insisted on greeting me allâŚand the kids were running and playing around, you know how it goesâÂ
âWell youâre doing such a good job, I am not surprised they wanted to do a nice gestureâ Charles leans in to kiss your forehead. You wrap your arms around his torso, staying there for a minute.Â
âThatâs just so kind. I would have expected⌠candied cherries or a new apron. But ice?â
Charles hums in agreement. âWhere is this coming from anyway? Iâve heard theyâre running out of it in the areaâ He asks, looking down at you.Â
âThe mayorâs wife's family owns this icehouse in town near the creek⌠I donât know, I didnât pay much attention. Little Agnesâs mother was talking to me at the same timeâ
âIâll ask around, see if deliveries are planned in the village soon, just in case the heatwave lasts for another week. And Iâll try my luck at hunting at dawn tomorrow. With the ice we can keep some meat cold for the next few daysâ He adds, and you nod against his heart before untying yourself from him.
âIâll come with youâ You decide, uncuffing the buttons of your shirtâs sleeves.Â
âYou hungry?â Charles walks to the counter and starts cutting slices into the bread loaf. Â
âNot so much⌠I had a bunch of berries earlier in the afternoonâ.
âWell we'll have a light dinner, thereâs nothing better than fresh fruit and bread when the heat is so strongâ
âAnd a glass of milk!â You point out, looking at the closed pantry.Â
âHopefully tomorrow with a little luck weâll get some meat too â Charles mutters, grabbing a couple of peaches and plums to cut them.Â
âLet me get changed and Iâll be backâ You say before disappearing in your bedroom.Â
Charles wipes the juice from his knife on a rag, and places the fruit wedges on the plate. He grabs the ice block and secures the burlap around it neatly before hiding it in the pantry around the milk and butter, with a small tray underneath to gather the cold water that will slowly melt.Â
You peel off the layers of your teacher uniform, sighing heavily as you realize shredding some clothing does nothing to help you cool off. You walk back to the kitchen, cheeks flushed and sweat making the thin linen of your chemise stick to your skin. Charles looks up at you, brows furrowed as he waits for your complaint.Â
âItâs too hot in thereâ You simply say, throwing your exhausted body on the nearest chair.Â
âI tried to keep the place cool as best as I could, closed all the blinds⌠I might have opened them a little too early though⌠I thought the sunset would bring some airâ Charles explains as he carefully fixes a plate for you. âIt's better in the bedroom though. I didnât open anything so we could keep it cold for the nightâ.Â
âCold. Yeah sureâ You repeat sarcastically, shaking your head. Â
You stand up and open the pantry, grabbing the bottle of milk, almost breaking an egg in the motion. You curse under your breath. The heat brings the clumsiness out of you, and you donât have the patience for that.Â
âLet meâ Charles says as he grabs your elbow and takes the bottle in his hand. He fills two glasses and puts the milk back in the pantry. You stand there, watching him. You wonder how he copes with the heat so easily⌠Or perhaps he is just better than you at hiding that he is losing his mind.Â
âI wish I had one of those fancy fans, you know, with the lace and pretty patterns" You sit in your chair again, plunging the blade of your knife into a wedge of yellow peach. Â
âWe could look for it the next time we head to townâ Charles says, munching on a slice of bread.Â
âTheyâre too expensive Charlesâ You pout, remembering the prices you saw for the most basic ones at the department store a couple months ago.Â
âWell⌠If I could study the mechanismâŚsee how it works, perhaps Iâll try my hand at making one for youâÂ
âYou really think so?â You ask, pausing with the next wedge of fruit planted at the end of your knife. Charles raises his eyes from his plate and notices the hopeful look on your face.
âYeah? Itâs just a bunch of small wooden planks. I just need the right dimensions. But I wonât risk dealing with the fabric covering it up, i'll leave that to youâ He warns, already visualizing which supplies he has out in the barn to use for the wooden structure. He picks the fruit dangling off your knife and brings it to his mouth. âDâyou know someone who can lend you one? Just for a day so I canâŚâ He asks as he chews.Â
âThat was mine.â You reply, faking annoyance. You pick up another slice and think for a minute. âI think Anneâs mother got one, she always brings it when she picks up her girl, I am sure she wouldnât mind me borrowing it. Iâll draw a quick sketch, take measurements, will it be okay?â You can barely conceal the excitement at the idea of Charles making one of those for yourself. You know how good he is at carving wood, heâll do wonders.Â
âYeah Iâll deal with that just fineâ He chugs down his glass of milk and puts the dishes into the sink. You stand up and follow him there, pressing a little kiss on his shoulder and whispering a thank you as you grab the rag and start drying the clean plates. You stack them back on the shelves delicately, and let your husband lead you to your bedroom.Â
Charles hands hold your hips firmly, their warmth spreading through the linen. Your skin feels sticky and youâre about to gently push him away but the wave of heat surrounding you when you open the door makes him cross his arms against his chest in frustration. The cold Charles promised earlier is nowhere to be found as the wrought iron bed frame comes into view.Â
âGoshâŚI swear I closed earlier today, I thought the thick walls would have kept some coolness in hereâŚâ He grumbles, hand pressed on the stones at the side of the door, confirming that the walls have indeed stored the sunlight.Â
You donât say anything when you hear Charles breathing getting heavier. You sit on the chair in front of the walnut dressing table he made for you when you got married. The old mirror set on top reflects your shiny skin. Charles tentatively opens the small window, and blocks the door to create some sort of draft⌠In vain. He sits on the edge of the bed, defeated.Â
âHow was your day?â You ask, thinking he could use the distraction. You brush your hair quickly and tie them back up. A deep sigh echoes in the burning room.Â
âUneventful. I just went to the river, got some stones to fix the hole in the well later⌠Saw a guy there, he works at the train station, you know the tall man with the mustache?â
âYeah, what about him?â You stand up and walk to your side of the bed, silently beckoning Charles to stand up too. You grab the bedsheets together, and fold them at the foot of the bed. They wonât be of any use anyway.Â
âHe said there was a fire two nights ago? At the Grovesâ farm. Theyâre gonna need any help they can get for the cleaning and renovation.â Charles notices the way you freeze with your hands flat on the pillow. âNo casualtyâ He says reassuringly.Â
âThank Godâ You let out, patting the pillow energetically. âWhen are you leaving?â You ask as you get in, laying on your right side to face Charles.Â
âIn a couple of days. Iâll probably stay in town. Travelling might be a little too exhausting for Taima in this heat.â
âOkay. Promise me youâll be careful, especially if youâre working up there on the roofsâ You grab his forearm as he lays next to you, concerned, and bring his hand to your chest.Â
âOf course. We are supposed to work at dawn anyway, for the hardest tasks. But Iâll be carefulâ Charles kisses your temple and rests his head against his pillow.Â
The silence surrounds your immobile silhouettes. Even in a relaxed state, your bodies are struggling to function properly. The burning sensation makes your head feel heavy, the slow pouding at the back of your head reminds you how painful it is going to be to fall asleep.Â
âIt feels like weâre roastingâ Charles breaks the silence, and you laugh loudly, a mix of sheer exhaustion and despair at the ridicule of your situation.Â
âWe shouldnât have shaken the sheets⌠Got me all worked upâ You add, turning your pillow on the other side, in hope that it will be colder.Â
âThereâs no need⌠I just did that with mineâ Charles says. âI reckon we did too much effort for the nightâÂ
You groan, throwing yourself back on the bed.Â
âYou know what could be goodâŚâÂ
Charles doesnât answer. You lean over him, scanning his face. His eyes are closed, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks. You trace the scar on his face and he opens one eye.Â
âHmm?âÂ
âWe could take a bathâŚâÂ
âA bath?" He doesnât really understand why it would be so different to take a bath, but why notâŚ
âBut Charles⌠You donât get it⌠We could put some ice in thereâ
âYou want to use the ice to take a bath?â He scans your face, eyes wide open now.Â
âNot all of it of course! Just a couple of chunks? Charles⌠Itâs been a long long week and we havenât slept properly in days and I just thought⌠Well we have plenty enough for tomorrowâs meat and the other supplies, just a tiny little bit? With the water from the well it could be cold enough to help us relax, I am sure weâll find sleep so easily after thatâ You stop yourself from pressing your sweaty hands on his chest.
Charlesâ face changes as he listens. He looked completely opposed to the idea, but now he seems to be agreeing with your responsible reasoning. The thought of the heat dropping for a little while is enough to convince him. Plus, he vowed to do anything to make you happy, and the smile on your face as he nods and tells you to get the bath tub to the front porch is definitely worth it. Charles put his pants on again, and leaves for the barn.
He comes back a moment later, two buckets filled with freshly drawn water in his hands. You've lit up a lantern and set a couple of clean towels on the bench, that's enough for the night. You sit there watching as Charles' muscular chest glistens in the moon light. He starts filling up the tub, the sounds of water splashing covering the songs of cicadas momentarily. After his second run, youâre still sitting there, gawking at him.Â
âSo you just wanted a pretext to watch me do all the work?â He throws at you while emptying another bucket.Â
âYouâre just so handsome, I couldnât miss the occasionâ You wink at him, with a smile. Charles nods shyly as he looks down to check the water level. He canât help but be careful not to waste too much of it.
âI think you can get one more and I'll get the iceâ He states, gesturing for you to stand up.Â
âYeah that'll do. I wasnât exactly expecting for us to swim in it anywayâ You take the bucket from his hand, heading to the well to replace him for the last run.Â
Charles opens the pantry and carefully takes the precious ice block from its hideout. He removes half of the burlap, and starts chipping off shards of ice. He is slow and careful with his knife, making sure nothing is wasted on the table or falling on the floor.Â
âThat should be enoughâ He mutters to himself as he quickly places the block back in the pantry.Â
He comes out with half a bucket of ice.Â
âWow⌠Are you sure?âÂ
âYeah thatâs alright, it ainât that much anywayâ
âI you say so, just impressive, won't it be too cold?â You watch him pour the ice in the tub, trying to brace yourself for the overwhelming sensation to come.
âIt won't. I dosed it perfectly. Now get inâ He instructs, holding out his arm to help you keep your balance as you plunge a foot in the tub.Â
You gasp loudly as soon as it hits your skin.Â
âWhat?â Charles exclaims, watching your face attentively. You close your eyes, sighing as your second foot joins the first one.
âIt feels so cold⌠so niceâ You stand there, one hand resting on Charlesâ shoulder as you wait for the burning sensation of the cold to slow down. He is smiling as he looks at you.Â
âYou should probably enter very carefully now, and wet your neck firstâ Charles warns you.Â
âYeah donât worryâ You lean over and plunge your hands in the water, slowly wetting your thighs and your forearms. Each stroke of your hands along your skin makes you pant a little.Â
Charles watches you intently, the way your transparent chemise starts to stick to your silhouette, the droplets of water running down your cleavage, the hair curling at the nape of your neck. His heart misses a beat and he realizes he is just standing there, clasping at the bucketâ handle, completely lost in your beauty.Â
âCharles?â
âHuh?â
âI said it feels good, you should join meâ You suggest as you finally sit in the tub, relishing in the way your body seems to relax. You extend your hand to invite him in.Â
âI am good where I am, you should enjoy that bath, you were out all dayâ Charles declines, holding your hand in his for a minute.Â
You plunge your fingers in the water again to grab a chunk of ice and let it slide up Charlesâ forearm, watching his face lit up suddenly. He shivers a little, air blowing slowly from his nose. He pretends to contemplate your offer for a moment, but his little smirk lets you know he changed his mind. Charles takes off his pants and you stand back up, moving to the side to let him enough room to step in. He takes his time getting fully inside the tub too, and you help him get used to the temperature, pouring a bit of water on his back, massaging his neck, threading your fingers through his hair. Once he is sitting behind you, you join him again, and settle against his chest. The tension provoked by the heat slides off his body as soon as he is submerged by the cold water.Â
âYeah⌠you are right this is nice, refreshingâ Charles whispers in your ear, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close. You close your eyes, letting your head rest against his shoulder. Charlesâ hand cups your jaw and tilts your head slightly, pressing a kiss on your lips.
The song of the cicadas starts again, louder this time, a reminder that the heat is still here, waiting for the sun to rise to make everything difficult again. But there is only the night is surrounding you now. The ice is slowly melting against your skin, and for a moment you believe that youâll never feel hot again.
After a while, Charles nudges your temple with his nose, humming. âWe should probably go to sleepâÂ
âJust five more minutesâ You reply, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter.Â
a/n: thank you so much for reading ! Reblogs and comments are always making me happy đĽ°â¨
summary - fempov. you actually have to help with one of the missions for the gang. can you keep your mouth shut long enough for it to workâŚ
a/n - i loooooveee charles thatâs my husband irl btw guys so i hope you all like this! i actually have not finished rdr2 so there shouldnât be any crazy spoilers but i just had to write for him. reader is a woman only as it made the most sense for the direction of the readerâs story. also i am so bad at writing romance; please bear with me aha
warnings - violence, swearing, guns, robbery, crime, lewd comments. pretty much everything you see in red dead redemption. also very light sexual talk, itâs more the aftermath but romantic. just read at ur own pace. reader is supposed to be a bit of a loudmouth lol
Youâve been asking to help out the gang for a while now. Since you got to Horseshoe Overlook, youâd been asking Dutch for things to do, asking Arthur if you can tag a long, even asking Pearson if you canât hunt for him.
Ultimately, you were always left with the more simpler of tasks. Cutting the vegetables, washing the clothes, cleaning the weapons. It bored you.
âIt ainât right!â You say, ranting for the sixth time today, pacing in front of Charles as he sharpens his blade. âI may be a woman but⌠I can help! Arthur has no problem calling Sadie to help!â You kick your boot against the dirt. The river bubbles past in a way that would soothe most people, but to you it just feels like the rushing of another wave of irritation drowning you.
âYou can help, canât you?â You look right at him now, hands on your hips. Most people would never expect you and Charles to be an item. Heâs quiet, observant, stoic and prefers to keep his cards close to his chest. You on the other hand? A real loud mouth. Constantly talking, complaining, laughing, supporting. You wear your heart on your sleeve, itâs endearing.
âMe and Arthur are heading into Valentine to see if we can get some information about where these bounty hunters have taken Sean, maybe you could come alongâ he hums softly, looking up at you. His dark eyes have that knowing look, the one that makes you feel silly for complaining, but nevertheless you canât hide your smile.
âThatâs why I love youâ you grin, rushing over to kiss his head before charging up the hill, hollering for Arthur. Charles huffs out a laugh as he takes his time getting back up there.
âAlrightâ Arthur smiles at you, sitting on a bench beside you in Valentine. You look around, taking a breath. Itâs a simple job, but with the way youâre sweating youâd think you were about to crack your way back into Blackwater. âAll you gotta do, is flirt with the-â
âFlirt?â Charles asks, leaning against the wall nearby. âI thought she was gonna act drunkâ he frowns. Arthur shakes his head. âShe acts drunk, theyâll just push her away, she flirts and theyâll think they got a chanceâ he mumbles.
You glance at Charles, his mouth is slightly open as if to argue, but his jaw tightens as he nods. You smile softly. âItâll be nothin, part of the jobâ you attempt to reassure him. Arthur nods his head towards a pair of lawmen across the street. âFlirt, find a way to get that office open and then you can look for the information thatâll tell us where theyâre heading with Seanâ he nods.
You nod back. âI got it, I got itâ standing up to head over. You suddenly realise you donât really know how to flirt, itâs a miracle you got Charles. You saunter over, trying to remember how youâve seen Mary-Beth do when she pickpockets.
âWell look at these two handsome fellasâ you smile all big, fluttering your eyelashes as you walk right up to them. The two men glance between each other before looking at you. âYou know weâre lawmen?â They ask. You tilt your head, almost confused. âCourse I doâ you giggle.
âNever seen a working girl try her hand at a lawmanâ one of them mutters. Your smile almost instantly drops.
âExcuse me? Working girl?â You say, your more casual stance returning, and suddenly the skirt that Tilly helped you put on feels like a hindrance rather than a thing of beauty. âYou thought I was some whore? Huh? Is that what I look like?! Your voice raises as the men stand, attempting to decrease the tension.
Across the way, Charles begins to smile. Arthur shoves him softly. âDonât laugh, this ainât how this was sâposed to goâ he canât hold in his smile either, watching a lady cuss out two lawmen. âI wanna speak to whoever is in charge of you two fools!â You snap, pushing into the law building. They follow you eagerly, attempting to de escalate the situation, they arenât gonna fight a lady.
âMaâam, there ainât no need for thisâ one says, his hands up in apology. The door suddenly opens as Arthur and Charles walk in, feigning ignorance. Arthur seems to have fun doing shit like this.
âWoah, woah! What are yall doing to the lady?â He says. The lawmen attempt to explain, looking to them for help. âThese two crooks called me a working girl! Assumed I was a whore!â You recall. Charles eyes are scanning the papers, you hold back your smile. Heâs so efficient, so clever. Suddenly you canât wait to get back to Horseshoe Overlook.
âWhy donât I take you down to the saloon maâam?â Arthur smiles, holding out a hand. âA real meal for a real lady, these fellers ainât got a clueâ he says. You huff. âI should think so, you two ought to learn a thing or two!â His hand is warm as Arthur guides you outside. His hand on your waist as you walk together towards the saloon.
Rounding the alley, Charles stands there, holding up a letter inscribing the journey of Seanâs bounty hunters. You grin, jumping to hug Charles. âYou got it! You got it! I didnât ruin it with my big mouthâ you laugh, smiling as you kiss his cheek. He squeezes your hip. âYou did it, it was youâ
Arthur is already walking toward his horse, smiling. âAnybody gonna praise my hard work?â He teases, swinging his legs over. You sit behind Charles on Taima. Hands finding his, you whisper in his ear. âYou gonna reward me for all my help when we get back?â
He smiles, shaking his head at your whisper. He shifts slightly on the horse. Youâre getting under his skin, like always. âI guess you do deserve a rewardâ
Back home, you lay beside Charles. The sun is low, and your bodies are spent. The sweaty panting of exceeded pleasure has turned into soft breaths and skin on skin contact. Your fingers trace his chest, legs intertwined. The fullness in your lower belly feels immensely comfortable.
âSo I did good?â You ask softly. These moments always make you softer, quieter. âYeah honey, you did real good. I was a lot happier seeing you argue than flirtâ he hums. A giggle leaves your mouth, leaning up to look at him. âI was thinkin⌠I donât think I can flirt, I donât remember how I even flirted with youâ. He laughs, rubbing his fingers along the dip in your spine. âI donât think you did.. you shouted at me more than anything, laughed too loud at my under the breath comments and forced me to talk to you about gang businessâ he says, his eyes almost in longing.
âI sounded real annoying, you sure thatâs what made you fall in love with me?â You ask, eyes on his. A part of you is always worried heâll begin to find your volume and boisterous personality tiring or obnoxious⌠but he never does. ânot annoying at all, itâs what made me love youâ he nods like itâs a fact rather than a sweet statement. His plump lips press against yours passionately, lovingly, his tongue brushing against your lip as your noses bump. The pull apart is slow, faces still in close proximity.
âSo whenâs my next mission?â You ask, smiling wide. He shakes his head, smiling as he pulls you to rest. âWeâll see who needs a good shouting at nextâŚâ
Summary: Leaving everything behind, you begin a new job at the Old Light, only to realise you met your co-worker, Charles, the night before.
Warnings: 18+ sexual content, reader is tatted, pierced, and has hair. race, weight and height are unspecified. blowjobs, piv, drinking, smoking, death, grief, one-night stands
photo credits: here, here, here
A/N: This is the first part of what I hope will be a two-part series featuring Modern AU Charles. The reader is described as tattooed, but it's unspecified what they are. I also know sweet fuck all about bartending, bouncers and the like, so please bear with me. The title is taken from an Ethel Cain song titled Mondays. Thank you to Bambi for helping out with a question about bartending (not tagging because I don't want you to feel pressured to read, but if you see this, thank you and ily). I hope you enjoy and consider letting me know what you think x
 This is not your bed.
You come to in varying degrees of consciousness. First is the clean smell of laundry detergent. Then, the astounding fact of your nakedness. A soft whirring noise, like a tiny engine, is making itself known to you. You open your eyes, and a glowing pair of green eyes meets yours.
This is not your cat. You don't even have a cat.
The cat curled on your chest peers down at you curiously. Daringly, she pokes her little pink tongue out and licks your cheek. It's prickly, and you scrunch your face at the sensation.
As you shift, it uses your face as a springboard to bound off the plaid quilted bed and slinks through the half-open bedroom door.
The arm slung around your waist is heavy and muscular, and the body attached to it is much the same. The night comes back in humiliating fragments. The bar. The tequila. Discarding your panties in the bar bathroom.
Oh God.
Carl is sprawled on his belly, his hair long and jet coloured and his back Adonis-like. No, not Carl. Charles. A lock of hair tickles your face, and you hold in your sneeze with considerable effort. Still, you lie there for a moment, listening to his breathing and watching the flutter of his eyelids as he sleeps. He's huge, and you find yourself reluctant to pull away from the warmth of his body. Absently, you brush your fingertips against the smooth dark skin of his forearm. It's muscular, ridged with veins.
Slowly, you lift Charles's crushing arm. He grunts sleepily, and the scar on his cheek comes into view as he shifts. It spiders through the stubble on his jaw. Too bad you'll never find out what happened to him.
Escaping his grasp, you find that stupid on-sale miniskirt you wore discarded on the green rug in his bedroom. It glitters shamelessly in the morning light. There's the top you wore. Your bra is nowhere to be found. A vision of your new red bra dangling off a parking metre assaults you with startling clarity. Your clothes are the only things out of place in it. The rest of it is tidy,
Gathering up your naked and wounded pride, you tiptoe out of his bedroom.
The cat that was previously on your chest sits on a massive cat tree that occupies most of the small, tidy living room. It stares down at you disdainfully. Your stomach rumbles a little, and you wonder if you should rifle through his fridge for a snack. No, no, you must leave before he finds you braless and panty-less in his earthen-toned living room, eating all his raspberry-flavoured protein yoghurt. You shut the fridge and find your boots somewhere near the entryway. Your jacket is hung up next to his.
The cat lets out an indignant meow as you fumble with the door.
"Shh!" You hiss at her as she unhinges her great maw to chirp at you loudly.
Leaping off the cat tree, she rubs her silky grey flanks along your calves. You reach down with one hand to scratch her between the ears. She quiets, purring and arching her back.
"Good kitty. Shh." Inching back from her, you jiggle the doorknob again, and she practically yowls at you.
Thrusting your hand into your jacket pocket, you rifle through for a bribe. The best you can come up with is a peppermint, dusted in lint and a wrapped Slim Jim.
Do cats eat those? You take a leap of faith and unwrap it, waving it about her sleek, triangular head.
She quiets again, sitting down at your feet with her tail curled around her paws. Charles has a very polite cat. Creeping back, still dangling the treat, you toss it across his carpet, and the cat leaps towards it excitedly.
Putting the toe of your boots through the crack in the door lest she follow you, you suck your stomach in and squeeze through.
By the time you get to the empty apartment, the whole thing already feels a little unreal. The walk to his apartment, clinging to his arm, the deep rumble of his laugh and the feel of his hair in your hands. The first week here, and you've already made a fool of yourself. The only way to go is up.
The new apartment has that strange, sterile air about it, whitewashed walls and your few belongings in cardboard boxes. You make yourself instant noodles and eat them on the floor. The apartment could not be more different from the one you woke up in. In between mouthfuls of noodles, you turn over the details of it in your mind. The clean living room, the desk with stacks of books and a mess of papers that you hadn't dared to disrupt. Charles. The night before churns in your mind, the hard muscles of his body folded along yours, his thick cock splitting you open. It still aches between your legs.
He had stuck out to you from the small clusters of the sad Sunday night crowd. He'd been all alone. The first thing you'd noticed were his eyes, dark brown and long-lashed. Then, the thick black hair was tied back from his face. When you'd gotten all close, all tipsy and flirtatious, the sheer size of him. The mug of beer dwarfed in his hand, the other, sliding along your lower back.
By evening, itâs your first shift back at the Old Light, and youâre still half-convinced youâve forgotten something important as you walk in. You pat yourself down, rifle through your purse: keys, wallet, cigarettes. You curse yourself for even considering the trial shift. What sort of bar puts you on a Monday shift? You'd thought working here would mean lazing away on weekdays and smoking as much as you like. Instead, it's a 4 to 11 shift. You tie the tiny apron Sherry had given you. It's embroidered with a lantern at the hem.
The place is already warm and noisy. Sherry, your new boss is calling out instructions from behind the bar, and youâre just trying to get your bearings when the front door opens and a voice you know cuts through the noise.
âYou want me on the door or inside tonight?â
You look up. You see long dark hair, wide shoulders and high cheekbones.
It's Charles. Charles with the clingy cat and the Adonis-like back.
Charles, whom you fucked in the filthy bar bathroom.
For a moment, you do consider suicide.
"Sweetheart, this is Mr Smith." Sherry grins at him. "He's security along with those two." She gestures to two men off in the distance. "Anyone gets mean or touches you, you call 'em."
His eyes flit over you once, and you fiddle with the strings of your apron. Giving no acknowledgement that he was inside you less than twenty-four hours ago, he nods once in greeting.
Sherry pats him; her hand looks tiny on his shoulder.
"Inside, sweetie."
Charles nods silently, and you see him weave his way into the corner of the bar. Your first day at a new job, and the guy you fucked the night before works there too. Typical.
You do as Sherry says, though. Monday night isn't too crowded. Perfect day to learn, she says with her wide crooked grin. You do as she says, and another girl, Maya, shows you where the cleaning supplies are, how to mix the simplest of drinks. Every so often, your eyes flicker up to Charles, standing with arms crossed over his chest and a carefully blank expression on his face. From your spot behind the bar, you watch as he shoulders off a small group of boys with wispy goatees who look far too young to be there.
Your shift has only just started to feel manageable when one of the regulars starts getting too loud at the bar. At first, it is nothing worth noticing, just another man drinking too fast and talking too big, the kind you'd ignore. You are wiping down the counter when he turns, catches your arm hard enough to stop you in place, and says something slurred and mean under his breath.
âLet go,â you say, already trying to pull back. His grip tightens, and he pulls you forward till the counter bites into your stomach. The glass topples at the force of his movements and crashes onto the bar with a musical shattering noise.
Before the moment can get any worse, Charles is there.
âI think youâre going to have to leave,â He says, and his hand closes over the manâs shoulder with calm, immediate force.
His face is stony, and the white scar down his cheek is stark against his skin. The broken glass glitters on the countertop. The man mutters something incoherent, and Charles's knuckles turn white. The man squirms under the heavy handling. Charles's face remains composed. Bringing another hand down on his shoulder, Charles manhandles him away from the bar, and you see his dark head disappear in the throng of people. You crouch under the bar to find the dustpan. The floor is sticky with spilt drinks.
Taking the brush, you sweep the glittering shards of glass down and off the bar. They clatter into the dustpan in a shimmering waterfall. There's a commotion from outside the bar. A raised voiceânot Charles's jabbers loudly in the distance. When you set down the dustpan and brush, A sickening thudding noise reverberates through the bar, making the patrons murmur.
Charles weaves through the crowd, his hand clapped over his face. He comes over to the bar, and when he removes it, you can see his eye already swelling.
"You alright?" His voice is low, eye half shut.
"Shit. I'm sorry. I think so."
"Could Iâ get some ice or somethin'?"
"Of course." You find some and a zip-lock bag in the drawer, and hand them to him.
The shift ends with less commotion, and you whisper to Maya to cover for you as you take your break.
Stepping outside, you rifle in your pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Notes of soft music, Sherry switched on for cleaning up float outside. You suck in deep mouthfuls of air, a change from the liquor and sweat coating the inside of the bar.
Charles stands outside, close to the door. The other two bouncers have left Charles to stick around and fend off lingering customers.
"Thank you." You say, approaching him. He's massive up close like this; no wonder the girls at the bar call for everything.
"Hm?"
"For dealing with him."
He raises a brow.
"That's my job." He says, not unkindly, you feel idiotic. He crosses his arms over his chest, and the long-sleeved shirt all the bouncers wear strains over his arm.
"No, I know, I just thoughtâI'm new here." You finish and grope for the lighter in your apron. "I wasn't sure if I should cut him off, Sherry says we haven't been getting business and upsetting a regularâ"
"He grabbed you," Charles says, quietly. You light yours and, dropping the lighter back in your apron, you belatedly offer him one.
"Thanks, I quit." He says, and you regret pulling one out at all.
"Sorry. I should have asked before I lit mine."
"It's alright." He shakes his head, his long, dark hair gleaming under the neon sign."You've had a long night."
You nod, taking a drag and turning your head away from him and blowing a stream of acrid smoke.
"The other night." You hesitate, "I'm not in the habit of doing that."
He says nothing.
"AndâI didn't know you worked here. I'm not stalking you." Idiot.
Staring straight ahead, he gives the slightest of nods.
"Didn't think you were."
"Do you like working here?" You say, in an effort to make conversation.
"Ain't so bad." He shrugs.
"Even when you get punched?" You say feebly.
He shrugs. "Been a year now."
"What were you doing before?"
"Contracting. You?"
"Receptionist."
He says nothing, but raises his brows, glancing down at the curling lines of ink on your forearm.
"At a tattoo shop." You say hastily.
"What brings you here then?"
"Uh. I was studyingâand now I'm taking a break." You inhale the smoke too sharply and splutter. "So I moved out here andâ" you gesture to the bar, "âhere I am."
Sherry calls your name sharply, travels faintly from the half-open entrance.
âI should go.â You crush the cigarette underfoot and for no reason you can justify, stick out your hand. âIt was nice to meet you properly, Charles.â
"You too." He nods, without taking it.
"Wait." You start without thinking, and then fish in your apron for a sticky note. Hastily, you jot down that new number of yours, hoping you've remembered it right. "I'll buy you a drink or a coffee or something. To make up for your face."
He says nothing as he pockets it. Sherry calls loudly, her voice cutting, and you skitter back inside.
. . .
Charles calls you when you least expect it. Early one morning, your only day off, the phone buzzes with that wretched musical ringtone you'd set when you were in a far better mood. You reach for it on the nightstand and succeed only in sweeping the pill boxes decorating your nightstand off onto the apartment floor.
You pick up.
"Hello?"
"Hey." The voice is deep, and for a moment it does not register. "It's Charles."
"Charles?"
"From work."
"I justâit's early, that's all."
"It's 8 am." He says, and you can picture the slight tilt of his brow when he says that. He must wake up at 5 am and do pull-ups. With arms like those.
"It's my day off."
"Um. Yeah, I know." He says hesitantly, "I was wonderin' if you'd want to go for that drink. Tonight."
"Drink?"
"I don't expect you to pay, but I wasâif you'd want to go."
"I wasn't coming onto you or anything." You say hastily.
"No.No. I didn't think that." His voice is faint through the microphone: "I'm not either."
"Just a drink, then."
"Yeah. You said you're new here, and I got a night off."
"Okay. Yeah."
"I can text you a place."
"Sure."
. . .
The bar he picks is crowded. Big neon signs and tap beer. People mill about around you in droves. He looks nice, in a clean sweater and dark jeans. His hair is tied back and combed. Those scuffed boots he wears to work.
Awkwardly, you stick your hand out to shake his, and he takes it, his grip firm.
âYou want a drink?â He asks, after a stretch of silence.
" Ginger ale.â
He glances at you, just briefly. âThat it?â
âMm. I've turned a new leaf.â
The corner of his mouth twitches before he turns to the bar.
The bartender sets the bottle down in front of you, along with a glass you donât use. Charles's thigh brushes yours under the bar. He blinks, and you hear the creak of the stool as he shifts it away from you.
âHow come the Old Light?â you ask, if only to fill the space.
âNeeded the work.â He shrugs. âThey were hiring.â
âThatâs it?â
âThatâs it.â
You huff softly, turning the bottle between your palms. âYouâre not much for conversation, are you?â
âNot much to say 'bout it.â
His thigh presses against yours under the bar again. The denim chafes against the sheer of your tights.
âSo,â you say, setting the bottle down a little too carefully, âare we going to pretend we donât know each other, orâ?â
He looks at you then, properly. âDepends. You want to?â
You hesitate, then shake your head. âNo. I donâtââ You exhale through your nose. âI donât want it to be weird at work.â
âIt's not weird for me.â
âThatâs because you barely talk.â
A huff of amusement escapes him.
âYou worried Iâm gonna tell people?â he asks.
âShould I be?â
âNo.â
You nod, relieved despite yourself. âGood.â
âI donât usually do that,â you say, quieter.
âYeah,â he says. "I figured."
You glance sideways. âThat didnât sound convincing.â
âI ainât judging you.â
âI know, I justââ You stop yourself, pressing your lips together. âForget it.â
"You don't need to explain yourself."
"I wasn't trying to." You snap and then bite your lip. âI just got out of something,â you say finally.
A little white lie never hurt. You do not say you were halfway to the courthouse when you'd made him pull over. You'd taken off your sparkly white heels and walked the highway until your feet had been red-raw from the burning concrete.
He nods. âAlright.â
âThatâs it?â you ask.
âWhat dâyou want me to say?â
âI donât know. Something insightful.â
"I don't have an insight into it." Shrugging, he takes another sip of the beer.
You squint.
"Are you angry about it?" He asks.
"Really fuckin' angry." You grin over the bottle. "Angry enough to sleep with someone else."
âYou regret it, then.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âThe other night.â
âNo,â You say, honestly. âDo you?â
He shakes his head once. âNo.â
The anxious knot in your chest loosens.
âOkay,â You murmur, more to yourself than him.
He reaches for his beer, takes a slow pull, then sets it down.
âThis,â He gestures faintly between you, âis just a drink.â
You look at him, then nod. âJust a drink.â
You take another sip of your ginger ale, though youâre not tasting it anymore. The noise of the bar swells around youâlaughter, glass clinking, someone shouting over a song you donât recognise. Loud pop music that you'd really quite enjoy if Charles's eyes weren't boring into you, his eyes fixed on your lipsticked mouth around the rim of the bottle. He averts his eyes as you glance at him,
You set the bottle down.
âDo you want to get out of here?â you ask, plain and stone-cold sober.
He studies you for a heartbeat, his eyes unreadable.
âYeah,â he says.
Thatâs it.
You grab your jacket before you can think better of it. He throws some cash on the bar, and then youâre moving through the throng of sticky bodies. Charles's hand is firm on your waist, yanking you close when a man lurches towards you in the drunken mimicry of a flirtation. His presence is so imposing that the crowd parts easily.
The door swings shut behind you, cutting the noise clean. There is only the faint whoosh of the wind around you. You lift your hair off your neck, letting it cool your nape.
You turn towards Charles and, without meaning to, step straight into him. Then, his mouth is on yours in the grimy parking lot. Your hand fists in his sweater as you sway with the heat of the kiss.
"The car?" You whisper, and Charles breaks away from your mouth a second to steer you towards it.
You kiss him again, backing him up a step until his shoulders hit the car door with a dull thud. His hand drops to your waist, firm, keeping you close as you press into him.
âKeys,â You mutter.
He fumbles them out of his pocket without breaking the kiss, the car unlocking with a soft chirp. Reaching back, he finds the handle.
The door opens, and youâre both moving at onceâhim pulling it wider, you climbing in halfway, dragging him with you as he slides into the driver's seat, squeezed against you.
You end up sprawled over the console, and half in his lap, Charles's hand finds the back of your neck again, stronger now, holding you in place as your mouth opens against his.
âCharles,â You breathe.
He answers with a rough exhale, shifting under you.
You press closer, your hand sliding down between you, bolder now.
âWe could justââ Your lips brush his, ââdo it here.â
His hand closes around your wrist, stopping you, breath still uneven.
âI ainât an animal,â He says, low.
You lean back just enough to meet his eyes, hazy from the kiss.
âCouldâve fooled me.â
Placing both his hands on your waist, he lifts you from the car console and onto the passenger seat. Leaning over you, he draws the seatbelt across your chest and misses the latch three times as you mouth his neck. When he can finally peel away from you, he settles his big hand on your knee. Perhaps, to hold you in place. The panties you wore are distressingly wet. You squeeze your thighs together as his hand slides upwards on your tights.
The ride to his apartment feels like a million years. You use the time to collect your thoughts as best you can. His palm against your thigh makes that difficult. The elevator ride up is silent, both of you staring at the tiny screen where red numbers flash at a snail's pace. He stares straight ahead, the only indication of what this is, the hand braced on your lower back.
Does he do this often? Invite girls out in the hopes of getting laid. The thought dissolves as he helps you out of your worn leather jacket. His cat, presumably recognising you, noses at your legs and then sinks her tiny claws into the netting of your tights. Hastily, Charles snatches her up, and she hisses at him.
"Sorry. She's excited."
"That's okay, we've met before, haven't we?" You reach out to scratch her between her pointed ears, "Haven't weâ" You look up at him.
"Taima."
"Haven't we, Taima?" At the sound of her name, she begins to purr, shutting her eyes and leaning into your hand. "Got off to a rough start, didn't we?"
She meows. She probably gets it.
Charles has the faintest of smiles when you look up at him. Setting her down on the couch, he turns towards you. You feel exposed, suddenly. The top you wore feels too low cut, although his eyes are fixed on your face. His bicep flexes as he sweeps his arm around your waist, drawing you against him. The swell of your breasts smushes against the knit of his deceptively soft sweater, concealing acres of hard muscles underneath.
"You know, I just got out of a relationship." You say, as he slides a searching hand into the back of your top. His palm flattens against your spine, warm and sure.
"Yeah? You hadn't mentioned it."
Slipping your bare arms around his neck, you lean forward, lips brushing his. His breath hitches as he widens his stance to accommodate you.
"So, I'm really not looking for anything."
"Right." Charles cocks his head as you lace your fingers through his hair.
"Seriously. I mean it." You tug at it, just to feel his grip on you tighten.
"Fine by me." He says, and leaning forward, kisses you.
The hot press of his mouth against yours is what finally shuts you up. He slips his tongue past your lips, and you gasp into the heat of his mouth. His thick, dark hair is pulled away from his face, and you plunge your fingers into it, yanking as he lifts you so your stockinged toes graze his carpet. You are suspended in his arm as he sucks a bruise into the tender skin of your neck. The brown knit sweater he wears is thick and soft under your fingers, and you slide your hand into the collar to feel the corded muscles of his neck.
"Charles?"
"Yeah?" Another bruising kiss at the fluttering pulse in your throat.
"I really can't get involved with anyoneâahâI'm focusing on myself."
"You said that." Hiking your leg up, he squeezes the meat of your thigh over your tights. "Many times."
"Bed?" You whisper into his ear, scraping your teeth along the shell of it.
"Yeah. Bed." His voice is rough with want.
It takes some effort to peel yourselves away from each other so he can steer you to his bedroom. Standing over you, he pulls the knit sweater over his head. The white t-shirt he wears is stark against his luminous dark skin. You lie on the bed as he catches your ankle in his massive hand and reaches into your skirt to remove your sheer black tights. Slowly, he peels them off your leg, revealing inked skin with every inch. Sitting up on your elbows, you grab the buckle of his belt, struggling with it until he takes over, removing it in one elegant movement, his hands covering yours. Your pussy throbs.
"Take off your shirt." You command, wanting to see his body in all of its glory. This time, you'll remember it.
"You first." He cocks his head, raising a brow. It has a scar through it, giving him the air of a stray tomcat.
Sitting up, you pull your top over your head, leaving you only in your bra. The effect on him is immediate; the pupils of his deep brown eyes billowed out with want. His breath comes short before he steadies it, chest pumping. Most of you is exposed now, the inked skin of your forearms and shouldersâthe glittering ring in your navel, the result of some drunken night out, long ago.
Running his knuckles along the swell of one breast, he caresses the goosebumps as they form under his touch. Tucking the tips of his fingers into the cup of your bra, he finds the hardening nipple.
"This is nice." He strokes the lacy edge of it, his fingers trailing upward to the divot where the bra pushes your breasts upward. You're glad you wore it just for the look on his face.
"Your turn." Your voice hitches at the brush of his callused fingertips. Making good on his promise, he pulls the white tee over his head. Strands of hair come loose at his temples, and you sit up to admire him. The broad acreage of his shoulders and chest is wide and heavily built. His ribs are blotchy, black, blue and bruised.
"What happened here?" You are surprised at the concern in your own voice.
"Gym."
"Gym?" You giggle, "What? Did you get mugged on the way?"
"Boxing." His mouth quirks up at the corner, the scar on his cheek twisting with the movement. "This morning."
"Of course. What else?"
Charles doesn't laugh at your joke; instead, he guides your hands to the button of his jeans. Hungrily, you drag your mouth along his belly, the hard muscle lining it quivers under your touch. His hands lace through your hair, one trailing from the hinge of your jaw to your chin. His head tips back as you trail your tongue lower, the soft seam of hair on his stomach tickling your face.
"Can I suck your dick?" You bat your eyelashes as he lifts your chin. His thumb swipes over your lips, and you take it in your mouth, sucking on it slowly.
"Sure." He nods indulgently. "If that's what you want."
"You're supposed to tell me to please give you a blowjob or you'll explode and die." You pout.
Charles looks amused.
"D 'you want me to say that?
"Never mind." You smile at him obligingly. "I'll give you one anyway."
"Kind of you."
"They say it's a virtue."
Leaning forward, you nuzzle at the bulge in his jeans, looking up at him. He gathers your hair in his hand in a makeshift ponytail. Breathing in the smell of soap and clean skin, you shut your eyes. Unzipping his fly, you ease him out of his flannel boxers. He's huge, bigger than you remember from that first night, not that you remember much. The tip of him is flushed and leaks fluid. You whistle.
"You've seen it before." He deadpans, but his white scar on his cheek flushes pink. God, he's incorrigible.
"I've seen the Grand Canyon before, tooâit doesn't make it less impressive."
Rolling his eyes, he takes it in his hand and rubs the tip against your lips, smearing precome on them. Tapping it against your cheek as you cover your hand with his and lick up the shaft. Grasping your jaw and forcing your mouth into a pucker, he eases the tip of his cock into your mouth. You suck at it eagerly, leaning forward to take more. Your eyes water, but you follow through, taking him till the tip brushes the back of your throat and then bobbing your head as he grunts.
"Go slow." Tightening his hand in your hair, he holds you steady by it.
"This is slow." You mean to say, but it comes out garbled.
"You'll hurt yourself."
"Show off." You giggle around him, and he loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to take him as far as you can.
You gag a little, but adjust as you slick him in spit. Charles begins to move, gingerly at first, and then with more urgency. His hand settles at your throat, not choking you but feeling the outline of himself in it. Gagging a little, you take him deeper and cry in surprise as he lifts your head off his cock.
"I won'tâlast long if you keep doing that." He grunts. Aw. You oblige him with one last kiss, the tip of it. It twitches a little, leaking more salty fluid.
Flipping onto your stomach, you spread yourself out a little, cheek folded in the duvet. The miniskirt you are glad you wore is the only thing covering you, and it rides up your ass.
"That comfortable?" He says, right when you expect him to slide into you.
"Charles. Please fuck me." You beg, raising your head to put your chin to your shoulder.
"I will." He says, and smooths his big hand over your ass. "In a second."
Rubbing the tip of his cock at your core, he hisses as the tip breaches your entrance, your cunt flutttering to take him in. You bury your face in his duvet, but he still doesn't slide inside. You look over again.
"Are you sure that's comfortable?
"Charles." You reply patiently, "I'm very sure."
Sighing heavily, he slides inside of you. You gasp at the pressure; it doesn't hurt, exactly, but the stretch makes you cry out in surprise. He grunts a little, not moving, his hand clamped down on your hip. Arching back into him, you urge him to move. His other hand is braced on your ass. Your cunt squeezes around him.
"That's okay?" He says, voice strained.
"Mm." Trying to relax, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. He smooths his big hand down your shuddering back. "S'good. Feels good. You're so big."
You cringe a little at your own honesty. That stupid pornographic line, oh, it's so big, oh, how will it ever fit? But it's the truth. His grasp on you grows tighter.
"Gonna move now. Yeah?"
"You don't have to narrateâoh"
The first thrust makes you gasp and whine, Charles grunts behind you, a deep, rough noise that makes you even wetter. He moves slowly at first, just the even roll of his hips and the weight of him inside of you. You clench around him, the walls of your cunt fluttering around him. His breaths become harsher, but you feel the quivering restraint in his movements.
"Fuck." He grits out. "You look real good like this."
"Go faster." You groan, "Please."
"I won't last long if I do."
"I don't care." Whining, you arch into him. "I wanna come on your cock."
His hips buck at your words, and you look over your shoulder to his heaving chest, gleaming with sweat. His hand climbs up your spine, tracing the patchwork of images there, and he anchors it in your hair, twisting your head back to face him. Leaning over you, chest to your back, he kisses you, his tongue in your mouth. Breaking away from you, he pulls out and lifts your hips to fumble with the zip on the side of your skirt. Once it comes off, he manhandles you onto your back in one movement and spears you on his cock. Planting a knee on his bed, he deepens the angle and reaches between your legs to pinch your clit gently.
The sensation makes you whine, and you reach for his wrist to urge him on. His body folds over yours, and he takes one of your nipples into his hot, wet mouth. His thrusts grow more desperate as you thread your fingers into his hair and draw him to kiss you, mouth sliding over his.
"Charles, baby, I thinkâ" You mumble into his mouth and lock legs around his hips, "I think I'm going to come."
He makes a low, satisfied noise and reaches down to press two fingers against you, stimulating your clit. You come, pulling at his hair. Colours flash on the inside of your eyelids, and your body hums around him. The orgasm makes you tighten around him, and he tenses.
"Yeah. M' gonna come too." His even voice is slurred with pleasure, and his eyes sealed shut. His head drops to your collarbone, his hands bracing beside your head, fisting in the duvet.
Pulling out, he takes his cock in his hand and thrusts into it. Reaching down, you replace his hand with yours, and he fucks it, hips bucking and brow furrowed. He comes in spurts on your belly, rivulets of spend trickling down it. You lie there a moment, limbs boneless. The warm come spills down your belly, and you dip your fingers into it mindlessly. You wish he had come in your mouth.
"Sorry." His voice is rough. "Should've asked you first."
"I'd have let you come inside me if you'd wanted." You say, tongue loose from the orgasm.
Groaning, he collapses beside you, gleaming with sweat.
You blink at the ceiling, vision blurred, and your mind blissfully quiet.
The mattress dips, and he's lifting himself off heavily. You watch as he pads to the bathroom, and you hear the tap turn on. Shutting your eyes, you slump back onto the bed, mind still reeling. The next thing you feel is the cool touch of a wipe on your stomach and the insides of your thighs. Charles sits on the edge of the bed and cleans the come off of you. You open your mouth to tell him he doesn't have to do that, but nothing comes out but an exhale of satisfaction.
"You alright?" Charles's voice is rough with exertion.
"Mm. Great." You say dreamily. Sweaty hair is plastered to his temples and neck.
Lifting the duvet, he slides back into bed beside you, tucking his hand under his head. Rolling onto your side, you prop your head up on your hand to look down at him.
Anchoring his hand at your jaw, he draws you over him. You prop an elbow on his chest.
"I had fun."
"Did you?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" You trace his lips with your finger; there's another scar on his other cheek; this one is tiny, the size of your fingernail.
"Just makin' sure."
Yawning, you curl up against him. He sinks his hand into your hair, fingertips moving in slow circles against your scalp. Your eyes flutter shut.
"Sleepy?" He says you are beginning to doze off under the movement of his hand.
"No." You sigh as he shifts his hand to your back. "I'm working tomorrow. Should get the bus to mine."
"I can drop you off at home." A tiny pinch of disappointment makes you shift off of him, pawing around for your bra. Of course, he wouldn't ask you to spend the night. It was just a drink, after all. "Couldn't have Sherry seein' us show up together."
"Embarrassing."
"Ain't what I meant. But yeah, I figure you wouldn't want to show up with me on your first week."
Clasping your bra and finding your underwear and tights, you rise from the bed. He sits up, his belly glistening with sweat and his dark hair over the pillow. It's come loose, somewhere in the tussle. The outline of his cock is visible under the sheets, and his eyes flick to the curve of your ass. Setting his big feet on his carpeted floor, he pulls his flannel boxers up and raises his big arms to pull a T-shirt on, wincing a little as it comes down over his bruised ribs.
The drive to your place is quiet, only the soft rock music channel on the radio and your muttered directions. You feel dishevelled, a little shamed next to his icy composure. Your hair is mussed, and your makeup smudged.
He walks you to the crumbling set of stairs leading into the lobby of your apartment. The place is run down, and you flush a little as he peers through the window at the peeling wallpaper and plastic chairs set out. The tired receptionist is just visible behind the desk. The big glass doors, the only new part of the building, the old woman who lives above you trots up the stairs, staring at Charles with a sour expression on her wrinkled face. You raise your hand in a half-hearted wave.
"It was cheap." You say abruptly, hugging your arms around yourself and looking at him. "I needed a place fast."
"No. Iâthat ain'tâ" He falters. "You got hot water and stuff? Everything works? Meets property standards?
You almost laugh. Contracting indeed.
"Hot water, sometimes. It's okay otherwise. The landlady isn't too bad."
"Alright. You can call me if there are any problems." You search his face for any false promise, any indication of a polite facade. There is none.
"Okay." Oddly timid, you stare down at the toes of your boots. "Thank you for the drink."
"Yeah. No worries." He stares down at your face, and you wipe at it self-consciously. The sun has long set, and the only light is the fluorescent glow from the lobby of your apartment. His eyes are the deepest shade of brown you've ever seen.
"I don't think this should happen again." You say softly.
Charles's face is arranged into neutrality.
"If that's what you want." His voice is calm, and you see him adjust his posture, straightening his spine.
"I'm not good at this stuff." You gesture between you two. "And I moved out here for a fresh start, and I don't want things at work to beâcomplicated."
"Sure. It ain't a problem." He says, finally.
"Goodnight, Charles."
"See you at work."
. . .
You make it four shifts at the Old Light before you find yourself in the storage closet, Charles's mouth on yours.
you both had made love moments ago, and now you were currently winding down after it had felt like your body was melting. charles was breathing above you, his eyes closing to simmer down. your fingers finding his glistening forehead to sweep frizzed fly-aways. his head leaned into your touch.
"charles," his eyes found yours instantly, "can i braid your hair?"
his head tilted and his eyes thinned. his suspicious expression was enough to make you giggle, which made him smile in return.
"i just want to get it out of your face." you blinked at him innocently, even though he knew you were anything but that.
"..fine," charles grumbled like it was some sort of chore, even if he was biting back a grin.
. . .
your fingers combed through his long, raven locks, flattening the fly-aways. in your mouth, a few bobby pins sat between your teeth. you carefully parted his hair into three sections.
"so, what were you and arthur whisperin' about?" you hummed casually. you had been searching for charles around camp earlier, only to find him and arthur muttering to each other. they quickly shut up when they spotted you, though.
"quit being nosy."
"i'm not nosy! i'm curious! it's human nature, y'know."
"is that right?"
you both sat in comfortable silence as you continued to lace his hair together. you were always secretly jealous of how silky it was, especially without mantience.
you finished the braid with one of your dark navy ribbon. charles was secure in his masculinity, so you were glad he paid no mind to this. you set some loose pieces back with your bobby pins.
running your hand down the length of the braid, your fingers clasped around the end and tugged lightly, earning a chuckle from charles.
"careful," he teasingly reprimanded. you curled your arms around his neck and perched your cheek on his shoulder, staring up at the side of his face, scooting closer so your chest was smushed against his broad back.
"there. now your hair won't get in your face." you whispered against his skin, lips now brushing against his, intentionally insinuating something before you pulled away, laughing at the pout on his face.
How would (mk11) Liu Kang, (mk11) Kung Lao, Jax, and Nightwolf react to the gn!reader who has a pet ball python that they sometimes hang out with outside of their enclosure while doing chores, reading, or watching tv
IT DON'T BITE!
mk boys x reader | sfw
characters! liu kang (mk11), kung lao, nightwolf
CW! gn reader, silliness and fluff, separate drabbles for each, can be seen as platonic or romantic relationship, nightwolf is referred as grey or grey cloud
SUMMARY! You have a ball python as a pet. He's surprised, but in different ways, and his reaction will either be irritating or welcomed.
-> Of course! Thank you for requesting! I don't write for Jax, but I do for the other three! Hope that's okay! <3
LIU KANG
He wished he could frame it as a normal day, an exciting one in fact because he was in fact coming over to your house.
Liu Kang always heard about your pet that you always talked about with a lot of praise and goodness. Much like anyone he believed it must have been a cat or dog.
How wrong he was.
When you opened the door, it seemed very normal, at least until he stepped on foot in the door. You greeted as if nothing was wrong, but there was something wrong.
A ball python is sitting on the couch, looking straight at him. It had a little yarn hat, a strawberry one with a little stem on its head.
"Hm? Oh! That's Freddy! He's my pet!"
"He's a snake."
"So?"
Liu Kang didn't really see the merit in this, in you and this python. You acted totally normal with it. In fact, you asked him to sit as you prepared snacks for you and him. It left him and Freddy where the python still just stared at him.
Poor Liu Kang grew to not like snakes as they reminded him of a certain sorcerer.
Much to his amazement, the python sat by you doing nothing, wall watching TV, actually watching it with you and Liu Kang. The champion even watched you fold the laundry that you forgot about with the python just there.
Sometimes it would offer its head, and you'd scratch its little noggin like it was nothing.
With a teasing smile near the end of the visit, you asked him, "Were you scared?"
Liu Kang felt his heart and the burning of his skin metaphorically, especially when Freddy the Ball Python was looking at him with those boba looking eyes.
"Yes, but now I think I'm scared of you."
Liu Kang held you to a high regard. He was wary of it, but if you lived with such a creature so sublimely he decided he might as well let you.
You seemed happy, and that was enough for him.
KUNG LAO
The first words out of his mouth were: "What the fuck is that!?"
You gasped, offended, "Hey! Don't say that about my pretty girl!"
Kung Lao just watched you hold the python like it wasn't a snake. He'd had some bad experiences with snakes, so who could blame him?
"Just because Shang Tsung ruined snakes for you doesn't mean it ruined it for me." You carried your snake away like it was a flipping child.
Kung Lao just watched you, dumbfounded. Later on he would find you reading with the Ball Python in your lap like it was nothing. The creature seemingly taking a nap.
"What the hell am I looking at?" Kung Lao questioned with his arms crossed.
You simply perked a brow, "I'm reading? Are you talking about my baby?" You petted the snake gently with the back of your hand.
"What if that thing is poisonous!" He shot.
"Ball Pythons aren't poisonous, you dummy." You shot back.
Kung Lao relented. Sitting away from you but just close enough to make sure the snake wouldn't do anything. From time to time you'd look over and give him a deadpan look.
Even so, you continued reading with your beloved Ball Python on your lap, while Kung Lao watched with a sneaking suspicion she was evil.
Hopefully, and most likely, he'd come around.
NIGHTWOLF
For Grey, seeing such an animal was normal, and he didn't fear them. No, he respected the creatures.
He was quite glad to see that you, with such a creature saw the same. Acting so very natural with the creature before you noticed him. You'd given him a key to come to your home after his exploits.
You smiled, "Hi, Grey!" As if you didn't have a creature in your hands that other people found less than favorable.
"Hello, and who is this?" He reached out a finger to the python.
"This is Perla!" You showed him your snake, and the python raised her head for his calloused fingers and hands to scratch.
Throughout the day, he watched as you cooked a simple lunch for the two of you. You pulled out a chair and settled the snake onto the wooden chair. Grey watched the snake's body rise up to watch as you chopped vegetables.
Grey sighed, getting up and asking if he could help. From the corner of his eye, the snake was watching him help with cutting the food and putting them in the pan.
He had the heart to ask. "Does she always watch you like this?"
"Yes! Perla loves to watch me when I'm doing this. I think she just likes to be near me."
Grey hummed, and he agreed with the python. Perla rubbed the base of her head against his arm. Grey petted her head with the pad of his finger.
He agreed too, he liked being with you two, and also he enjoyed the pythons' company just as much as you did.
Heyy :)! I have a red dead req- I was wondering if you could make something where reader is the s/o of the members and gets rly overwhelmed? Love ur work!
sorry i haven't responded to reqs at all </3 yes i can do this!! for some reason tumblr won't let me make words different colors ;(
â¤contains: arthur morgan, javier escuella. bill williamson, charles smith, john marston
â¤cw: pregnancy mentions
"leave me alone, arthur." is what arthur has been hearing for the past ten minutes. he leans against a tree that you've chosen to noticeably hide yourself behind.
"this ain't like'chu." he huffs, refusing to move even when you use your sharp glare as a response. he doesn't catch what you grumble under your breath, nor catches the hint that he's stressing you out more. he watches you clean your revolver with force, contrary to how delicate you usually handle your gun.
arthur sighs, lifts himself off the tree, grabs your arm, and pulls you up much to your protests.
"c'mon, princess," he teases, (regardless of your gender, he calls you this whenever he believes you're acting above yourself) dragging you towards his horse. "we're goin' on a walk. get yer mind off'a things."
arthur'll take you where ever you want to go, whether you need to pick up a few things at the general store or if you want to sit by the river. either way, he enjoys spending time with you and especially enjoys seeing you finally relax.
javier knows as soon as you're overwhelmed you cry. he knows it's just like any other reaction; like when javier's angry, he storms around camp refusing to talk to anyone unless provoked. he understands it all.
he watches your silhouette disappear into the woods surrounding camp after getting yelled at by miss grimshaw. he knows you contribute to the gang, but she doesn't think so. she demands that javier fetches you and make you finish your chores.
javier sneaks his guitar past grimshaw and quickly catches up to you. your knees are bunched to your chest, and tears stain your cheeks. he crouches down in front of you, quietly saying your name.
once he's able to pry your face from between your knees, his heart breaks seeing your ashamed expression.
"sorry," you sniffle, wiping your clogged nose, "this is so embarassing." you pathetically laugh. "don't say that." javier scooches next to you and pulls his guitar close to him. he plays softly next to you until you forget about your worries and fall asleep on his shoulder.
you thought the saying "raining bullets" was a hyperbole, until you experienced it yourself.
it was a mission gone wrong. bill thought he found a good lead on a house robbery, but it was a set up. barely being able to scramble for an escape, bill managed to find a secluded corner of forest where you both could hide for a night or two.
bill is sharpening his knife, only glancing up when he notices you pacing back and forth.
"stop worryin'. i found us a nice spot. they ain't gonna find us."
"but what if they do? what if the law is on our asses? we don't have enough bullets. we'll run outta food soon, what if we run into patrols while hunting? what i-"
"[name]. yer freakin' out. calm down." bill glares at you. you sigh shakily and finally sit beside him, holding your hands together so hard your knuckles turn white.
after a long while of bill sharpening his knife and you zoning out, he mutters out a quiet "here."
you look over and notice the shiny gold necklace, the one that was sitting on the home owner's nightstand, the one you were eyeing as soon as you both got there. bill drops it in your palm, blushing at your smile. you both sit in a newfound comfortable silence.
you start off the morning by waking up way earlier than you usually do, and somehow manage to sneak out of bed without waking up charles. but as soon as your feet hit the floorboards, you're suddenly very aware of how swollen and sore they are. one among many various downsides of pregnancy.
next, you mess up your routine. usually, you're one to get ready first. but your feet are already walking to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of you. by the time you're already flipping pancakes, charles is up. he doesn't question why you're up so early. instead, he throws on his clothes, kisses your cheek, and steps outside to tend to your chickens and horses.
what really gets you is getting ready. your hair doesn't want to cooperate, and you swear you can still taste your morning breath, even if you brushed your teeth twice. charles finds you slumped against the countertop, ugly crying.
he takes you in his arms, pushing fly-aways from out of your face. he listens to your mindless rambles about how everything is going wrong, you feel ugly, and on top of everything your head hurts. charles whispered reassurances against the top of your head as he kissed it.
"i'll take care of everything," charles tells you as he guides you to sit on your shared bed, "just go back to sleep."
and when you wake up hours later feeling better, you can count on charles to rub your feet and shoulders thats been bugging you.
john is only able to catch of glimpse of your slumped body when pratically everyone in camp swarms your horse. you'd been missing for almost a month, most likely dead, and john was barely grasping that concept. he'd been in denial for so long that he wasn't able to process the possibility of you coming back.
he pushes his way past tilly, but you're already on the ground by the time he gets there. your face is battered and clothes are torn. somebody is shouting to get help, mary-beth is checking your pulse, lenny is turning your arm to see how bad the cut across your forearm is, and you look like death. only answering with weak "i don't know"s to bombarding questions, flinching when someone new puts their hands on you, scrunching your eyebrows in distain.
john snaps out of his hopeless state when miss grimshaw says something about getting you to a tent.
"i'll get 'em to my tent. makes the most sense. uncle, move!" john carries you from under your knees and back, attempting to not jostle you too much.
he sets you on his cot, subconsciously wincing when he sees you writhe in pain. he uses the time when everyone is scrambling to find things to patch you up as to calm you down.
"hey, 's okay. look at me." he cups your bruised cheek, "i dunno what happened t'you when y'were gone, but it ain't gonna happen again, okay?"
summary: you and charles decide to stay in bed and skip the morning dutiesâŚand the afternoonâs too.Â
pairing: charles smith x reader
rating: explicit, mdni!
word count: 1.6k
warnings: itâs smut. so a lot of kissing, masturbation and oral sex (m!receiving). Kinda subby charles. Allusion to other sexual activities received by reader but nothing specific and i also tried not to put any body/physical description for reader. I wouldn't say it's gender neutral though cause it can still feel heavily f!reader coded for the audience. English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes. Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics
a/n: just a tiny little thing iâve been working on while the most stressful week of the year was happening. Another one is coming soon lol but thatâs life. A bunch of horny tumblr post lead me to this scenario. I am still trying to write shorter stories without torturing myself with the writing process and just doing it for fun. This idea I got sounded perfect for that. thank you to my baby @thedilfdiaries for being my draft again and for encouraging me, i love you đâ¤ď¸â¨. I hope you enjoy!
The morning sun has been heating the canvas for a while now. You are sheltered from prying eyes and unwanted solicitations, from the light and the reminder that the day began hours ago. You should be dealing with the chores, standing guard or riding out with Charles. Instead, youâre nestled against his side, your nose brushing his bare shoulder. He is asleep. For the first time in so long, it seems that you both decided you could enjoy a morning off. Nobody granted you permission. But you will deal with the consequences later. You are starting to understand why Dutch deprives gang members of the right to own their own tent. But somehow you managed to convince Charles that private quarters would be a good thing for the two of you⌠Maybe you could slide a word about a larger cot too⌠But the risk would be that you might never come out of this tent.Â
Charlesâ chest is raising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. You observe him quietly, his dark hair falling around his face, his lips slightly parted, the scar on his face still visible in the tentâs deemed lights. It seems surreal to have this powerful man resting peacefully right beside you. You canât resist the need to press a kiss on his bicep. Charles stirs, his head slowly tilting down to look at you. You shut your eyes quickly, hiding your face against his arm, pressing yourself closer to him.Â
âI know youâre awakeâŚâ He mumbles.Â
Your lips stretch into a smile. He mirrors it as soon as he feels it against his skin.Â
You raise your head, watching as he turns slightly, facing you.Â
âHow long have you been watching me sleep?â He asks, eyes closing again, as he slowly loses his fight against the fatigue.Â
âNot long⌠I promiseâ You lie, laughing softly. Â
Charles opens his eyes again and looks at you, interrogatively.
âWhatâ He yawns, stretching his arms above his head.Â
âYouâre beautifulâ You whisper, leaning in to press a single kiss on his lips.Â
Charlesâ hand finds the crown of your head. He lets his fingers slide down until he traces the outline of your face.Â
âI was thinking the same about youâ He replies, kissing you in return, holding your chin between his fingers. âItâs lateâŚâ He mutters against your lips when you try to deepen the kiss.Â
âNobody came knocking at our door yetâŚâ You press a kiss down the crook of his neck instead âWe could enjoy this a little longerâ You stop your trail of kisses right above his chest, waiting to see if Charles is gonna stop you. But he doesnât, he sinks deeper in the old mattress.Â
You keep leaving kisses along his sternum, down to his stomach. The lower part of his body is still covered by the thin bedsheet. But the outline of his cock hidden underneath the fabric is getting more and more noticeable as you brush your nose along his skin, leaving lovebites around his navel, and soothing them with the tip of your tongue. You cup his cock through the covers, and hold him in your hand for a moment. You can feel his warmth through the thin layer. Charlesâ breathing quickens lightly.Â
âCan I get rid of that?â You ask and he just nods, peering down at you. Your fingers brush down his muscular thighs as you roll the sheets off his body slowly. You press another kiss on his hipbone as you wait for his answer.Â
He rests his hand on the crown of your head, silently giving you permission, watching you push the covers away. Charlesâ half hard member is imploring for your attention, and you have to fight the urge to touch him. But you want to take things slow this morning. You climb back up his body, spending some extra time caressing his chest. When you replace the tip of your fingers with your tongue, Charlesâ short breaths encourage you to let your hand wander down his stomach. You grab his cock more firmly this time, letting your thumb brush the tip. Charles grows harder against your palm, a soft moan escapes his lips as he tries to gather his thoughts.Â
âYou sure you donât want me toâŚâ He starts, a questioning look on his face. His brows are knitted from the effort it takes him not to rut into your handâŚÂ
You let one finger slide down the side of his length. A deep groan rumbles in his chest.Â
âIâve known you more patient than this Charlesâ You point out, leveling your head with his.Â
Charlesâ about to say something but you smash your lips on his, shushing him. You donât let him part from you this time, plunging your tongue inside his mouth.Â
âLet me make you feel good for once. Okay?â You instruct.Â
Charles doesnât feel like protesting when you start to stroke him gently, joining your lips together again. The feeling of your palm wrapped around his veiny shaft as you smear the precum that leaked at his tip along is enough to make him pant. You love hearing in the way his breath stutters how much you are affecting him. And when he starts moaning into your mouth, the sounds muffled by the bruising kiss you are sharing, your own arousal becomes impossible to ignore. But itâs all about him now. Charles has already left you a drooling mess last night when he made love to you, the cries and whimpers of ecstasy you let out, face down on the pillow, are still echoing through both your minds.Â
You fasten your pace a little as you untangle your tongue from his, slowly getting on your knees beside him. You observe him, your heart beating faster as you notice all the little tales of his body surrendering to the pleasure you give him. Each flick of your wrist along his cock earns you a whine from him now, and you feel your own core pulsating with need. A proud smile rises on your face. This tall, strong, handsome man, your Charles, struggling so much to let himself be consumed by your touch. Â
âDonât think youâll get away with thisâ Charles mutters, more overwhelmed than threatening, thrusting up his hips subconsciously. His face is heating so hard, and the way you look at him doesnât make it any easier. Images of you fucking yourself on his cock last night makes him twitch against your skin.Â
âI donât think you are in a position to make any rules today, loveâ You reply, slowing down.Â
Charles opens his mouth, a plea drawn on the tip of his tongue. You watch him, tilting your head up expectantly.Â
He is resisting, his eyes heavy with pleasure defying you.Â
âTell me what you want Charles⌠Should I keep going and make you come, or maybe you want me to take you in my mouth?âÂ
His cock twitches again at the suggestion. You grin wide, lowering yourself and pressing a kiss on his tip.Â
âWhich one will it be, love? Tell meâ You murmur, licking the underside of his length as you wait for his answer.Â
Charles moans, conflicted. He doesnât know how to receive this much attention, without taking care of your pleasure at the same time. He struggles to keep his hands to himself, even though you didnât specifically ask him to. He wishes he could roam your body with his fingers, touch you where you need him the most, make you come, chanting his name, until your voice becomes hoarse. Instead, he is letting you slide a few inches of his cock inside of your mouth while you keep stroking him with your hands. He looks at you kneeling there, head bobbing between his legs. He is usually very good at holding back, but the things youâre doing to him this morning⌠Makes it harder than usual.Â
âPlease, let me touch youâ His voice comes out broken and suppliant.
He grabs the side of your waist with his hand, wanting to guide you on top of him, but you gently push him away.Â
You slide his cock out of your mouth, lips shining with his arousal. âYou can take care of me laterâ You promise.Â
Charlesâ frustration is written all over his face for a quick moment. But you know he is close, from the way his grunts get slightly louder. You keep stroking his cock, watching him as Charles sits up and grabs you by the neck. He pulls you closer to him and kisses you deeply, fingers lost in your hair as you bring him to the edge. He comes in a low moan, forehead resting against yours, shooting his cum all over your hands and his stomach. You keep caressing his cock gently while Charles catches his breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you.Â
âI donât think I am in the mood for any camp activities todayâ You whisper in the crook of his neck. âMaybe we could stay here all day?â
âMaybe we could ride to the river, spend the day outâŚget a bit of fresh airâ He suggests instead, watching the cheerful expression on your face.Â
âWhat about the chores? Do you want us to get in trouble?âÂ
âNobody will be crazy enough to say anything to me⌠Except Micah, but I know Arthur will cover for us.âÂ
You smile and stand from the bed, getting dressed in a haste, and filling an empty basket, dirty clothes and gun cleaning rags. Charles gets up and starts getting ready too. You gently shove him to the side to pick up the bedsheets.Â
He tilts his head towards you, frowning.Â
âFor our excuseâ You explain.Â
âRightâ He nods, grinning as he watches you push the flaps of the tent open, immediately blinded by the burning sun.
thank u so much for reading ! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated đĽ°âď¸
Charles / clingy fem!reader as requested by @cherryheairt
After being rescued, you cling on to him. But once you become the butt of a joke about it, you pull away. Much to his dismay.
You'll never forget how it felt to look into his big, brown eyes for the first time. In the middle of a shootout, in fear of your life, you sighed in relief.
You had no confirmation that he wasn't the enemy, mind you. It was just... something about him. You felt so comfortable, so safe. He practically wrapped you in his arms and hauled you away, strong muscles protecting you from harm.
Your body felt fuzzy and you snuggled into him on instinct. Pathetic, really.
Unfortunately, others agreed.
For weeks after he took you back to camp, you followed him around like a lost puppy. To be fair, it wasn't that far from the truth.
"Need somethin'?" His deep baritone voice muttered. He didn't ask you that all the time. He understood you. He knew you just needed somebody to hide behind. To feel safe with.
You breathe in, "Oh! uh- erm- Do you?"
He sputters out a breathy chuckle, "Just sit down."
You blush but obey, grateful he's not making fun of you or anything. Thats one reason you lov- cared so much for his friendship. Although... you weren't sure he saw it that way.
You were probably just some annoying little sister that wouldn't leave him alone. He was just too kind, or perhaps too busy, to tell you to leave him be finally.
It's true, the camps gossip was getting to you.
"Got your little chick, mama hen?" Uncle laughed, causing a few snickers from those within earshot.
"Sober up, Uncle. Make yourself useful, like Y/N." Charles' tone was sharp as he said it, like he might've actually cared.
He pushed a knife and rag into your hand, nudging you. He was giving you some easy work. So no one could say anything about you. Your heart warmed at his gesture.
But the day after was worse. Sean, no doubt wasted, wandered over acting like a chicken. Arms akimbo like wings and bawking like a chicken about to lay.
You hid your eyes in embarrassment but looked up in time to see the deathly glare that Charles sent Sean's way. He didn't have to say anything to make the boy back away.
"Grumpy fella' can' even take a joke!" He threw his hands in the air as though you were the strange ones.
You meant to thank Charles, but he was back to his work of cleaning saddles, this time with a frown.
That's it, you really were making things harder for him. In his kindness, he never would've pulled away first. You'd have to bite the bullet, take one for the team.
You didn't sit next to him at the fire to drink your coffee, as you usually did. You didn't follow him from task to task. You went to Grimshaw to ask for chores instead of him. You ate by the girls, sitting on the very hem of the blanket, too afraid to get any closer.
It wasn't the most miserable day of your life, at least. You kept your wandering eyes mainly to yourself, too! You should be proud of yourself.
By day three, your eyes moved of their own accord, watching him chop wood in an unbuttoned shirt, long johns nowhere to be seen. Just him, trousers, and an axe.
Surely, that loose hair is a hazard? You fantasized running your fingers through it, braiding it as he laid in your lap.
"I think it's clean, girly." Abigail said, pointing to the over-scrubbed shirt you were raking over the washboard.
"Oh!" You blinked, "There was a, ahem, stubborn stain..."
"...Right." She smirked.
You sighed obliviously, wringing the shirt out with longing eyes.
Charles' eyes darted over to you as you washed clothes. Bent forward and scrubbing with fervor. He was a respectful man, on the whole, but the angle revealed more of your chest than he'd ever seen. He was grateful for his dark skin, it hid his flush well.
He's man enough to admit that he'd... missed you a bit. He wasn't sure why you weren't with him like usual. Sure, he wants you to get closer to the women. But not at the expense of your time with him. You weren't... avoiding him, right?
He stood, leaning on the handle of the axe, catching his breath.
"Bird left the nest?" Arthur chuckled, pausing next to him with a sack of grain over his shoulder, "Happens to the best of em'. Bet she's glad not to hear them jokes anymore."
He laughed as he walked away, but Charles' eyes widened. Were you embarrassed by what the others had said? He thought that he made it plenty clear he didn't care what they said.
He only shut it down for you.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the loose fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. Your eyes lingered on him until you saw him staring back. You looked back into the wash bin so quickly he was surprised you didn't have whiplash.
So that's how it is.
The next morning he waited around for you to grab your coffee and then followed you to the edge of camp, where you had been awkwardly standing as of late.
"Oh, good morning, Charles." You looked down and tapped the flimsy tin cup with your nail.
"Morning." His voice was raspy with disuse from the night. It sent a shiver down your spine.
"Eh... sleep?" You cleared your throat, "Did you sleep good?"
He smiled, "Yeah. You?"
His smile was contagious. You always mindlessly mimicked it when you saw it, "Mhm. I like this place. The crickets make me sleepy."
Charles reached forward and tucked a stray hair away, behind your ear. He didn't say anything. You felt your heart beat unevenly. Then thud so deeply in your chest you thought you might fall over.
"That's good. I like the crickets too." He smiled softly, sweetly.
You nodded your head, heart eyes staring at him like its the only thing you knew how to do. It kind of felt like that.
"I-I should go ask Grimshaw what she needs." You looked down sheepishly and walked over to her tent.
"I could use your help, if you're up for it."
You didn't expect it, but you turn around anyway, "Oh, really? You're... sure?"
He nodded once, patiently. He was going to get it through your thick skull sooner or later that he liked having you around as much as you did.
"So what do you need?" You sat next to him by the water.
"Need you to braid these real tight." He hands you stripped and dried grass, ready to be turned into bowstrings.
You got to work, happy to be of use to him. He smiled and snuck a look at you now and again. Your focused face charmed him, and he felt himself lean farther into you.
By the end of the day, you felt like he was the one following you. It was simultaneously strange and flattering. What was even stranger is that he kept it up for a few more days.
"Wanna go for a ride?" He said on a particularly warm afternoon.
You shrugged, "You know I haven't got a horse."
He smirked, "Didn't ask if you had a horse. Asked if you wanted to ride."
You blushed and nodded, "Sounds nice."
You were hoisted onto the horse first, Charles climbing behind you. He seemed to know where he was going, hinting at some secluded field he liked. The cool wind whipped around you, making you forget about the heat of summer.
When you arrived, the sun was threatening to set, setting the valley aglow. It was more of a ridge, high on a steep hill, overlooking a vast plain.
"Oh, Charles!" You gasped.
He laughed, "I know. It looks beautiful at this hour." He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you down.
You steadied yourself with your hands on his arm. He made no move to go, but to be fair neither did you. His hands burned into your skin through your dress, forever etching themselves onto your flesh.
He felt the same though, your fingers so much smaller than his, pressing tiny fingerprints into his forearm.
You couldn't handle it any longer, and slid your arms away. He got the hint and let go of you, walking away. He cleared his throat and walked to the edge of the ridge, sitting down.
He held out his hand and you took it, lowering yourself into the grass. A comfortable silence fell for some minutes as you both watched the sun slip away past the horizon.
Then you watched as the moon rose, taking its placing in its milky glory.
"I've gotta say..." You shifted nervously, "I'm a little surprised you asked me to come."
His brows furrowed, "Why?"
"Oh, well... you know..." You laughed and waved your hand dismissively.
"I don't." His expression didn't change.
You curled inward, "I'm just sort of... clingy. Annoying. I know it, it's fine. People joke about it-"
"I thought I told them to stop. Are they still bothering you?"
Your breath hitched, this was not going according to plan, "Well, yeah. It helps that I..."
"Avoided me for days?" He sounded almost... pouty?
You sat straight, "That's not- I wasn't!"
"But you did. You could've told me and I would've shut them up."
You shook your head and looked at your lap, "But they're right, Charles."
His hulking frame shrunk a bit with his slouch, "About what?"
"About me. I... I get in the way and I follow you around. You're just the first person I met so I thought we were friends but I took it too-"
"We are friends. Friends are around each other. I don't see what the issue is." His hand inched toward yours, fingertips brushing, "If you really bothered me, you would've known. Trust me."
His clever smirk made you twist with one of your own, before you bashfully look away.
"I guess..."
His hand fully covered yours, "Stop listening to other people when I'm right here. Listen to... me, instead."
"So you don't mind? When I hang around you?" You picked at your sleeve and hesitantly looked into his eyes. The same brown eyes that captivated you from day one.
"I don't mind." I like it. He wished he could say it but the words died on his tongue. Perhaps he could tell you soon, or maybe you'd understand him anyway. That was one reason he lov- cared so much for your friendship.
"W-Well okay, then. And thank you, for saving me. I know I've said it before, but..."
"Anytime." He leaned over and tucked your hair behind your ear with his free hand, "So I can see your eyes."
summary: with the storm came Charles âunfiltrered rage, and the aftermaths leave you both more distant than ever.
pairing: Charles Smith x f!reader
rating: mature.
word count: 4.8k
warnings: violence and blood. Allusion to attempted sexual assault and rape (not attempted by Charles !!!). Injuries. Mentions of shame and guilt. Nothing else to warn you about. English isnât my first language so apologies for any mistakes. Title from the song Pistol by Cigarette After Sex (so not the same vibe but it makes sense to me lol). Charlesâ pic from the very talented @colterblues who always takes insane photographs. Thank you so much for letting me use it đ¤Šđ. Dividers by @/dividers-are-us.
a/n: Yes it's me again, clearing my wip list a little. It's always when I am the busiest that I can't stop writing. I just wanted to try something a different for our Charles, something where we can see more of his violent side, and I wanted it angsty because it made more sense. I love a good fairy tale kinda love story, but it was very interesting to write this kind of ending for once. I hope you will enjoy the angst. Thank you to my baby @thedilfdiaries for reading my draft and for helping me decide on the moodboard, I love you so much đâ¤ď¸â¨. Thank you to @mezzaninebeetle55 for your support and for reassuring me about my Charlesâ characterization, I hope it will break you lol, love you honeyđŤśđźđŤ
The evening sun rays pierce through the broken window, projecting Charlesâ threatening shadow onto the wooden floor, within reach of your limp body lying on the kitchenâs floor. The sounds of his ragged breaths slowly stir you out of your lethargy, a sharp whimper escaping your mouth as you try to sit up.
Charles doesnât turn around immediately, hesitating to face you, realizing only now that the copper smell of blood permeates the air of the small house and that the dark red river flowing at his feet would probably have you running away.
The images that courses through your mind should be coming straight from a nightmare. But as you grow more aware of your surroundings, you realize that it wasnât a mirage: pistol firing, a man crawling away, brain scattered all around the place⌠It was real.
The little cabin sounded like the perfect idea, a couple hours ago. You and Charles had been riding for more than 2 hours, noticing the clouds growing bigger and darker in the afternoon sky. The dry path trodden by your horsesâ hooves started being tainted by dark polka dots, and Charles made the call to take a path cutting through the woods. He knew a place, he explained, somewhere uninhabited in ages, where he usually stops to rest when he goes into town. You followed, holding onto your hat for dear life as the wind started to blow harder. Charles was quiet, unshakeable, leading Taima to the hitching post at the back of the house, and silently urging you to hop off your horse.
âStay hereâ He muttered, picking his gun from his belt, and sliding a couple of bullets inside. He disappeared behind the house and you stood there, alone, nervously biting your lips as you noticed the first lighting striking right above the hills. The afternoon sky was split in half, and you were standing right in the middle. You prayed for this house to be the promising shelter it looked like from the outside, with the moss covering the stones and the rodents looking at you from the ajar door. At least there was no tree lying on the roof, and it seemed watertight. Another lightning struck the sky, making both of the horses neighing. You step closer to them, trying to calm them down. Taimaâs agitation stopped as soon as she spotted Charles in the door frame.
âItâs clear. You can get in.â He said, stepping down. Charles had been thorough with his inspection, careful, like he always does. He checked the whole house silently, every window, every door, from the upper floor area to the hidden cellar. Any places someone could be hidden in, he checked. He wasnât going to risk your safety.
You smiled as you passed next to him, immediately welcomed by the foul smell of humidity when you crossed the threshold. You coughed looking back at Charles who stood right behind you.
âAinât exactly pleasing, but I am sure after we light a fire it will be betterâ He said, watching as you traced the edge of the mantle with your finger. You blew on the grey dust and frowned.
 âThereâs nothing sweeter than the scent of rotten wood anywayâ You joked, slowly acclimatizing to the room youâll probably spend the evening in.
Charles chuckled low at the irony. You pulled out a broken chair from a corner, and sat.
âI better go get some wood before it gets worse out there. I wonât be longâ He said, waiting for you to look away from the dirty dishes staining what probably used to be a sink many years ago.
âIâll be okay. Go.â You agreed, a comforting warmth spreading inside of you as you noticed the concerned way he looked at you. Charles nodded and waited for a beat, before the heavy wooden door started closing carefully behind him.
        Charles let out a heavy sigh once outside. He isnât really fond of extending his trips unexpectedly, but this time it seemed necessary. The cold wind surprised him as he walked to Taima to grab his machete. He gave her a quick pat on the head, very grateful you rode back earlier to stop there. He doesnât like brutal weather changes, especially for Taima, he knows it gets her very agitated sometimes, especially after a long trip. The rest was good for everyone.
        The rain started falling hard not even 10 minutes after Charles got deeper into the forest. He had the time to get as many logs as he could, making sure they wouldnât get soaked in the process. He thought about tracking a rabbit or two, but the escalation of the electric activity got him suddenly worried. Charles retraced his steps, hair and vest dripping from the rain.
He hadnât even reached the house when he saw it. Your horse was gone. Taima was unhitched and slowly running towards him.
His eyes could never deceive him. His tracking and observation skills have always been unmatched. He had never failed. Never. Not since he was a young child, still learning how to survive in a hostile environment. He had never put anyone in danger either. But today he did. A sense of dread took possession of his body when he realized you were probably in danger. Charles took Taimaâs reins and hitched her back to her spot. The loud thunder covered her weak neighs. He didnât have the time to calm her down. This would have to wait.
He dropped the logs near the doorstep, and decided he needed to thread very carefully. He had no idea how many men were inside, if they were carrying heavy weapons with them⌠He pulled the machete from behind his back, and approached the side of the house. The sound of plates falling to the ground, followed by a man yelling startled him.
Charles stood there for a minute, trying to peek inside without being seen, and realized he couldnât see you. He couldnât hear you either. He crouched to move onto the next window, and saw two men were standing there, each carrying a pistol at their gun belt, but you were still nowhere to be seen. His heart started beating faster when he imagined you being unable to defend yourself, overpowered by the two brutes, your face frozen in fear while they beat you up, or worse. Bile started rising in his throat. He couldnât let emotions get a hold on him. He needed clarity to try to save you.
Charles had a couple of seconds to figure out how to deal with this. Using his gun now would be too dangerous, especially since he couldnât see you. One of the men could still be hurting you, what if his sudden appearance was what led him to shoot the final blow? If you were still alive, he couldnât let that happen. So Charles decided on using the machete. With a neat throw, he could easily hit his first target. That should be enough to put the man down while he would be neutralizing the other one. Charles had to use the surprise at his advantage.
He got closer to the door, and kicked it open violently. The first man turned around abruptly, a curse forming in his throat. But Charles threw the machete his way. The weapon flew through the room, and hit him in the guts. The force of the blow and the shock made him step back, his hands covering the bloody cut smearing his shirt. The grave clinking sound of the metal falling on the floor accompanied Charles footsteps as he walked further in the room. The second man, the one hoovering above you, turned around and clumsily looked for his gun.
Charles was already aiming at him.
âDonât even think about itâ He warned, slowly bringing the trigger to the wall, ready to shoot him. The man raised both his hands above his head as he faced him, mumbling something about finding an arrangement.
âYou wonât come out of this alive, and you better get away from herâ Charles urged, nodding to the side, silently instructing him to move next to the window.
A whine coming from behind forced Charles to look away for a moment. The injured robber was crouched in the corner near the mantle, blood fusing from his stomach.
âYou ainât got the guts you bastardâ He shouted at Charles, furiously.
âOh yeah?â Charles questioned back, smirking. He waited for a single beat, and blindly shot the other man standing near the window, right in the face, rejoicing in the terror flashing in his last opponentâs eyes. The dull thud of the corpse tumbling forward echoed through the room.
âSir⌠please.. I got a familyâ The injured man started pleading as he watched Charles glancing at the dead man coldly.
âYeah? And why would I care about that?â Charles stated as he put his gun back in his holster.
The man took the opportunity of Charles being distracted to pat his own pockets in search for his hidden knife, and threw it his way. Charles didnât even budge when the blade hit his thigh. He moved fast, crouching in front of the robberâs body and kicking his gun out of reach. The man looked pale, the wound still bleeding heavily. Charles peered down at him, his face emotionless. The other man kept begging for mercy, whimpering and struggling to breathe.
But mercy comes from the grace of God and good people, mercy is something estranged to men like Charles, men that had been granted by evilness since they learnt how to walk. He only knew how to hurt and punish, how to take lives and watch people expel their last breaths.
Charles pulled the knife out of his thigh, and threw it on the floor. The other man looked at the ridiculous injury, shaking his head in disbelief as he realized the fate awaiting for him.
Mercy had never been in the cards for Charles. Heâll make sure it wonât be in the cards for men like him either.
The silhouette of your limp body laid in front of the sink, finally caught Charles âeyes. He had been too afraid to even take a look at you. And his fear was understandable. Your pale blue dress was stained with blood, the upper part completely torn. Your face looked bruised, and Charles âbreath caught in his chest. He clenched his fist, and stood up, slowly walking to you, cursing himself as he realized that he came in too late. You werenât moving, he couldnât notice the rise and fall of your ribcage through the fabric of your clothes. He should have never left.
The sudden sound of something moving on the wooden floor forced him to whip his head around. He knew the other man couldnât be standing behind him, he wasnât a threat anymore. And he was right. The weakened body of the coward who dared to assault you was looking for an escape. He was crawling away, smearing his blood everywhere as he drew himself a path towards the door.Â
Charles grabbed his leg carelessly, pulling him back to him. The other guy started to cry as he was forced to face the outlaw again.
âWhat did you do to her?â Charles uttered with a growl.
âPlease⌠Please⌠You can take all my money.. Just âŚâ The robber said in between sobs.
Charles punched him square in the jaw, not even wincing as his fist collided with the other manâs face, the flesh deforming instantly with the force of the blow.Â
âNothing⌠nothingâ He answered, blood running out of his nose.
âLie to me again and Iâll make sure youâll die slowlyâ Charlesâ hand gripped the manâs collar and he shook him.
âI donât wanna dieâ He replied, eyes wide.
âThen talk.â Charles said, unclenching his grip.
âWe didnât have the time to do anything⌠Itâs⌠itâs himâ He pointed out to the corpse a few feet away from him. âHe just knocked her out, said it would be easier to get what he wanted from her this way⌠I swear I didnât do anything to herâ
Charles dropped him violently. His ears were ringing. He glanced at you one last time. Your rigid face. The smile he used to see adorning your lips is probably gone, forever.
The sound of the bullet falling in the chamber was the last thing the wounded man heard before his head exploded. Charles wiped the blood splashes off his face with his sleeve and stood up, panting.
âCharlesâ You whispered, weak and supplicating. Each breath you took hurt your soul. You quickly gave up on the idea of standing up when you felt the whole room turning upside down just from raising your head from the floor. Charles' eyes found yours and you saw his lips moving, as he whispered your name, before the lights turned dark and his silhouette disappeared right in front of you.
The night fell quietly a couple hours ago, but you canât bring yourself to go to sleep. You barely closed an eye the last few days. Youâre sitting by the fire, playing with the fringes of your shawl, listening to the whispers of the flames. The shadow hides most of your wounds and bruises, but you can still feel the pain. Your heart took a blow too, and the man currently standing at the edge of camp seems even further away now.
You glance down at your hands, and brush the dirt off your bandage.
You remember the feeling of Charles' strong hands washing up the dried blood from your face, your arms, your neck.
The stinging sensation followed as he faintly pressed a cloth soaked in rhum against your busted lip, the multiple cuts on your arms, the gash on your forehead.
He avenged you, and brought you back to life.
The storm was raging outside. You fell in and out of consciousness a couple of times, noticing Charlesâ shadow seated right by your side. You winced as you sat up, and searched for his eyes in the darkness of the small house. But he never looked at you. You grabbed the tin mug with fresh water he set next to you earlier without a word and gulped it down.
Charles stood up as soon as you were awake and walked away. He took off his jacket and held it in front of the fire he started while you were unconscious. You frowned, surprised by his reaction. You wondered why he wasnât looking at you, and why this sudden need to wear dry clothes. Charles wasnât the type to be bothered by this. Youâve seen him ride through the rivers, pants completely soaked, or stand guard for hours underneath the rain, his shirt almost becoming see through. You laid back against the cupboards and the sudden coldness hitting your skin made you freeze instantly. You looked down at your chest, sobs rising in your throat as you finally noticed the state you were in. Your shirt was completely torn, and the top of your dress offered little more coverage. You wondered how the skirt was still hanging on, but somehow it did. You noticed a tiny pin holding most of the fabric together, but the skin of your breasts was showing. This makeshift shirt wouldnât survive a ride back to camp.
âWe canât stay hereâ Charles finally stated. You could see his head turning your way slightly. But his eyes stayed focusing on the floor. You shifted, trying to stand up, and he hesitated to run to help you.
âAre you..â Charles started, incapable of pretending not to be concerned. He started walking away from the fireplace.
âI am okayâ You coughed, holding your hand in front of you defensively. Charles stopped. You didnât want him close. Not now that you saw the state you were in. The pin didnât even resist you standing up. You took leverage on the wooden cabinets as best as you could. Everything hurt, and your balance wasnât exactly your strongest suit at the moment. You threw up in the old sink, the pain shooting in your ribs and the foul smell of dead bodies too intense for you to handle.
Charles was behind you in one quick motion, his hand resting clumsily above your naked shoulder. He didnât know if he should touch you. He decided it was best not to. He poured you another mug of water and handed it to you. You thanked him, hiding yourself as best as you could with your arms crossed on your chest.
âHere⌠It ainât as dry as I was hoping butâŚâ Charles held out his jacket to you, and turned his head towards the fire while you tried to put it on your back. You whined as you slid your arms into each sleeve, the pain almost unbearable. You closed the buttons up to your neck, grateful for the great coverage the jacket offered. It was large enough to avoid adding pressure to your bruised flesh, and long enough to cover all the blood staining your dress.
Charles put out the fire and held your arm to support you as you walked outside. The rain must have stopped at some point. Stars were shining above you and the wind was blowing gently, like a peaceful summer breeze. It smelled like wet pine needles and burnt wood. If it wasnât for the corpses silently starting to rot inside the house, the blood drying through the cracks of floor, and the sharp pain torturing your bruising flesh, you could have been thinking it was all just a bad dream.
Charles helped you up on Taima, and you felt no shame when you whined in agony as you settled on the horse. Charles wiped his hand across his face, the guilt starting to consume him slowly.
Itâs the only thing he thought about the whole ride, as you wrapped your arms around his middle and held onto him. He tried to ride slower than usual, the hissing and moans of pain you let out each time Taimaâs speed was too much for you were unbearable the first couple of times. He didnât have the heart to endure this for 3 hours. He replayed the whole scene in his head again, and again, and realized the shock you must have been in when you woke up the first time and saw him standing there with the dizzying thrill of vengeance and the thirst for blood written all over his face. The fear in your voice when you called out his name the first time⌠How can you stand being so close to him right now? Charles wished he could ride faster so you wouldnât have to be in his presence anymore.
It was dawn when the two of you finally returned to camp. The girls were already awake, worried that something happened to you. They rushed by your side as soon as Charles put you down and took you back to your tent. There were questions on the tip of every tongue that morning. But neither you or Charles talked about what happened. And Charles didnât even bat an eye when Micah commented on your âdisheveled appearanceâ later that day at dinner, implying that of course Charles had to rough you up a little to get what he wanted from you, there was no way you would give yourself to an ugly beast like him. You would have punched him yourself if you could. The girls chimed in and asked him to shut up. Susan walked to Charles to offer him a plate, but he declined, glancing at you for a moment. Your eyes met his, but he quickly looked away. You watched him stand up and grab a rifle. His silhouette stayed planted firmly at the edge of camp for most of the night. Â
        Just like tonight. Itâs been a couple of weeks now. Charles has barely been around. As soon as he comes back from a score or a hunting trip, he walks as far away from you as possible. And not a single word had been exchanged between you two.
You had been looking for the right words day and night, in vain. You were ashamed, eaten away by the guilt of having been incapable of fending for yourself, of forcing Charles to get into such a display of rage and violence. And you knew Charles was probably afraid of approaching you for this exact reason. This distance growing between you broke your heart. Even though Charles wasnât the kind of man to chat around a cup of tea, he warmed up to you the past few months. Supply run after supply run, you were looking forward to riding with him to town each week⌠but now, now you fear that Charles wonât ever ride next to you again. Heâs been going with Arthur instead. You know you arenât exactly in the right shape to help anyone right now but still⌠It hurts.Â
You need to talk to him.Â
Standing up on trembling legs, you walk by your tent and stop for a moment. It takes more than a couple of steps for you to get rid of the numb feeling in your muscles. You open the wooden box next to your cot, and take the little handkerchief hidden in there.
        The leaves crumble underneath your boots as you take the path to the edge of camp. There is no point in rehearsing what you want to tell him. Youâll just go with the flow, but the nervousness is gnawing at you. You fidget with the fabric, eyes intensely focusing on Charles' back. He is leaning against a tree, and as you approach, his shoulders start to tense in awareness of your presence. He turns around before you can call his name.
âGood eveningâ You say, offering him a soft smile.
âHeyâ Charlesâ face scrunched up in pain unintendedly as his eyes finally set on you, the moon illuminating the fading bruises and scars across your skin.
âQuiet night?â You say, trying to keep your tone light despite the awkwardness.
âNothing to complain about so farâ He replies, letting the butt of his rifle hit the ground in front of him.
The silence sits heavy between the two of you for a long minute, before you find the courage to talk again.
âCan we⌠Can we talk?â Your expression is tense, and the way you are gripping the side of your dress with your free hand makes Charles nervous, but he nods, letting you cross the tree line and head for the little makeshift camp he seeks refuge in lately. You sit on the chair, and wait for Charles to take place in front of you. You know he wonât ask questions to make your job easier, so you just have to dive in.
âI made this for youâ You say, unfolding the handkerchief on your knees, and smoothing the folds neatly, before handing it to him.
Charlesâ hand reaches out and he holds the fabric for a moment, caressing it with the pad of his fingers.
âItâs silkâ He notices, unfolding it to discover the flowery pattern you embroidered there. There is a dove flying right above the petals too. Charles nods as he traces the outline with his fingers.
âI am not very good at this⌠But I thought I could try to make it prettier, so itâs not just some random handkerchief. Donât look at the bird too closely thoughâ You say laughing softly. Charles looks at your face, reddened by the orange hue of the flames. His heart clenches when he notices the way you canât let your lips stretch along with the lines of your smile.Â
âItâs beautiful. Thank youâ Charles says sternly, folding the fabric again and hiding it in his pocket.
You feel the moment evaporating quicker than you expected⌠This gesture is⌠a pretext, a way to talk to him⌠But itâs not easy at all to break down the walls that have been building between you.
âI should go back.â Charles says as he stands up.
âPlease. Donât. Let me just⌠I am trying to find my words Charles but itâs not⌠I am just trying to understand. Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?â You finally let out, voice strained with sadness. Tears are already forming in your eyes as you wait for his answer.
Charles is towering over you, staring at the blurry field of canvas standing far behind you. He sits back down, sighing heavily.Â
âThatâs notâŚEverything is fine, you did nothing wrongâ He replies, but he is avoiding your stare and you know he is just saying this to put an end to this conversation.Â
âCharles⌠Stop lying to me. You havenât talked to me in two weeks, you donât even look at me when we cross paths, if we cross paths, cause you havenât spent more than 2 consecutives nights in camp⌠I am just trying to understand, if itâs something I said, or did, let me at least apologizeâŚâ
Charles says your name. He tries to keep his voice soft, but it comes out as a warning.Â
âI donât like thisâŚâ You lose your self control as soon as you hear him. You start crying, but your tears arenât doing anything to help your case. âCharles, pleaseâŚWe can try to fix this, right? Can you at least look at me?â You insist, the only thing preventing you from dropping to your knees and begging him is the weakness of your body. You might not be bowing down to him, physically, but the vulnerability you are showing right now hits just the same. Charles turns his head towards you and frowns as he notices the sadness on your face. He looks in pain, just from watching the scene you are making right now.Â
âLook⌠I mean it. This has nothing to do with you. And there is nothing to fix. Itâs better this wayâ.Â
The shame is now unbearable for you. You wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your dress and stand up quickly. You almost tumble over. Charlesâ arm flexes by his side and for a second you think he is gonna prevent you from falling. You thought wrong.Â
âRight. Everything is fine. I am sorry for bothering you⌠I guess⌠I just wanted to say thank you for rescuing me. For making sure I came back home alive. And I am sorry. About what you had to do to defend me. Now Iâll leave you aloneâ. You reply, voice hoarse with cries.
Charles watches as you leave, hoping for a moment that maybe you will look back, maybe youâll run his way and yell at him, and that heâll find a way to explain this time. But you donât. Your silhouette fades away behind the tents. He doesnât go back to his spot immediately, and sits by the fire instead, pondering if he did the right thing or not. He doesnât even know how to make sense of his own feelings. He remembers the look on your face that day, your eyes slowly opening as he stood there towering over the man he just brutally murdered, the sad expression on your face, the guilt too, for forcing him to do this, to protect you. But thatâs his true nature. And Charles is glad you witnessed it. You live in the same violent reality as he does but somehow got spared to be at the first row of such brutality. Because you are a woman. But thatâs what he is. Thatâs what men like him do. He canât ignore his true nature. And he canât stomach to see you being afraid of him ever again. Keeping his distance is the only way to protect you both from heartbreak and disappointment.Â
The purple hues of dawn are starting to color the sky when Charles hears Javier walking behind him. Without a word, they swap places, and Charles walks silently back to camp. Everyone is still asleep. He needs coffee and a couple hours of sleep, then he will be on his way to the Heartlands. He hasnât been around the area for a while, it will be nice to clear his mind. As he stops by the coffee pot, he notices you resting on your cot under the willow tree. Youâre sleeping, peacefully. Charles can finally enjoy the sight of your face without seeing the fear and sorrow in your eyes. He knows that it probably will hurt for a while, but eventually heâll breathe better knowing that he spared you the pain of living a life with someone like him by your side.
a/n: thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated đĽ°
summary: your chronic pain is back and Charles waits for you to stop denying it so he can be here and support you.
pairing: charles smith x f!reader.
rating: general.
word count: 1.5 k or so.
warnings: itâs fluff. A little angsty maybe. Modern au. Reader has some sort of chronic muscle/joint disease. Donât ask me what it is exactly cause guess what? I donât know. Theyâre married. Reader has hair long enough to braid. Kissing. Mentions of nudity. Thatâs about it. Title by Paramore, of course.
a/n: English isnât my first language. Dividers by @/aquazero I wrote this at 4 am because I canât sleep because of the pain lol. So no proofread. Itâs a very personal piece, but hey self indulgent mini fic is what fanfic writing is about after all. I hope you like it if you read it. If it doesnât sound relatable itâs okay too. At least it felt good writing it. And now I am going back to sleep. See ya â¨đ
"You arenât tying your hair up ?"
An innocent but loaded question. Charles observes you from accross the room, like a man who already knows the answers but wait for your dance of lies to start veiling up the truth.
How can he not know ?
He had noticed the slight changes all week long. The headaches, the fatigue. You became incapable of staying seated on the couch and watch the tv past 9 pm. You take 5 breaks an afternoon to lie down in your bed.
But what struck him is the way your hands started to stop functioning. You canât open a bottle of water, you canât do the dishes anymore. You dropped a plate earlier tonight and you never do. Charles said nothing seated at the table, pausing with his fork still in the air and watching you silently curse yourself. No veggie, no meat. Because you canât even cut it. You wince each time you stand up or walk down a step. Itâs easy to miss for those who donât pay attention. But Charles is your husband. He pays attention. He notices. He knows.
You became slower. Twice the amount of time to get ready in the morning. You lost your balance and bruised your hipbone against the counter trying to put on your socks without having to sit down.
He saw you crying as you washed your hair on Wednesday like you usually do. You said the shampoo bottle fell on your feet when he asked about it. Another white lie. He keeps tabs on them a lot lately.
You put on your bra the reversed way this morning. Charles frowned and asked about it too, toothbrush in his mouth, knowing fair well that he had never seen you coming out of the bathroom with your breasts uncovered before. And he have been living here with you since you got married 8 months ago. You do things a certain way, not one prone to changes.
But everything changed this week and he noticed.
The tears staining your cheeks after an abrupt move. The frustrated sighs escaping your mouth as soon as you reach your new limits, the useless pills you swallow day and night. The emergency ones in your bedside table you still havenât triedâŚ
"You havenât tied your hair up?" Charles asks again, eyes never leaving your frame as you feign to put your hair behind your shoulder.
But you twist your wrist the wrong way and the pain shooting through your elbow forces you to wince. Itâs sharp. It takes more than a minute to stop.
Charles waits patiently, walking closer to your side of the bed.
He had never seen you sleep with your hair untied before. Especially when the temperatures are so high outside. It would prevent you from sleeping. The strand of hair tickling your cheeks as you lay on your pillow. He knows you hate that because you told him when you asked him that exact same question yourself the first time you shared your bed with him.
"What?" You ask back, eyes rising on him in confusion.
He stares at you now, intimidating, standing up before you, arms crossed on his chest. A silent dare, heart breaking a little at the fact that you arenât sharing your struggles with him⌠how can his own wife not trust him enough to let him in on this hard truth?
"Lost my hair tie" you say after a while, offering him the least convincing smile he ever saw on your face.
"I got one right here" he is quick to roll the elastic band down his wrist and hold it out. He doesnât want to rub you up the wrong way⌠but he sees the irritation in your eyes as you reach for the tie.
He canât believe you are going to try to sit through the pain right under his scrutiny instead of asking for his help.
You donât roll the hair tie all the way down to your wrist like you usually would. You managed to raise one elbow behind your head but your fingers struggle to wrap around the hair you gathered in a lose bun. Too lose to be really helpful anyway.
Charles sighs as he waits for you to admit your defeat.
You drop your arm slowly back on your knees. Itâs not natural either the way you are holding your limbs up. Your shoulder are tensed and hunched forward, you rest your hands palms up towards the ceiling, but your elbows are arched weirdly. You canât bend them. You canât completely extend them either.
Charles grabs the hair tie from your motionless hands and sits right behind you. He gathers your hair delicately in his hands, let the pad of his fingers brush the sides of your neck, like he usually does when he plays with your hair before you fall asleep.
"I canât" you finally say. There it is.
The silence stretches between you two. Charles is quick to finish his handiwork. Your braided hair is gathered in a bun. His hand rests on your shoulders. He holds you there, the warm feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest against your back.
"I know. Iâve noticed. How bad is it right now ?" Charles finally says, standing back up to face you. He just wants to make sure you arenât lying again.
"Bad enough that the pills arenât working. I donât know what I am going to do Charles. I am just so tired" You confess, the last restraint slowly breaking down. Silent tears slide down your face.
Charles kneels down before you, and cups your cheeks in his hands.
"You gotta let me help you. You canât hide this from me"
You nod, a sob escaping your lips.
"I just.. I donât want this to start again. Itâs going to take months to calm down⌠I am too exhausted for this pain to start again"
"I know. But I am here. I can try to make it less exhausting, I can handle things for you, I can help. Let me carry you through this for once" His eyes are pleading for yours to see that you donât have to go through this alone. Not anymore.
He wishes he could find the reason why, why itâs happening again, why nothing is working to make it stop, something real this time. Not the "you are too fat, too anxious, you donât exercise enough" reasons doctors always give you. "Itâs not serious enough or why are you staying in such pain? We donât know but it could be this or that. It can disappear forever or turn into something worse" He wishes he could pull you out of this medical limbo, once and for all.
In the meantime he will stay by your side, and hold you when you canât stand by yourself. With his strength, with his patience, with his love.
"Okay" you simply mutter, your hand raising weakly to cup his face. You canât really mold your fingers against his cheek like you usually do. But the faint touch of your skin on the scar carved on his face makes his heart skip a beat.
"No more hiding and no more lies" Charles states, leaning closer until his forehead touches yours.
"I promise" You whisper against his lips.
Charles kisses you slowly, careful not to put too much of his weight on you.
"I am sorry I am not a physician" He says with the most serious expression as he parts from you.
"I wouldnât have married you if you were one, they are incompetent"You laugh, slowly laying on your side.
"I would have been the only exception" He replies, switching off the light before joining you in bed.
"Physician or not I am very lucky to have you by my side" You look at him with a soft smile and Charles leans down for a kiss.
He sits up in the dark and lets his hand caress your hair, your forehead, your naked shoulder. He probably wonât fall asleep so early but he can stay here with you.
"You okay?" He asks when he hears you humming, afraid that he might have inflicted you pain.
"Yeah⌠I am just going to pass out soon if you keep doing this"
"Good. You need to rest."
You close your eyes as his fingers resume their dance on your skin, and enjoy the feeling of the pain dying down for a fleeting moment.
Summary: It's Charles' birthday and as a knitter you have a sweater curse scare.
A/N: soo ... this isn't very good, but not everything has to be and iâve been thinking about this for way too long. i started the first attempt of writing this around christmas, then valentine's day and half a year later lo and behold, iâve actually finished something. and hopefully this eases me back into writing. also if I had a nickle for everytime i post a silly little fic about charles and knitting ... i just really wanna knit this man a sweater and socks okay.
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: Literally none, it's silly
âŚâ˘âââŕšâ ⯠âŻâ ŕšââââ˘âŚ
Sweater curse you huff to yourself as you adjust the bow on top of the dark green gift box that contained the labour of your love and dedication to your lovely boyfriend â well, love and a lotta sweat, curse words, and a tendonitis scare.
Your phone buzzes again, another message from your friend insisting that they were joking and that surely there would be no break up over a knitted sweater.
But the damage had been done. You arenât superstitious per se, but the sweater curse is running rampant in the knitting community, and every app you open it seems there are more and more stories. Then again, the knit garment now laying neatly in the box probably had enough of your hair knit into it that, as that one post said, he will be bound to you forever.
That has got to cancel each other out right?
You shake your head as if to get these thoughts out. Itâs silly, Charles isnât going to end this relationship, a loving, dedicated one you may add, just because you decided to invest a couple months into making him a sweater for his birthday, dark blue with a rainbow trout in the middle front.
And well sure, over the course of your relationship you made him several things, a pair of gloves, a scarf, and maybe, just maybe, there was a little voice of doubt in the back of your head that had made you wait three years to knit a sweater- ugh no, stop it.
Then finally youâre pulled out of your thoughts when the bathroom door opens and Charlesâ tall figure pads across the hall, only a towel slung low on his hips, to the bedroom to get dressed for work.
You push yourself off the floor then, knees stiff and achey from spending too much time on the floor. You definitely didnât spend half the night weaving in ends and finishing the embroiderey of the fish after you had gotten home late because you guysâ friend insisted on celebrating the birthday boy early. At least that gave the sweater the time to mostly dry from when you blocked it earlier that day.
You get on your tip toes to get that satisfying feeling of popping your ankles as you rub your bleary, tired eyes.
âI hate when you do that,â calls Charles from the other room.
âLiterally how did you even hear that?â
The retort is left unanswered as you carry the box over to your tiny kitchen and place it on your even tinier kitchen table. It took up almost the entire surface next to the flowers either you or him brought home almost weekly. This week you got an extra big bouquet of spring flowers given the occasion.
You eye the arrangement for a moment, trying to measure out space for the plate of birthday cupcakes but they would have to stay on the counter.
While you get those out of the fridge you call out to Charles, wondering whatâs taking him so long.
âAre you almost ready?â Your hand reaches for the singular candle that you found in your stash of birthday decorations, not glorious but it will have to do, as you listen for an answer.
âCharles?â you call again and then finally you hear the steps in the hallway, turning around plate balanced on your palm while you try to steady the candle in the chocolate butter cream with two fingers.
âMorninâ, happy birth-â the rest of the sentence fades into another, worried, almost alarmed. âoh you okay there?â
He is standing in front of you, fresh shirt on that was just the right bit too small, hair tied back into a bun, all things you would normally enjoy seeing early in the morning if it wasnât for his sour face, maybe mixed with guilt and his hand clutching his phone.
âWe need to talk-â
No, oh no no this isnât happening.
You donât let him finish as your brain immediately jumps to conclusions caused by all the talk of the god damn sweater curse.
âAre you breaking up with me?!â Your voice goes up an octave and you have to set the plate down lest you drop its contents.
And now the poor man looks entirely confused, the unvoiced ending of his sentence still hanging in the air. He blinks once, twice.
â⌠about tonight,â he finally says. âWe need to talk about to- why would you think I was gonna-â
Oh thank god. You could feel the relief instantly. Good thing you didnât overreact.
âSweater curse,â you say simply, lamely almost, as if that explains everything.
âItâs too early for riddles,â he groans. Charles looks even more confused, a note of playful exasperation in his voice. âI just wanted to say that we have to push back our reservation an hour I need to cover for someone at work⌠now about this sweater curseâŚâ he tilts his head, clearly waiting for an explanation.
âOhâŚâ
Wordlessly you grab his gift from the table and hold it out to him. You donât even know how to explain this to him without sounding entirely crazy.
His eyes drop to the box and he carefully undoes the bow with the fingers you know to be incredibly gentle. He lifts the lid, one eyebrow raised as he looks up at you for a moment before he reaches for the sweater.
He holds it up, examining the even stitchesâsure with the occasional twist or other little mistakeâthe color work, greens and pinks and grays making up the trout. And you canât see it, view blocked by the garment, but his lips widen into a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. And when his hands lower you donât have the time to react.
His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and youâre pulled closer until finally his warm lips meet yours. You can still taste the toothpaste on them when he murmurs into the kiss: âYou made this?â
Your head bobs in a nod, lips never disconnecting as you finally finish the words you set out to say earlier: âHappy birthday.â
âThank you, itâs incredible.â He pulls back and looks at you for a moment, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. âThat sweater curse ⌠is it one of them TikTok myths?â
He was definitely teasing you now and you canât help but groan but you nod.
âYeah, knitting superstition.â
âYou spend entirely too much time online, silly goose.â He grins before he pulls you into another kiss that makes you forget all about the other unlucky people whose (ex-)boyfriends couldnât appreciate handmade knitwear.
âŚâ˘âââŕšâ ⯠âŻâ ŕšââââ˘âŚ
i hope you enjoyed this! <33
also in my mind charles is a late october/november baby but that didnât work for this.
