The Most Tragic of Mistakes
|Charlie Barber x Fem!Reader Short Story|
Chapter Two
Masterlist of Series
Chapter Summary: For the past few weeks, you have been refusing to so much as give Charlie Barber a glance after what happened in the dressing room. It was a one time thing, besides, he's married! Charlie is tired of your denial of him and takes care of you. But in his loveless marriage who takes care of him?
Author's Note: What's up, everyone? I'm back with another update. It's a bit shorter, but I refuse to add filler. I recommend listening to Save Your Tears by The Weekend at the end of the chapter. This song reminds me of the MC's relationship with Charlie. Make sure to grab a tub of ice cream and your favorite stuffed animal, you're gonna need it!
It had been a few weeks of nothing but longing stares, blushing cheeks, and major awkwardness for you and Mr.Barber. You reserved his first name only for when others were in earshot, not wanting to arise any suspicions from your crew mates. To them, you were just the new makeup artist that Charlie decided to hire and nothing more.
Very rarely did you do any artistry, the head of the art department, Heather, would have you stay after to steam all the costumes and clean the dressing room. Sweeping and mopping the dusty waxed floors as everyone would file out and abandon you. You were at the bottom of the totem pole in seniority rankings, so they gave you the grunt work.
This was not what you signed up for, and you were almost on the brink of quitting if it wasn't for him-- for Charlie.
It was idiotic and naive of you to have one man be the only reason you stay at this job. It should be the lovely characters and different people you met, not the married dad you would like to fuck again.
And that was another thing. How could you go on with these feelings knowing that you could singlehandedly break up that marriage with just a few words?
You still hadn't met his wife, Nicole, whom you learned from Mary Ann after an awkward exchange where she caught Charlie's gaze lingering a bit too low on you. Of all the people divulging the secrets of Charlie's life, it was her. When you came into the theater the next day, you were surprised that she and Charlie were not glued to the hip as they were before. They were the opposite. Whenever one entered the room, they seemed like opposing magnets, pushing away from each other. He had to have said something to her. Maybe broke it off? But why would he do it right after you had sex? Weren't you just a casual little fuck for Charlie? Indeed what he and Mary Ann had gone through was much more profound than just being replaced.
On the other hand, maybe somehow, miraculously, he came to his senses, stopped everything, and put his marriage first. You doubted it but kept telling yourself that every time he was near. Every time you would get butterflies as he walked past you in the hall or stuck his head in the dressing rooms to say hello to everyone.
He made you feel like a giddy little school girl again, squishing your breasts together, looking up innocently at him, and biting your lip. You had to keep telling yourself that he was off-limits. Yes, you may have fucked at the workstation, his cum dripping out of you, but it meant nothing to him. You were just some young girl eager to please him, and Charlie didn't need that. He needed a woman. A real woman. Not one who still saw the world in rose-colored glasses. That's at least what you told yourself- the justification for brushing off all his double-sided words and gestures.
Heather's signature knock sounded on the dressing room door, telling everyone it was time to take lunch. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, realizing what's going to happen now. It had been a daily routine by now. Everyone in the department would pile on all their orders and send you to retrieve them. It's like you were some glorified intern.
Everyone came up to you simultaneously, almost shouting their food orders as you tried to write them down and memorize them. The expectation they put on you to remember all this was unrealistic, but you didn't want to let them down, couldn't let them down. Your pride wouldn't let you.
Once they all filed away and you had a chance to catch your breath, you headed down the hall. You flipped through the words and written reminders as you walked to the stairs, not paying attention to your surroundings as you bumped into a chest. It smelled of clean linen with a hint of amber wood. You did not need to look up to know who it was.
"Sorry, Mr. Barber, I'm in a rush right now." You offered him a small smile as his eyes went dark.
"I see that. Where are you running off to?" He asked, almost tauntingly.
Charlie didn't appreciate your standoffishness, especially with the prolonged denial of your skin he was going through.
Ever since that afternoon, he was insatiable. Your moans and face consumed his thoughts, the expressions you made while he fucked you from behind. Even as he ended things with Mary Ann, all he could think about was you, the way your supple flesh felt under his fingers. He pleasured himself to you every night before he went to bed and every morning when he would wake up. Nicole had seen his erection one morning but didn't even bother to help him with it, just rolling over to face away from him. As if the sight of him in such a way disgusted her. It had hurt him more than he realized, but his thoughts soon turned back to you, and all his hurt washed away.
Charlie brought his knuckle up, gliding it down your face gently. You leaned into it. You did not want to deny yourself of him any longer either.
"Charlie," you whispered, "not where people can see."
He stared at you for a moment, studying your expression. The nervousness behind your eyes, the scrunching of your brows as you bit your lip. Finally, he grabbed your hand, snaking his fingers in yours as he guided you to a secluded area, one you've never seen, as he opened a door.
"Charlie," you protested again. "I have people's food orders that I need to get." He hummed, closing the gap that formed, looking down at you, his pupils wide.
"You take such good care of people," Charlie said, his chest rumbling against yours. "When do they find the time to take care of you?"
The question was rhetorical, but you still stuttered anyways, trying to find an answer and take up for the people who treat you so poorly. You back away, turning so he can't see the range of emotions wash across your features. Charlie wouldn't let you stay like that; he's deprived himself of you too long to care.
You could hardly stay upright, your weight becoming impossible to hold as you gripped his pants for support. He slithered his hand up your back, making you shiver, wrapping his palm around your throat softly, only squeezing the sides of it, almost like a necklace. A surge of desire raced through your bones, knees weakening as you released a quiet gasp. Charlie shushes you, nibbling at your ear lobe.
"You can barely stand, such a poor thing. I'll help you."
You moan as his fingers dip into your pants, skating past the soaked underwear and straight to your aching clit. It takes everything you can to stay up as he draws slow circles, causally dipping down your entrance.
"We don't have long, honey," Charlie warns as he picks up his pace.
The new pet name nearly causes you to faint from happiness or desire; you can't discern which one. The too familiar pressure in your stomach builds as he continues the act.
Your mind wanders back to his words, saying how you deserve to have someone put in the same effort you give to them. You couldn't count on your hand how many times Charlie has put others before himself, specifically his son. On more than one occasion, he denied the cast and crew an invitation to go out for drinks, saying he needed to get home to Henry or how Nicole was going out with friends and his son would be alone otherwise. He seemed like a caring father, the picture-perfect man with whom you would want to raise your kids, but who took care of him?
Who greeted him at home with a welcoming smile after hours of working and directing? It was something he dedicated his whole life to and was passionate about. Caring for each character in every story was enough to ensure they got the justice they needed on the stage. It seemed as if no one cared for Charlie, not even the person who was supposed to.
"Stop." You commanded Charlie, pulling his hand out of your panties. As much as you wanted to continue, you knew what needed to be done.
He looked back at you, face almost pale with the fear that he did something wrong, pushed you too far. You gripped his belt, pulling his pelvis closer to you. You brought his digits soaked in your juices to your mouth, swirling your tongue between the crevices as you lowered yourself to your knees.
"Mr. Barber," you cooed, pausing for a moment as you trailed your hands up his thighs to his crotch. "When was the last time someone took care of you? Took the time to put the effort in that you give them?" You used Charlie's words back at him, his mouth twitching with surprise and anticipation as you unbuckled his belt and blue jeans. "Don't you deserve it?"
He shuddered, his knuckles lacing in your hair as you popped him free. You grabbed the shaft, holding it to your soft, pink tongue as you licked the pre-cum off it, stroking him slightly. His cock pulsing at the sight of your lips barely inches away from his head.
"Don't you deserve someone to come home to... Waiting for you on their knees?"
You slid the tip past your tongue, trying to take all of him, gagging as his hardness hit your throat. Charlie's fingers kept you there as you tried to adjust, drool dribbling down your chin. You look up at him, searching for reassurance.
"Fuck," he draws out, slowly pulling you back as you begin to stroke again. "Just like that, baby." You swooned, moaning into his cock. "You're doing so well."
You pulled him out of your mouth, spitting on the shaft as you pumped.
"You have no idea how long I had to wait for you. I can't get enough. I constantly touch myself while my wife's in the other room."
Your eyes roll back as you release another moan, the vibrations causing him to tighten his fingers, the disgusting depravity of it all spurring you on even more as you take him in again, bobbing your head back and forth. Charlie's face tilted up out of view, but you could see how his plush lips moved when he groaned.
You try to retake all of him, unhinging your jaw to get more comfortable, as the pads of your fingers reach his balls, putting feather-like touches on them. Charlie's hips snap forward, crushing your nose as he moans again, losing all self-control and finally using your mouth like the fuck toy you want him to, tears leaking out of your eyes.
The animalistic actions differ so much from the man you see holding a script on the house floor daily, dictating his inspirational words with his hands, and creating the art of his mind into reality on the stage. Taking the time to read and interpret his version of his plays and making sure to see it is done correctly.
Charlie's gaze meets yours as you smile with half-hooded eyes. He grins back, still ferociously thrusting into your mouth. You're sure you're a sight to behold, salty streams of water leaking out your eyes as your makeup smears. He loves it. He loves that you're so willing to ruin yourself for him to get off, but it's so much more than that to you and him. You don't dare say it out loud, though, not willing to admit that you both feel something more than just physical attraction. The blushes, long stares, and personal touches reveal everything inside when no one's looking. If only you weren't so purposefully blind.
Charlie's cock jerks in your mouth, signaling he's about to reach his peak.
"You're going to swallow all of my fucking cum, hm?" He asks as he continues pistoning into your mouth, twisting your hair when you don't respond. "Right? You're going to be a good girl and swallow all of it for me?"
You try to nod your head, yes, but his grip holds firm. He sighs, knowing that you'll listen to him, and finally relaxes the tense muscles in his stomach, his warmth filling your cheeks and throat.
He continues languid thrusts, still prolonging the aftershocks of his orgasm as his hips jerk, stroking the sides of your scalp. He pulls out, and you nearly collapse, but your arm catches you, gulping down air as your chest heaves. With your limited ability, you breathe heavily through your nose, trying your best to get as much oxygen as possible. With a grin, Charlie squats down as he tilts your face towards him, examining his work. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything more stunning in his life, a woman, you, on the floor because of his own hands.
"You look so beautiful like that. My pretty girl face fucked." He comments as he wipes some stray tears and smeared makeup. You preen into his touch. "Open."
You listen without hesitation, creaking your jaw to show that you swallowed all of him. He smiles broadly, proud of his sweet girl's work. You blush, suddenly becoming bashful under his watchful eyes.
"Thank you." You whispered, proud to have won his approval, and sighed, shifting your legs into a more comfortable position. "I did mean what I said, Charlie." He cocks an eyebrow, unsure of what you're referring to. You've said a lot of things.
"That you deserve everything you do for people, and ten-fold more." His pale cheeks blush, the tops of his ears matching them. "You're so determined." You pause, grinning, focusing on nothing, trying to find the right words of affirmation. "So, driven."
You chuckled, thinking of how intense Charlie can be when directing, his pillowy lips pursed in concentration. His domineering statue is enough to make you roll your eyes back and moan. You didn't want to admit how often you found yourself clenching your thighs as you watched his tendons ripple with a script in his fingers, ordering everyone around.
Perhaps he did deserve someone who treated him better. Someone who wouldn't bottle up all their thoughts and anger and then explode all of them onto one person who accidentally left the toilet seat up. Someone who said thank you when he cooked dinner like he does every night. Someone who could be his confidant and, in return, be theirs. Someone who treated him like the human being he was. But that can't happen, not right now or until...
Charlie stands up abruptly, leaving the space cold without his warmth.
He couldn't think of something like that, not when he had Henry to worry about. What would his parent's divorce look like from a child's perspective? It would uproot his entire being, and Charlie could not handle the trauma it would cause him. Besides, being without Henry for long periods was something he could never do. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't home. Who would even cook for Henry? Nicole sure as hell wouldn't. He couldn't let you be the catalyst for the end of his marriage. You didn't deserve it.
You pushed yourself up from your knees as they cracked and popped from the hard floor, wiping some more of the smudges under your eyes.
The pain turned Charlie's back away from you as you walked towards him, snaking your arms to hug around his waist. His body was so vast that you couldn't even touch your fingers around him. You took a deep whiff of his shirt. The happiness blinded you; you felt bold after what happened, the endorphins still sending signals in your brain.
God, he smells so good.
Before you could bury your face any further into Charlie, he pulled away, unwrapping your arms.
Your heart sunk, falling through your stomach and onto the ground. He was tender a second ago, praising you for listening to him, but now he's so... cold. Distant. You've never seen this part of him, not even when he was getting angry during rehearsals. You move your hand, placing it on his shoulder. He goes rigid under it, grabbing it with two fingers as if you got some dirt on him.
"Charlie?" You question softly and try to turn him around, but he doesn't budge, a tree with its roots in the ground. He closed his eyes, rolling the guilty feeling off his body as he cleared his throat.
"What did you say you were doing again?" He asked plainly as if he wanted to know the weather outside.
"Um..." You stutter, trying to will the feeling of hurt creeping up your skin off. "My crew mates asked me to get their lunches." He nods, fingers over his lips.
"Well, let's get going then. We've already wasted enough time," he said matter of factly and headed for the door.
Wasted?
How... how was that... wasted?
You thought you both had fun; he praised you. You swallowed his cum. What did you do wrong?
"O-okay. You answer softly-patterning behind him.
"I'll cover the bill for them," Charlie says nonchalantly as you walk in the halls and up the stairs.
"Oh, you don't have to do that, Charlie." You tried to offer a peace deal beneath your words, but he doesn't take it. "They gave me their cards, and some already paid."
"Well, I'll pay for the ones who didn't already. Okay? Let's get a car." His words are forceful, ordering you around with a certain detached iciness. You followed Charlie helplessly everywhere, like a newborn puppy, hanging on to him.
The car ride was silent on the way there and back, giving tight-lipped smiles and "thank yous" to all the crew mates he paid for. It was so tense. It felt like a switch flipped in him, and you were doing everything you could to get it back, but nothing worked.
You resigned to eat in silence on the stairwell leading up to the main doors, wallowing in your self-torment. Even when you came back to the dressing room, seeing everyone's smiling faces from the act of kindness Charlie did, you couldn't bring yourself to feel the same. He had torn your heart out and crushed it with his long fingers. What you did wrong was all you could ask in your head, over and over as you chewed in sadness.
The rest of your time at the theater felt like it dragged on forever with the heavy sadness in your chest. You had gathered your things together, electing to leave your makeup tote at your workstation. None of your crewmates noticed the dark storm cloud hanging above you, and you were grateful for that. You didn't know how to explain to them that in an hour, your face had been fucked, and then feelings wholly disregarded. The state of being after sex was always so fragile for you. In this case, the aftercare, or lack thereof, was what made or broke you, and Charlie, he had hurt you.
You exited the dressing room with your purse on your shoulder, holding it close for security, and glanced at the entrance for the stage, hearing voices. Charlie and a woman you had never seen before were in a heated discussion. Her auburn hair was in a pixie cut, her short pale hands gesticulating whatever she was saying to him, a grey cardigan wrapped around her small frame. Charlie looked less than thrilled to be talking to her, not even trying to hide his emotion of disgust and annoyance. A silver wedding ring with a diamond encased metal glimmered in the flickering fluorescent lights.
If you thought your heart couldn't take anymore, you were wrong. Seeing Charlie with his wife hurt more than anything you could have imagined. Tears you had been holding back finally flowed.
How could you have thought you had meant more to him than just a quickie in a supply closet? He had an entire life outside of Exit Ghost, a family. You were the other woman, nothing more. It shouldn't have upset you as much as it did.
Charlie noticed you from the corner of his eye, ignoring Nicole for a moment as he took in your crumpled figure. You looked so small, slightly hunched over with red eyes and tears streaming down your face, but still so beautiful. He excused himself from Nicole before walking towards you.
You saw his broad form coming closer, not wanting to explain to him why you were so upset you ran. The distance between you both served in your favor.
"Just run away, Charlie!" you heard Nicole's voice echo in the hallway. "Like you always do!"
Charlie reached the steps from earlier, where he had stolen a moment with you during lunch, but you were nowhere to be found. You had already made your way out and hailed a cab, effectively slipping out of his grasp. He put his hands on his hips, hooking his fingers in his belt loops and sighing, looking down at the tile floor.
You released a sigh of relief as you closed the yellow car door. You had safely managed to escape Charlie. You were embarrassed to feel the way you did, and confessing it to him would only make it worse. It wasn't like you were in a relationship. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and fished your earbuds out of your purse, putting them in as you clicked on your music app, staring at the flashing buildings and small trees as the driver took you home.
