manchild, why you always come a runnin' to me?
Charlie’s grin only widens at his alarm, her shoulders lifting in an easy, unapologetic shrug. "Maybe!" she says brightly, entirely unbothered by the concept of safety as anything more than a loose suggestion. Her hand drifts over her belly again, fingers splaying with idle affection as she tilts her head. "I’m just glad they can’t do it now," she adds, laughter bubbling up as she glances back at him. "Can you imagine?"
She soaks in his compliment like sunlight, visibly preening under it, her posture shifting just slightly as if to better display the very things he’s admiring. The glow about her sharpens into something pleased and indulgent, and when he reaches for her hand, she lets him take it easily, her fingers warm and relaxed in his where they immediately intertwine. His question has her blue eyes widening just a fraction, dark brows lifting as the question lands, and for a fleeting second there’s a flicker of something mischievous curling at the corner of her mouth. She knows exactly what he thinks. She knows exactly how long she’s let him think it. And it has been so much fun.
Charlie leans forward slowly, deliberately, her movement less about urgency and more to potentially distract him in the depths of her cleavage as her gaze locks onto his with playful intensity. "Well," she says, voice light and lilting, that almost-smile tugging just a little higher, "I guess that depends on what you mean by being the dad."
She soaks in his compliment like sunlight, visibly preening under it, her posture shifting just slightly as if to better display the very things he’s admiring. The glow about her sharpens into something pleased and indulgent, and when he reaches for her hand, she lets him take it easily, her fingers warm and relaxed in his where they immediately intertwine. His question has her blue eyes widening just a fraction, dark brows lifting as the question lands, and for a fleeting second there’s a flicker of something mischievous curling at the corner of her mouth. She knows exactly what he thinks. She knows exactly how long she’s let him think it. And it has been so much fun.
Charlie leans forward slowly, deliberately, her movement less about urgency and more to potentially distract him in the depths of her cleavage as her gaze locks onto his with playful intensity. "Well," she says, voice light and lilting, that almost-smile tugging just a little higher, "I guess that depends on what you mean by being the dad."
half your brain just ain't there
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
