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cryobabyy · 2 months

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Cooper Adams x Fem!Reader

PART(3/5)

He was peculiarly clean— too clean to be at a hardware store past midnight. No dirt on his jeans, or janitor's name patch, or construction vest. He smelt like most men— Irish spring, sandalwood, musk, bergamot, etc. In daylight hours, you wouldn't have thought anything about his tight and fawning smile, the gallon of industrial cleaning solution, and the seven yards of vinyl tarp he slides across the counter at the end of the month. He always smiles when he pays. You smile back despite your intuition advising against it. Something about the interaction feels cold. God, you sound like your fucking father.

You work the graveyard shift at a hardware store with extended hours to put you through pre-med. You meet a DILF who is definitely not The Butcher.

AN: Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I had a final, saw Trap again (I almost died), and then I kind of re-wrote like half of it lol, but here we are! Enjoy!

The last time you talked about your Father to anyone was when you discussed what his headstone would say with the Funeral home office lady. You hadn’t uttered a word about him since. Not to a therapist, not to a friend, not even your roommate. You used his life insurance policy to hire an estate clean-up company to empty the house, and you watched from the curb as men in hazmat suits brought out pile after pile of newspaper clippings, empty medication bottles, and old electronics. After that, the house was unrecognizable- an empty shell, save for the marks on the door of your childhood bedroom. Thin pencil lines climb toward the frame with your name, date, and height nestled next to each other. You threw the deed to the house and your keys in your car’s glove compartment, but you haven’t been inside since. If it was out of sight, it was out of mind. If you didn’t talk about it, it couldn’t hurt you.

A floodgate was opened that night the truth came flying out of your mouth. You were okay with never speaking about it again, but now you couldn’t stop. It was exhilarating to release even the tiniest fraction of what you had bottled up for two years, and Cooper's validation was intoxicating. It was so different than the suffocating sympathy and condolences from Dad’s neighbors, who watched from their porches as you struggled to talk him out of confronting the mailman about wiretapping his mailbox. You felt the stares in line at the grocery store. You heard the passing whispers about the suicide on Bleaker Ave. This town wouldn’t let you forget that you were tethered to tragedy.

Cooper was the first person to say something other than ‘Poor thing. What a shame’. A random man you barely knew was the first person to afford you the luxury of dignity. You weren’t aware you could be anything other than a victim until Cooper Adams started treating you like a normal person. Against your better judgment, you began to look forward to the smiles, corny jokes, and his tendency to overshare.

You knew it was weird and wrong to befriend a married man like this. You couldn’t help but think about his wife, how she would feel if she knew her husband was using his lunch breaks to bring you food and ask about your day. The thought of his family used to be a comforting reminder that he wasn’t dangerous, but now it makes your stomach hurt. You tell yourself you aren’t doing anything wrong. It was just an unlikely friendship- nothing more.

You get butterflies when he comes waltzing in with a muffin and a coffee.

Goddamit.

“Oat milk, three sugars, three creams. And somebody dropped these off for the guys today, so I snagged you one. It’s blueberry. Did you eat dinner today?” He sets down a steaming cup of coffee and a neatly saran-wrapped muffin. You meet his hazel eyes, and he stares back. For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. Cooper furrows his brow, a smirk curling his lips.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t like blueberry.”

“You’re weird.” You scoff, unwrapping the confection and taking a bite.

“So you do like blueberry.” He mumbles pensively, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“You know I’m at work, right? Like I’m supposed to be working?” You say through a mouthful of muffin. Cooper glances around the empty store before landing on you.

“Looks like I’m the only paying customer here, kid.” A sly smile spreads across his face, and your heart stutters like the engine of your shitty car.

And just like that, he lulls you into another conversation. Cooper speaks in a way that makes you forget you’re telling him details about your life you’ve never told anyone before. He knows that you have a roommate you barely speak to and that you moved out when you were twenty. He's aware of how you took care of your Father during those final years and how he secretly stopped taking his medication. He knows about the guilt that consumed you for never noticing, for being too busy trying to build a life outside his chaos. You even told him you sometimes visit the house to check the mail. You'd sit on the curb across the street just to stare and remember when it was just a house and not a landmark for your grief.

“Why don’t you just sell it and use the money to buy your own place? The property value has probably skyrocketed since.” At this point in the conversation, Cooper has a stool pulled up to the counter, brows knitted together in concentration. He’s always asking you questions nobody’s ever cared to ask.

“I don’t know. I guess… If I get rid of it, it feels like I’m getting rid of him. He accused me of that all the time. He was convinced I turned against him.” You shrug, swirling around the last bit of coffee in your cup.

“I get it. My independence was like an insult to my mother. She hated my wife—said that she was taking me away from her. I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her we were getting married.” He looks off into the distance as if he’s watching the memory unfold in front of him.

You see an opportunity, so you take it.

“How did you two meet?” You say slowly, cautiously testing the waters.

“Me and Rachel? I did a fire safety demo for the kids at the school where she was working. God, that was—what? Fifteen years ago? Things were so different then.” He trails off. There was something different in the timber of his voice—regret? You hold in a breath as he continues.

“A lot changes when you have kids. Years can pass, and you won’t notice how much you’ve grown apart. And then pretty soon, the kids are the only thing you have in common.” He stares for a moment longer before suddenly snapping out of his daze.

“Sorry, am I oversharing?” He drags a big hand down his tired face, and you roll your eyes.

“I mean, I’m the one with the dead dad, so I think I have you one-upped on that.”

“You got me there.” He chuckles. You’re glad he’s not bothered by your inherent morbidity. It makes you feel normal.

There’s a thick pause. You glance upward to find Cooper staring at you, a strange expression on his face. No one’s ever looked at you like that before, and for a split second, you feel exposed. Like it was his first time really seeing you.

“What?”

“I just hope you know you’ll be okay.”

You’re gearing up to brush it off with something witty, but Cooper beats you to it.

“No, seriously. You made it to the other side of all this— you made it out. And you’re still good. You didn’t turn it into something worse. You’re incredible—and I mean that. It’s inspiring.”

There’s no charming smile or trace of playfulness in his voice. You feel frozen, unsure of what to say or how to proceed.

And then his gaze flickers to your mouth and lingers there for a moment too long. You watch him watch you, chest rising and falling, his expression tight. Like he’s holding something back. Your hands tingle with the desire to touch something. You feel the urge to reach out and grab something of his– his hand, the lapels of his jacket, the slope of his neck - and pull him into you. It still wouldn’t be close enough. If you could reach into his chest and hold his beating heart in your palm, you would.

And that terrifies you.

Cooper clears his throat, swiftly standing from the stool.

“Well, would you ook at that— lost track of time. I have to head back.” He mumbles, patting his jacket pockets to find his keys. Before you can even respond, he’s striding towards the door.

“Right. See you later, Cooper.” You busy yourself by throwing the empty coffee cup and the remains of the muffin in the trash.

He calls your name, snapping your attention to him again.

“You’ll be okay.” He repeats.

“I know.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

You don’t see Cooper for an entire month after that. The entirety of October passes. You spend nights preparing for your midterm and ringing up PVC pipes, hammers, and plumbing snakes. You debate texting him, going back and forth between writing a paragraph apologizing for potentially crossing a line or a paragraph telling him off for disappearing. Both options never make it out of the notes app.

A definitive emotion hasn’t settled in your mind yet. Anger doesn’t feel justified. Rejection feels too assuming, and dejection hurts your pride. Every fleeting emotion feels blown out of proportion, so you try to feel nothing at all– because anything else would be fucking ridiculous.

Cooper was married. He had children. He had a life. And all you had were the moments of his spare time in between. You had nothing. You didn’t even have a reason to call him– until you did.

On the way home from the night shift, your car battery dies on a dark and empty backroad. Other than your roommate, you have only one other person to call.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you consider what you'll do if he doesn’t answer. Your racing heart makes your thumb shake.

It rings two times before he picks up.

After a month of radio silence, he pulls up in 30 minutes.

Seeing him exit the driver’s side door like nothing had changed is odd. The complicated feelings you’ve been fending off die in an instant and leave you feeling numb. He looked the same; maybe his hair was longer, just long enough for him to push behind his ears. When he walks toward you, you finally begin to feel something again– panic. Inside your mind, you’re frantically flipping through appropriate things to say. I missed you. Where the fuck have you been? Why?

He’s standing in front of you before you can decide.

“You alright?” He asks, his brow furrowed with concern. He looks to your old beat-up car, then to you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s been stalling recently. I should have gotten it checked out sooner. Thanks for coming. I hate to bother you like this.” You can’t help but sound embarrassed. You had built this moment up in your imagination to be a staunch confrontation, but reality made you feel dumb. This was a grown man that had grown man shit to do other than play therapist with you. You felt small next to him like this. You regret not calling your roommate first.

“I’m happy to help. It’s cold—why don’t you wait in my car? It’s open.”

You wordlessly hand him your keys, grab your bag, and walk towards his car, leaning against the front hood instead. It was stupid, but the small act of defiance made you feel like you were still in control of the situation and, therefore, your feelings. Cooper takes a long look under the hood of your car before leaning into the driver's side and cranking the keys. The ignition clicks and whines but refuses to start. He sighs, trying a couple more times before shutting your car door and locking it.

“I brought jumping cables, but I don’t think I can do much to get it started. It could be more than your battery so It’s probably best to tow it. You’ll have to call your insurance and tell them to get it covered, but I can do the talking if you- ”

For a moment, you’re possessed by the most jaded version of yourself. The words tumble from your mouth before you can understand them.

“Where have you been?”

You regret it immediately.

Cooper sighs, closing his eyes and pushing his hair back. He pauses momentarily, thinking about how he'll handle the situation before returning to meet your gaze.

“I don’t think talking about that here is a good idea.” His tone is gentle but stern. It’s parentish and ignites the anger accumulating in you over the past month.

“That’s fucked up, Cooper. I’ve told you things I haven’t even said out loud, and now you get to decide when it is or isn’t a good idea for us to talk? It’s not fair—”

“I know.”

“—It wasn’t even my idea! You softened me up! You kept coming back—“

“I know.”

“—You made me think I could trust you! You gave me something, and then you fucking took it away—who fucking does that?!”

He’s saying your name now. You were too worked up to notice that your cheeks were wet or that Cooper’s thumbs were wiping the tears away. You hadn’t cried in a year.

“It was wrong. I was wrong. I thought I could manage, but it was getting too close. What was happening between us, and who I am outside of that can never touch. I’m sorry.”

Your breathing slows. Cooper’s voice sounds distant, the warmth of his hands being the only thing grounding you. He’s so close now; you can see the flecks of green and brown along his iris. Your gaze drops to his mouth, lingering in the same way his eye lingered about a month ago. You can see the words forming around his lips. He repeats himself.

“I’m sorry.”

You feel a familiar urge again– the pull. This time, you almost give in. But something stops you. Cooper resists your pull.

“Don’t. You’ll regret it.” He warns.

You come to your senses, noticing the stinging sensation from the back of your thighs pressing against the hood of his car. It’s not enough to stop you from being at your weakest.

“Please.” is all you can say. Your hands grip the collar of his sweater. He lets you, his resistance gradually softening until your mouth ghosts over his.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

It all happens so fast, his lips finally covering yours, his hands lifting you by the thighs and setting you down on the hood of his truck, your legs wrapping around him. Everything is brand new and intoxicating. The feeling of his hair between your fingers. Your arms around his neck, the hardness of his body against yours. It doesn’t take much for you to get lost in it. You feel Cooper lift you off the hood and walk around the side of his car. He flings open the passenger door and sets you on the leather seat.

“Tell me to stop.” He says in between the feverish back and forth of your lips, his hands sliding under your sweater to rest on the curve of your stomach. Heat pools between your thighs. You say nothing.

Cooper pulls away, leaving his hand underneath your shirt.

“This is what you want?” He’s looking down at you, hair in his eyes and mouth red and wet. You feel ashamed, but you nod anyway. Cooper’s hand gently pushes against your belly, beckoning you to lie down. Your chest heaves up and down, and your eyes flutter close. Cooper’s hands push up the sides of your waist, bringing your shirt with it. They travel over your ribs, his thumbs brush over your nipples through your thin bra. His warm breath ghosts just under your navel, lips peppering kisses right above your waistband.

“I’ve been thinking about this. What you would look like under me. You look so pretty.” He smirks against your skin and uses a hand to undo a button on your jeans. Your eyes flutter back open.

The first thing you see is a splatter of dark red on the cloth ceiling of his car. You squint a bit, trying to pull your focus from what was going on below your waist. The little drops glisten in the dim glow of the interior cabin light. It looks wet.

Your blood runs cold. Your Father’s voice returns to you.

White picket fence motherfucker.

AO3

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#cooper adams x reader #cooper adams #trap movie #trap 2024 #josh hartnett #Chat I am so feral for him #I was barely acting right in the theatre #my sister and I were TWEAAAKIINNGG #night shift

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