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hedgy-hog · 2 years

Text

Let Yourself

Charlie Barber x F! Reader

Words: 12.3k

CW/Tags: Reader has a child, Mentions of food, Alcohol, Implications of Masturbation, Reader is referred to as “mom”

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A/N: This fic was written for the @adcuficexchange Fall 2021 Exchange and inspired by a prompt that @kittensmctavish sent to me. Thank you for the amazing ideas!

When Henry befriends a boy at the park, Charlie finds himself gaining a new friend as well in a single parent. But as the days pass, and the text messages grow in abundance, so does Charlie's apprehension. He can't afford to lose a good thing. But when you smile at him like that, the risk may be worth it.

His sneakers skip through the mud, reminiscent of the rain that happened last night. Rain in California is a rarity. So when, to your surprise, you heard the crack of thunder and the pounding of heavy rain against the roof of your home, you thanked Mother Nature and cradled your son tightly to you. The thunder rattled him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to you. Now you wish you purchased rain boots. The mud is going to be torture to get out of his sneakers fully. But for now, you let him play, hopping over the puddles and splashing about in the enclosed playground.

His father canceled again, stating he had to take care of business and would make it up to him. Little by little, you watch your pride and joy become crestfallen, head slung as he hears your harsh whispers over the phone. Alfie doesn’t deserve this. No child does. Your arms cross over your chest as you watch him play without a care in the world, distracted for the time being by the pain you know he has to be feeling. He doesn’t understand what an asshole his father truly is, rather spending time on his escapades than his own child. He uses the excuse of business; he’s just too busy to take him to lunch today, loads of meetings. But you know, and he knows you know. You hate lying to Alfie, but you are not going to tell your nine-year-old son that his father would rather be with another woman than him. You sink in on yourself at the thought. Sometimes he gets it, he’s a smart kid, but the times he curls in on himself, eyes glazing over with unshed tears asking why Daddy doesn’t want to see him, you wish to cradle him close and punt your ex into the sun at the same time.

You should have seen it coming -- he had grown distant the moment you announced you were pregnant. He tried to be a dad, at least you think he did. But it was just too difficult for him to handle. The marriage had already been on the rocks when you found out, your husband leaving earlier and staying out later. You did all you could to make your home more appealing to him: having meals prepped and set although you had to go work all day -- which left you exhausted, making sure the space was clean, appealing to his every desire in hopes he’d be satisfied to stay around. But it was never enough for him, slowly morphing away from the man you had fallen in love with. You thought maybe the pregnancy would save all of this, your combined love for this human you created soaking into one another. Even Alfie wasn’t enough to make him stay. You two separated by the time he was four, the divorce finalized two weeks before his sixth birthday. You believed there would be a silver lining with it landing like this. Alfie would get two birthdays, twice as many gifts, twice as much cake. His father called the day before, apologizing that he had to cancel so late. No gift had been sent, not even a card. Already broke from the divorce, you took Alfie to Disneyland in hopes of making it up to him with the money you received from your last paycheck, your mind clear of any thought that would cause your chest to cave in as you witnessed your pride and joy giggle more than he ever had in his entire life

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the familiar sound of his giggle, eyes refocusing to capture what has grabbed his attention. Coming into view, you see he’s not alone. There’s another boy at his side, scratching his head in curiosity as to why he would be splashing around in the mud. He’s nine, yes, maybe too old to be hopping around like this, but who are you to deny him. You listen keenly as he explains that he finds it so fun and that this new friend should try it out. The new boy is still hesitant, waiting to see if his dad would let him play.

Charlie’s long legs help him navigate up the minuscule hill, the charm of his car locking behind him. Henry insisted on getting a head-start, afraid the playground would be occupied by the time they got there. Charlie doubted, most of the parents not wanting their child to get dirty from the recent rainfall. But it is his day, and who is he to deny his son? He huffs, shoving his keys in his back pocket opposite his wallet, fingers escaping from the fabric holder to brush the hair that fell into his eyes away from his face. The damp earth slightly gives way beneath his soles, making his steps a bit quicker to avoid sinking. Cresting over the hill, his gaze finds his son almost instantly, Henry’s shoe digging into a wet patch of grass. But today, he’s not alone.

“Dad, can I play in the mud?” Henry inquires, eyes alight and brow raised.

“Honey, mom just got you new shoes. Don’t dirty them,” he vetos, “go play on the jungle gym instead.” Henry turns to this new friend of his, eyes just as wide.

“Wanna go on the swings?” he asks. The other boy is hesitant before he looks over at his mother.

“Mom, can I go on the swings?” He has to be a bit younger than Henry, voicer soft and less assured, Charlie observes.

“Sure. Just stay where I can see you, okay?” he nods, looking over at Henry before dashing towards the unoccupied swing set. That’s when Charlie’s eyes span over to the sound of the voice, locking on your slouched-in form on the bench. Even like this, curled up on yourself, Charlie can’t seem to look away. Your eyes are captivating, tired smile soft as you make room for him on the bench.

The first thing you notice about him is how large he is. Large and wide, the man practically casts an exaggerated shadow. He dresses nice, dress shirt buttoned and tucked into his slacks. It fits him well, nothing too loose or baggy except for where his stomach would dip. He towers over you even when he sits, bending his knees further to accommodate his size.

“What do you have against mud, huh?” you quip, sitting up a bit straighter to meet his eyes. On anyone else, they would seem too small. His features are a mismatch of slopes and angles, yet they all seem to work for his long face. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, afraid you have come off a bit too strong. But when he huffs a laugh, the corners of your mouth turn upward coyly.

“Well, it’s dirty and wet and it bullied me as a kid,” he leans towards you slightly, pointed canines peering out from curled lips. The tip of your tongue presses up against the back of your bottom lip to quell the grin from breaking out on your face. Only a line in and this stranger’s already got you smiling.

“Oof,” you force a sigh once you finally regain some composure, “that must have been hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“I survived -- narrowly, but I did,” he nods, reaching a hand out after a few beats, “Charlie.” You take it, the heat from his palm melding into yours, and give it a firm shake. You can’t help but notice his hands are incredibly soft. You give him your name in return.

Charlie can’t help but notice how soft your hand is. Your grip is strong, self-assuring. He pulls away first, hand finding its proper place upon his lap.

“What brought you to the park today, Charlie?” you ask, and oh, his name sounds so nice on your lips. His name is spoken constantly; by friends, by students, by Nicole. But there is something about the way you say it. It’s light, carefree, even if it’s such a simple question.

“Henry’s been talking about wanting to come here all week. I thought on my day with him, it’s the least I could do,” his hands run down his thighs, squeezing his knees slightly before working his way back up. Had he thrown caution to the wind? Spoke openly about the normalcy of divorce so casually with a stranger? You had only told him your name.

“You too?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“Divorced,” you complete your thought. He nods, pushing a sigh through slightly parted lips. His fingers tap in his lap, a rhythm of anxiety making its debut. Did he really have to say that? Put it out so freely that he was divorced? He pulls it together, the words that were just spoken bouncing off his brain.

You too.

It seems so common now, this way out. What once had stirred scandal had become as normal as breathing. It really makes him think. How many people have fallen in love just for it to crumble to dust? How many people believed they would spend the rest of their lives together just to sign the dotted line and continue on? How many had their own days with their children meeting strangers in the park? At least one.

“You’ve got a pretty cute kid,” you chime in, taking in the sight of the two of them conversing on the swings. Henry had said something funny, watching the smaller one cackle wildly as they both pump their legs to continue on the swings, “how old is he?”

“Ah, thanks. He’s ten. Got his looks from somewhere .” So many say he looks like Nicole. The lighter hair, the doe eyes. But Henry has his lips … and his ears, hidden away by his long hair as he does. “How about yours?”

“Alfie’s turning ten next month. It’s a big thing. I want to throw a party for him but I haven’t even begun to plan yet. I fear it’s going to be a disaster being so last minute.” He’s got a cute name to match his cute demeanor. The way he beams at Henry, curious eyes not leaving his son as they continue with their muted conversation.

“If you play into his interests and get him his favorite cake, I’m sure he’d love it. I will never forget when I got him a cake with strawberries in it for his fifth birthday and he suddenly came to the conclusion that he didn’t like them. He didn’t let me live it down for a good three days.”

You discover rather quickly that you like his laugh. You like his laugh a lot. It’s deep and hearty, originating from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re certain if you look over at him, you can witness his chest rumble from underneath his buttons. Strawberries in a cake have never been so funny. You can only imagine Alfie giving you the cold shoulder for something so simple.

“Don’t get a cake with fruit in it. Noted,” you laugh along, tearing your eyes away from the kids to take in the way his eyes pinch at the side when he laughs. It’s endearing, the redness pushing against his swollen cheeks, lips stretched wide. His arms cross over his chest, slinking further down into the bench. That’s when it hits you. This feels … comfortable. Usually, the back and forth about kids is so mechanical, asking their age, what school they attend, if they have any hobbies. Parents take the time to boast of their kid's successes, most of the time a reflection of themselves which the other parents have to question. But this is refreshing, even for being two questions in. Your index finger inches forward to scratch at the dip of your nostril, sniffling between your laughter. You don’t pick up on the way his eyes flicker down to witness the gesture.

It’s another hour and a half before the sun starts to set. The park is bathed in gold, twinges of deep oranges and pinks beginning to peek through. Charlie checks at his watch, mumbling to himself that it looks like dinner is going to be late tonight. Peering up, he takes in the sight you have been watching for the last few minutes. Alfie cheers Henry on as he swings from handle to handle on the monkey bars, lurching himself to the other end and landing smoothly. You and Charlie have rattled on about the most mundane things. You find out he’s extended a residency at UCLA for theater, originally a director back in New York. You find out he enjoys classic films, has more records than any other forms of music, and enjoys cooking. You share your interests, and how you seem to have no time for them between work and taking care of Alfie. You discuss a new film you’ve seen recently, how although it’s been over a month, you can’t seem to get it out of your head. Charlie gives in to your pleas to get him to see it, even if it’s just pretense. He excuses himself from your banter, the body that had been slung in on itself, and turned towards you returning to its previous state to look over at the boys.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get going! Say goodbye to Alfie!” Charlie calls out. Both of the boys’ faces fall knowing their playtime is over, your lower lip jutting out at seeing your little boy so disappointed. He stands, a human-shaped cloud shading you from the setting sun. “It was nice meeting you.” You peer up at him, neck almost straining to take all of his form in.

“You too. We’re here all of the time, so if you ever have more days with Henry that he wants to come and play, you know where to find us.” Charlie nods, hands coming to rest upon his hips.

“Well, I could always take down your number so we definitely know when you’ll be here.”

He really just said that. So openly and with a practical stranger. He wasn’t asking you for his own sake, no. Definitely not. It was for Henry. Henry could use more friends and people to rely on when neither he nor Nicole can fully immerse themselves in his creative world. Nicole has grown busier with her show going into its third season. It’s won more Emmys than originally expected, so the broadcaster wants to keep it on for as long as they can milk it. Charlie’s got his long rehearsals and monologue evaluations that take him late into the night. Henry deserves time with kids his age to explore and learn.

You quirk a brow at him, lips pursed at the offering. You’re silent too long for him to be comfortable, bearing his weight from one foot to another. Has he made you uncomfortable? He parts his lips, readying himself.

“Or-”

“That would be nice. I think Alfie really likes him.” He breathes a mental sigh of relief, giving you a slight nod. You reach for your phone in your back pocket, navigating some tools and whistles before gesturing for him to start. He gives you his number slowly, making sure you give a noise of affirmation at every digit spoken. “Got it, thanks. I’ll shoot you a text soon.” He gives a kind smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up ever so slightly.

The boys trek back to the bench, hugging each other before parting. Finally close, he’s able to take Alfie in. There’s no doubt that he is your son, he shares so many of your features. Your eyes, your nose. His lids appear droopy, seeing that Henry has taken all of his energy with their playtime. You part ways with lingering eyes and lingering smiles, pulling your boys close as you make your way to your cars.

It’s during dinner that Charlie’s phone vibrates in his back pocket. A quick buzz, the reminder of a text waiting for him. He waits to open it. Dinner is finished, the table is cleared and the dishes are washed, and Henry is safely tucked away in bed before he finally checks his phone. A photo from an unknown number. His brows furrow, believing it to be a mistake before he sees the context. Before him shines a photo of a professional cake sliced open. Inside, the moist sponge is stained with red, giving way to the giant chunks of strawberries.

Charlie smiles.

Hey, it’s Charlie. Is Alfie there? Henry wanted to say hello.

Hi, it’s Charlie. I’ve got a day with Henry tomorrow and wanted to know if you wanted to meet up at the park.

“Hey, it’s Charlie. I was wondering if you and Alfie wanted to come over for a movie night? Henry and I are watching Jurassic Park.”

“Charlie, you know you don’t have to say ‘it’s Charlie’ every time you call, right? I have Caller ID,” you chuckle, the phone pressed up to your cheek as you finish the final touches on your son’s peanut butter and jelly.

“Oh. Sorry, just force of habit,” he explains on the other end of the line. You wonder what he’s doing. Is he also preparing lunch for Henry? It’s quiet where he is. Maybe he’s alone.

“It’s okay. Let me see if Alfie wants to go,” you pad into the small dining room, plate in hand. Alfie peers up at you with eager eyes, licking his lips at the sight of his sandwich. It’s become his new obsession, having to have it for lunch every day for the last two weeks. Who are you to deny him? You place the plate down just for him to snatch up the sandwich, grabbing a half and shoving it into his mouth. “Do you want to see Henry tonight? His dad invited us to see a movie at their house.” Charlie waits patiently, the hand not occupied by the phone sliding into the back pocket of his slacks.

“Yesh pwl-”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, sweetheart,” you warn, watching as he struggles to chew his too-large bite. Charlie’s chuckle fills your ear, knowing those words all too well. The corners of your mouth tug up at hearing the sound you’ve grown rather fond of these last few weeks, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip to quell the impending smile. It takes Alfie a few more moments to chew, taking one large swallow before reaching for his glass of milk. “So you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” he reaffirms before relieving his previously stuffed mouth with his ice-cold drink. You shake your head, laughing again before shifting your focus.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yup,” he beams, reaching down to pick up a pair of shoes that sat neatly by the door to place in his room, “I was thinking around 6:30. I can order a pizza for dinner.”

“Pizza sounds great. We’ll see you at 6:30.”

He ordered two pies just in case. You offered to reimburse him for them, much to his rebuttal. You let him win just this once, promising to treat the next time. You have never seen someone eat like him before. Even though he tries to restrain himself, he can’t help but devour slice after slice like a man starved. It’s still not as good as pizza in New York, but he’s found a place that’s close enough.

Both of the boys are sleeping before the T-Rex shoves its nuzzle through the glass roof of the truck, the volume of the television set low enough that they will not awaken to screams. You and Charlie finish off the last of the pizza, the slice you occupy now cold. There’s always an upside to it, though. The sauce always tastes sweeter when it’s not piping hot.

“So, you’ve directed stage productions,” you begin, tearing off a piece of crust from the corner, “have you ever thought of breaking into the world of film? Direct a movie or a show? Commercials, even.” Charlie ponders at the thought, his slice moving like a hand puppet’s mouth as he folds and unfolds it. Nicole can’t seem to stop raving about the times she gets to direct. But she grew up with the screen. Charlie grew with the stage. It had always been his home, his space. Behind a camera would seem so incredibly foreign. He’d have to learn from the ground up. But he knows he could take on the challenge. He’s more than competent.

“Hm. I don’t know. I never really gave much thought to it. Theater was always sort of my thing, you know?” he takes another large bite of his slice, questioning as to why this tastes better colder. You nod with a hum, following him in popping the broken-off piece of crust between your lips. You make a note to ask about when he has an upcoming production.

“Understandable,” you reply after you swallow, “never hurts to try though.” Charlie hums, working on scarfing down the rest of the pizza. “I wanted to be an actress when I was younger.” His brow quirks, settling the remaining scrap of crust on the plate in his lap.

“What stopped you?”

“Life stopped me,” you snicker, leaning over to grab your glass. “I was a little kid, asked my parents. They said no. I didn’t ask again.” He scoffs, finishing off his slice and wiping his hands on a napkin.

“You should’ve kept asking. I bet you’d be an incredible actress.” Now he’s just running his mouth. There’s no way for him to know that unless he sees it for himself. You would probably never speak to him again if you had the guts to do so. He’d have to control himself from giving you notes. There is always a vision, always more work to be done.

“I doubt that,” you take a sip from your glass, inwardly scoffing at the irony that the colder your pizza becomes, the warmer your drink. It finds its place back on the table, rotating your front back to its previous state.

“Well, how about this: I direct a film, and you be the lead? That way, we’d both do something new and I could ultimately prove you right.” The back of your neck grows hot, a shiver tinging upwards from the base of your spine. You know it’s just banter, but why is your skin burning? You rub at the back of your neck, sending a grin in his direction.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Charlie shares in your smile, grateful his hair covers the bright red tips of his ears. He scratches at one of them, his gaze unyielding from your face. Your smile only grows, wishing you can tear your eyes away. The soft hum of Dr. Sattler gives you the strength, shifting to the screen and finishing your slice in silence. As the movie drones on, Charlie daydreams of viewing you from behind a lens.

Maybe you’re as bad as you let on. Maybe it would be torture to work with you. But what if it wasn’t? Sure, playful words will go nowhere, but that does not allow his mind to cease. He watches you intently, wondering what it would be like to thank you as he stands with an Academy Award clutched in his hand for best director. He pictures how you would beam at him, your clap the loudest in the room as you cheer him on for his accomplishment. Every other face is blurry except for yours. You blow him a kiss, and his dream state shares the same burning ears as his real-life counterpart. In the now, he studies as your fingers gently massage Alfie’s scalp, his head slumped against the front of the couch.

And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to …

The four of you take a walk together the next time you’re in the park. Alfie’s birthday party is tomorrow and all of the finishing touches have been completed. You were the good parent, opting for a cake with no fruit in it. Charlie, upon hearing this, snickered with a shake of his head. The boys race in front of you, playing a game of two-person tag. They’ve grown closer, the time they share is cherished every few weeks when Charlie has a weekend with Henry. You find yourself reaching for your phone more these days, the man semi-inept with technology sending you texts and photos almost every day. Sometimes they’re subtle things: passing by the coffee place you said was your favorite, the stage that is prepared for the theater majors’ monologue assignments, a screen of his television showcasing a movie you recommended to him.

You send him the meals you make, asking for advice on how to spice things up (literally and figuratively). You send him photos of dogs in sweaters that they don’t need (“They do”, Charlie counters every time.) You send him party plans, asking for his opinion. You send him his song recommendations, a little too modern for his tastes, but he gives them a listen anyway to humor you.

You send each other photos of your children, some with wide smiles, others with pouts. Charlie forwards them to Nicole, letting her know his friend Alfie misses him and can’t wait for him to see the photo. When your schedules are too busy, photos are sent of your time together, selfies of you and Alfie sharing fried calamari and a blondie from Connie and Ted’s. Charlie shares photos of Henry asleep in an audience member’s chair from later nights at the theater, helping out the students with their showcase.

“Did he really puke?” your eyes shoot open, mouth agape at the story Charlie is recollecting. He laughs, running a hand through his hair as he nods.

“He really puked. First thing, he was slating. Next thing, blech,” he mimics the sound of the upchuck, the sound causing shivers to run up your spine in disgust. You tremor along with it, shaking the feeling from your system.

“God, that sounds awful .” Charlie’s laughter calms, looking ahead to take in the smaller boy running after his son, a hand shot out and ready to strike.

“It all turned out fine in the end,” he reassures, “he was able to reschedule and after settling his nerves, the monologue went smoothly. He also got new shoes.” You wrap your arms around your middle as you continue your stroll, smiling once your eyes follow the path that Charlie’s have taken. Henry groans in defeat, Alfie giggling as he breaks off in another sprint to begin the game again.

“Well, that’s all that matters, right? New shoes? Who needs to ace a monologue when you got new shoes?” you jest, gaze landing upon Charlie once more. His smile only grows, the pointed tips peeking out again that you’ve come to adore.

“Oh, definitely. Words don’t matter when you’ve got new shoes.” You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to prevent the growing smile at his response.

“When I puke on my shoes when I make my film debut, will you buy me a new pair?” Is this what flirting is like? Are you flirting? No, this is simply bantering between friends, right? Two friends where one finds the other extremely handsome. Two friends where one does not wish to admit that the other has been in their dreams on more than one occasion, two friends that will never admit the way their one’s stomach flips when the other friend’s name is the first thing they read in the morning and the last thing they read at night. This isn’t a crush. No, this can’t be.

“Pick out the designer and it’s yours,” his smile morphs into something you had never seen from him-- a smirk. He squints his eyes when he does, only one cheek bunching up and swelling. Your heart jumps against your ribs, banging against the bones like a feral lion in a zoo.

“I’ll take a pair of Louboutins, please and thank you,” you pray your voice remains steady, your arms tightening around yourself in the hopes of steadying your frantic nerves.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It’s one of those nights; the night where he’s slumped in on himself in a too-quiet apartment. He stares at nothing, eyes glossed over and growing blurrier with every tick of the clock. Blinking does no help, not when his gaze is so focused on this spot on the wall. His chest feels empty, yet weighs a ton. His fingers twitch for a cigarette, yet there’s close to no strength to grab them off the top of the drawer on the other side of the room. He sighs, clearing out his throat in the dead silence of his room. The bed he occupies is too cold; the sweats he wears are not comfortable enough as he lays on top of his cleanly-made sheets. He picks at the material, trying to focus on the soft feeling between his fingers, yet nothing alights in him. With another sigh, almost on instinct, he reaches over to the bedside drawer to reach for his phone. His eyes finally focus as they look on the screen, fingers tapping a few times before he finds what he needs.

“Hello?” your voice fills his ears, an instant calm washing over. He continues to toy with the bedding, something to occupy his other hand.

“Hey,” his voice is gravelly, the sound of his voice foreign to his own ears. There’s silence for a moment, afraid he’s lost you.

“Are you okay?” you sound concerned, voice raising in pitch by the end. Had his voice given it away without having to say anything? He sighs again, taking in the solemn sight of his room. There are constant reminders everywhere, yet his home is still empty.

“Yeah. I just,” he pauses, trying to find the right words, “I miss Henry. Today was supposed to be my day but something came up and I won’t be able to see him for another two weeks. I know we FaceTime every day, but it’s just … it’s not the same.”

“Oh, Charlie ,” you coo, causing his stomach to do the tiniest of flips, “I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to imagine how awful that must feel.” He can explain it. It does feel awful. It hurts everywhere, consumed by this all-encompassing emptiness. Part of his brain screams at him that he’s doing the right thing, seeking out a comforting voice in hopes of being less alone. The other half screams to hang up and toss his phone out the window; he doesn’t deserve comfort, doesn’t deserve anything.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbles, “just wanted to see what you were up to.” You’re quick to jump at the opportunity, the sound of raising from wherever you are evident by the squeak of the floorboards.

“Actually, I don’t have Alfie for the night and I was thinking of seeing a new movie that just came out. Why don’t you join me?” Charlie hesitates, fingers stilling. Sure, you’ve had alone time together, but the children were never far away. You texted before, called before, but this would be different. It would just be you and him -- alone, no kids.

“Eh, I don’t kno-”

“Oh, come on! I am not going to let you sit and mope around when you can be sitting in a ridiculously cold theater eating overpriced popcorn and sodas that will cause your bladder to burst. Come on. Please?” Although your arguments as to why it would be better are awful ones, what could be worse than sitting here alone? Charlie swings his legs over the edge of his bed, sitting up and running his finger through his hair again to neaten it.

“Let me come pick you up. Give me half an hour,” He doesn’t need to ask for your address. He’s driven there enough times that he could do it with his eyes closed. He can practically hear your smile on the other end of the line.

“You’re not even going to ask me what movie it is?” you observe, “you must be down bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, fumbling with getting out of his sweats to put his slacks back on. “See you in thirty.”

“If you’re a minute late, I’m leaving without you!” you threaten. Charlie rolls his eyes in response.

“Then I’ll only be forty-five seconds late.” It’s such a bad joke, something his students would call a signature ‘ dad joke ’. Still, you laugh. He likes your laugh, likes it a lot. Maybe he should tell more of these dad jokes if this is your response.

“ Goodbye ,” you sing, a forced vibrato causing Charlie to laugh before the line goes dead.

He’s too large for the theater chairs, he always is. Still, if being scrunched upon oneself in a freezing room means spending time with you to help with his loneliness, he’ll take the sore muscles and the crook in his neck. The movie is rather interesting, a drama with much-needed comedic breaks. Otherwise, it would be too much. He takes it all in, the expressions, how it would translate to the stage if he were to take on something like this. He laughs at the right moments, knowing you made the right choice in your selection. In particular, one moment strikes him, a moment between two friends who know they have to go their separate ways. He feels it before it comes: an ache in his chest and sinking to his stomach. His sinuses go first, stuffing up at the tears well up in his eyes. He breathes a heavy sigh, shooting his head up in hopes the tears somehow get reabsorbed by magic. You see him out of the corner of your eye, the light of the screen illuminating off of him. You turn to head to look upon him in time that he brings himself to look back at the screen.

“You okay?” you lean over to whisper to him, making sure he meets your eyes. He nods, swallowing a forming lump in his throat in hopes of fighting it off for longer.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay,” he lies, the dam breaking with a quivering lip. You cock your head, taking him in. He knows he’s lost, the tears making their descent down his cheeks. You mouth an ‘aw’, reaching for the napkin you had for the buttery residue on the popcorn and pat just below his eyes to soak up whatever remnants remain.

“Got to you, huh?” you implore under your breath, continuing to dab at his cheeks. They burn under the paper, nodding with a breath of a laugh. “You’re passionate about this stuff. You’re cute. .” Suddenly, the breath he holds hitches in his chest. Cute? You think he’s cute? God, why do his cheeks burn even harder? Why do his ears feel like they’re on fire? He’s not fifteen anymore. “It’s alright. You’ve got me to comfort you.” Your hand drops the napkin in your lap before taking a hold of his, giving it a reaffirming squeeze.

He hasn’t touched you like this since you first met. Sure, you gave each other hugs in passing, but to feel your soft skin against his is unlike anything else. Suddenly, his eyes widen. This isn’t a date, right? Like a date date? This is just two friends watching a movie and holding hands. You ask if it’s okay, if you can continue holding his hand. He doesn’t stop you. He would never refuse you, he concludes.

Later in the night, when he takes himself into the hand you held, your name on his lips, spilling all over himself with the thought of your soft hands and kind smile occupying his mind, he knows why his body burned so bright.

You think of him often, too often. You��ve memorized his work schedule throughout the last few months although you tell yourself you haven’t. You know when he wakes, know the exact time when he sends his good morning text. During one of your outings a few weeks ago, he told you that he was never the one for texting when he could call, but you changed his stance on it. You speak whenever you have the chance, reaching out to Charlie rather than banging your head against a hard surface at work like you want to. He’ll check in during his day, pointing out things that caught his eye: a performance, good or bad, images of your favorite animal that he comes across. You ask him what’s for dinner, he tells you. Your dishes, even when he’s cooking just for himself, never amount. When you can find someone you trust to watch Alfie, you’ll offer to meet him for a meal. It’s the perfect time to decompress and just be . No work, no kids, just venting and enjoying one another’s company. It gets harder to look him in the eyes the more you spend time with him. You find Charlie, your friend , attractive. So what? Friends can find their friends attractive, right? Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with looking into your friend’s eyes and getting lost in them. Nothing wrong with holding your friend’s hand when you take a walk. Nothing wrong with thinking of a friend before you drift off to sleep.

You find yourselves this time at Du-Par’s, way too late for the rest of the world to be awake. Alfie is with someone you trust, Charlie leaving work way too late for his own good. You sip on your respected coffees, Charlie indulging in his dinner as you pick at a muffin.

“So, I don’t mean for this to be intrusive, but you never told me why it never worked out for you and Nicole,” you pop a ripped-off piece of the confectionery into your mouth, large flecks of sugar pieces coating your tongue. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I get it if it’s overstepping, but I can’t help but be curious.” Charlie chews slowly, for once. The chicken pot pie he ordered is far too hot for him to devour like he usually does.

“Hmm,” he ponders, swallowing once the meat is cool enough on his tongue. “No, it’s okay. It just … wasn’t working anymore. We both wanted different things, not just for ourselves but for one another. Nicole wanted to go to LA and get back into film, I wanted to stay in New York and expand Exit Ghost. Our visions for one another in these scenarios just didn’t line up and it hurt us.” You nod, idly sipping at your coffee. He hesitates for a moment to speak about Mary Anne how a slip in judgment and a need for affection led him to her bed. You admit, it’s a bit of shock hearing of this revelation, but it makes sense. The number of times your chest would ache when you were sharing a bed with someone who felt like a stranger to you after you believed they were your soulmate, wishing for a pair of comforting arms to pull you close and keep you safe. You never entertained the thought as he did, but there were times your mind would wander. His brows furrow when you take it all in, appearing to be without a single thought. But you can’t help to feel the way your stomach flips, a fear ingrained in whatever … this is. Nothing is what it is.

You share what you haven’t already about your divorce. You share how you kept holding on longer for the sake of his family, finding out you enjoyed their company more than his. His siblings always made you feel welcome, even when he didn’t. Not having that support other than in regards to your son scared you. You share how at first, you felt as though it was your fault. You feared you weren’t pretty enough, weren’t giving enough. You would bend over backward for him to receive nothing in return.

“It wasn’t your fault. He just didn’t know how good he had it,” Charlie casually lets slip between bites. Your throat is suddenly dryer than the Sahara, controlling a few coughs with another sip of your coffee. Your eyes shoot down, afraid of how he would react if he saw your eyes bulging like they are threatening to do. It was simply a compliment, nothing more. Your other friends had said just as much.

“Well, it’s not my concern anymore,” you murmur once you regain some composure, eyes honing in on the seasonal pie presented behind the glass dome, “he’s got others to deal with his issues now.” Charlie nods, his forkfuls becoming more plentiful now that the filling has cooled down considerably.

“You ever think of maybe going back out there?”

“Hm?”

“Dating again,” he clarifies. You ponder it, how at times you long for a pair of arms around you and a set of plump lips to ease your worries. You don’t want to be alone, not really. But right now, your focus is on Alfie. If someone comes along with sparkling eyes and a charming demeanor, perhaps you would entertain them.

“Maybe,” you admit, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know. Having to sit through all of those awkward conversations again and hoping something sticks is not really my forté.” Charlie chuckles, teeth flashing you. You respond with a smile of your own, fingers toying with the paper wrapping of your muffin. “You?” Charlie hesitates, thumb and forefinger pinching the corner of his eyes to keep them in focus.

“No, I don’t think so. Like you said, those awkward conversations aren’t for me, either. It’s too much trouble. But there’s also so much to focus on. I’ve got this residency, I’ve got my company back in New York. There’s just not enough time to focus anywhere else.” For some reason, his answer makes your heart fall into the pit of your stomach. It’s a shame, truly. Charlie is a great guy and anyone would be lucky enough to have him.

“And what if someone came along? Just stumbled into your life sans awkward ice-breakers,” the crumbs of the muffin break off from the paper and stick to your fingers, rolling them off with the friction between your fingertips. Charlie ponders again, taking another bite of his potpie.

Would he? Hell, even he doesn’t know. What would happen to him? To Henry? Would both of their lives spiral into something completely new? Nicole has a boyfriend and Henry seems to be doing fine. But for both parents to be seeing someone else, the fear of Henry not liking them or vice versa? Perhaps the risk is too much. It’s still a struggle to look upon you fully, a one-time promise becoming a regular occurrence when there are no prying eyes around. There’s nothing wrong with having a face put to fantasies -- better someone he knows than a faceless, nameless person, he argues with himself every time he cleans himself up. Maybe it would be good, dating again. But Henry and himself were no longer the only factor.

What would happen if they didn’t get along with you?

“I don’t know. I still think I’d be too busy,” he disregards. You nod, the ache only growing stronger as you empty your cup. Suddenly, the muffin is too sweet, the room too stuffy. Half an hour later, you part with a hug, making him promise to send you a text that he got home safe. He promises only if you do so in return. Calm returns once you slink into your home, kicking off your shoes and padding over to get ready for bed. The notification distracts you from washing your face, skin still soapy as you read over the message.

Home safe. Thanks for coming out with me. Sleep well.

The ache returns. You also forgot to text him.

I just stepped in too. Goodnight.

You hate him. You may actually hate him. If you could have spoken to your younger self all of those years ago, you would have screamed at yourself to run far away the moment he started speaking to you in the lunchroom. The way you had been so foolish to accept his advances, his touches, his kisses. The way you had been foolish to accept his proposal. You regret so much, regret close to it all. There is only one thing you don’t regret, his head propped in your lap as you run press your fingers into his scalp. Alfie has always enjoyed scalp massages; it was one of the things that put him to bed after a nightmare when he was a toddler. You will never stop, even when he comes to you in his teens with a broken heart, in his twenties when his job is too rough on him. You will always be there, unlike him.

He didn’t call, didn’t text. Nothing. Alfie was supposed to be picked up six hours ago. Now it had grown dark and with no sign of his father coming, you stop yourself from letting the tears flow. You have to be strong for him, have to be the protector. How can someone not care about their own child enough to bail again without a single mention? It is when you put Alfie to bed that you check social media, discovering a post that makes your blood boil. You close out of the app and rush to your texts.

Can you come over? Bring something strong

He responds quickly, almost too quickly. Doesn’t even ask if anything is wrong. It’s sudden and affirmative.

Be there in 20.

He’s at the door earlier than you expect him, a bottle of wine grasped in his paw that is far too expensive for a late-night crying session. You let him in, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. Everything hurts, yet the warmth of Charlie’s presence is more than welcome. It soothes you almost as good as the wine will.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, “Alfie’s asleep, so make yourself at home.” Charlie slips off his shoes, nudging them with his foot to press up against the wall.

“I thought your ex had him today,” he remarks. Your eyes meet his, chocolate and whiskey observing how you try to blink the formation of your tears away. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he carefully places the bottle down before reaching out for you. You welcome it as he pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You sink into his embrace, arms unraveling from yourself to wrap around him in return. Your head rests against him, eyes shutting and breathing in his comforting and familiar scent. It’s clean, fresh, yet deep. It feels like an eternity, standing there in each other’s arms. Charlie has become the safe haven that you never wish to lose. The physical being of all-consuming comfort holding you close, letting you cry if you chose to do so. His hand rubs calming circles into your back, you drawing in a shuddering breath as you try to quell any tears. He would let you cry if you wished to and without judgment, you know this. But you don’t feel like crying right now. His chin rests atop of your head, eyes searching for the familiar cabinet in the kitchen. “Let me get some glasses.”

You don’t wish to part from him, not when his embrace is the closest thing to home besides your son. Reluctantly, you nod, sliding out of his arms. You find a spot on your couch, letting Charlie rummage through your drawers for a corkscrew. Your kitchen is too small for him, the image of him hulking around in it when he offered to make you dinner one night bringing the slightest of smiles to your face. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, holding everything he was looking for in one hand. He’s quick going through the motions, settling down next to you before uncorking the bottle of red and pouring you each a glass. You grab for it like a lifeline, impatient to let the ruby liquid coat your insides. You down almost half of your glass in the first sip, hoping it will loosen you a bit.

“Do you wanna talk?” he pipes up, swirling the wine in his glass before bringing it to his lips and taking a few sips. You white-knuckle your glass, allowing yourself a calming breath before beginning.

“My fucking ex. I have never met someone so inconsiderate,” the ache finds itself reemerging without you. “I’m used to this, him bailing. The way he thinks he can send some money every month and believe he’s being a parent when he rarely sees his son is beyond me. He rarely calls, rarely texts. He constantly bails on our son,” your breath hitches in your chest, your teeth gripping onto your lip to prevent it from trembling. No crying. Not now. “It takes two people to make a child from what I remember. I don’t understand how he can see this perfect boy that he helped create and treat him this way. It’s not fair to him.” Charlie nods, letting you speak. His chest is hollow, stomach tightening with what can only be described as rage. Charlie does anything he can to spend time with Henry. Hell, he even asks when it’s not his day in hopes Nicole will say yes. Henry is his world and that will never change. To see this gift of a child, your son, one that Charlie has come to care for so deeply, and brush him aside like he is nothing? It rattles him to his core, twists his guts to the point of sickness.

“I’m sorry. Some people don’t deserve their children. He sh-”

“But here’s the real kicker,” you don’t mean to cut him off, but it must be said before you swallow it away forever. “After he didn’t show, I was just scrolling through social media. He didn’t even bother to text because he was at a party … for his girlfriend. I’m sorry, his fianceé , now” the last word is seethed through gritted teeth. Your dam breaks, your jaw quivering as the tears overflow your tear ducts and pour down your cheeks. “They’re getting married. They’re getting married and there he is holding her, and kissing her, and looking like he’s on top of the goddamn world with no regard for someone who already is his family. He didn’t even invite Alfie to the party, and that’s going to be his stepmother. I just--” you sniffle, the back of your hand rubbing the moisture into your skin. “I hate him. I love him for our son, but I hate him.” You down the rest of your glass, reaching clumsily for the bottle with your tear-obscured vision to pour yourself another glass filled to the brim.

He says your name so quietly, his own voice breaking. His heart shatters into a million pieces for Alfie, for you. Your second glass is gulped down, rarely coming up for air. You don’t give yourself time to savor the flavor, the deep fruit and spicy notes skipping over your tongue and sloshing into your belly. You shake your head, trying to do anything you can to make the tears stop. Your shoulder wrack, blubbering sobs causing you to fumble at putting your glass down. Charlie does it for you, once again doing all he knows he can. Placing down his glass, he scoops you into his arms and sits you down on his lap. You cry into his chest, two splotches on his shirt deepening in color with the absorption of your tears. How could he do this? How could he deny your pride and joy so adamantly and gush over this new marriage? Your heart hurts for Alfie. What will become of him in this new chapter of his father's life? It is almost non-existent as it is, but now? Now you just don’t know. You don’t want to know.

Charlie says nothing for a while, doesn’t shush you. He just lets you be, lets you cry until there are no more tears left. His hand rubs your back again, lips that you have dreamed of but never wish to admit pressing kisses into your hair. When he does say things, they are only affirmations.

I’ve got you. You’re okay.

You re-emerge from his chest with burning skin and swollen eyes. You clear your sinuses, wiping at your nose haphazardly in hopes of clearing it.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” you mutter, voice hoarse. Charlie shakes his head, his hand not ceasing their movement.

“It’s what I’m here for. But … is it alright if I share my opinion? You can say no.” You snuffle again, nodding at his request. Your fingers pinch at the fabric of his shirt, twisting the dry material laying at his collarbone into pinwheels before unraveling and starting again. “He never deserved you and never deserved Alfie. I never met the guy but I don’t have to to know he’s a piece of shit.” Peering up at him, you try to clear your nose again with another sniffle. His eyes find yours, his other hand hesitantly reaching out to cup your cheek. Your face feels so small in his palm, so fragile. He scans every inch of your countenance, trying to take in any detail he could. “I’m glad I haven’t met him. I could never imagine knowing I have Henry and not wanting to see him. The next time he bails, you call me whether Henry is around or not. We’ll all go out and do something. My treat. It doesn’t even have to be when he does. Just whenever you two want.” You thought there were no tears left until a few fresh ones roll down your cheeks. The pad of Charlie’s thumb collects them, wiping them away.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, ready to burst through and tear through your chest. Uncertain if it’s the exhaustion settling in or the wine beginning to hit, but you take a hold of his hand in your own. Charlie’s lips part, the impending dialogue never arriving. You slowly examine his hand, unraveling each one of his fingers until his hand lays completely flat. Without a second thought, you bring his hand to your face, pressing a kiss to the meaty part between his thumb and palm. His breath hitches in his chest, pupils dilating at the first feeling of your lips. They are as soft as he imagined, more swollen than usual from biting down on them.

“I don’t get it,” you utter against his skin. You give him one last kiss before releasing his hand.

“Get what?” he talks lowly, his palm burning with your lips on his skin being the only remedy.

“You’re just -- you’re amazing. If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.” Every inch of his body tenses; it’s like he’s being thrown into an ice-cold bath. You must be drunk, a lightweight, unsure of what you’re talking about. You’re tired, so tired, he surmises. There’s no way you would mean such a thing. He finds the fantasy in your eyes, you propped up on his lap just like this in the park, Alfie and Henry running around like usual. His dream self plants a gentle kiss against your cheek, his thumb tracing the smaller version of identical bands on your finger. He whispers sweet nothings for only you to hear. You respond with a nuzzle into the side of his face. The words are never heard, but he can read them from your lips. The tidal wave of reality that washes over him is chilling, jolting him into full sobriety. He clears his throat, pulling himself away as much as he can with you still propped on his lap.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he asserts, arms sliding themselves from you. You ache all over, but you nod, realizing this time has come to a close. Did you say something wrong? Did he really see how this cry took a toll on your body? You slide yourself off him slowly, steadying yourself as you stand. His hand finds the small of your back, helping you into your room. Thankfully you are already in your pajamas, changing into them when you decided it would be a movie night to make up for your ex’s flakiness. You sit on the edge of the bed, your arms finding their previous position around themselves.

“There’s a key under the mat. You can lock it from the outside,” you murmur, body feeling too heavy to move as you sink deeper into the mattress. He nods, stopping himself from crossing the threshold of your space.

“Goodnight,” his tone borders on bleak, shuffling out of your space and doing as he was told. His heart is racing as he stands at the door, unable to focus on anything but the grain of the wood.

If you were my husband, I’d never let you go.

He doesn’t send his good morning text the next day. No photos either. It’s odd. Ever since you had each other’s numbers, there has always been an exchange of messages. You start it this time, or you hope to. You’re the one who sends the messages, the photos. He never responds. You brush it off for the day, as much as you feel your heart nestling in the pit of your stomach all day. He’s a busy man. He has other priorities. He doesn’t text you the next day, nor the next. He’s gone radio silent. Every text goes unanswered. You resort to calling him. His phone rings and rings and rings. At least it’s on. But it goes to voicemail every time.

Charlie, I hope everything’s okay. Please let me know if you need anything.

Charlie, please let me know that you’re okay. A call, a text, anything. I just need to know you’re alright.

Did I do something wrong? Charlie, please talk to me. If I did anything, I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last heard from him. Time and time again you have thought about showing up on his doorstep and demanding an answer or traveling to UCLA to ask what happened in the middle of one of his classes. He’s been in your dreams, almost every one of them. You wake up with your chest hallow, limbs too heavy. It’s when Alfie asks why he doesn’t see Henry anymore that’s the final straw. He can hate you all he wants for something you didn’t know you did, but to deny his son a friend of his makes your blood boil. You reassure that they must be busy and you bet you’ll see him soon. When he leaves the room, you scroll for his number again. You pull up your messages, all of them the last few weeks only being flushed on the right.

I don’t care if you don’t want to see me right now, but it’s not fair for the boys to not see each other. Please talk to me so we can settle this for them. Meet me at the park tomorrow at 12. With that, you slide it into your pocket, hoping for once he reads this.

You sway on the swing, rocking on the balls of your feet as you search for any sign of him. Charlie’s not the one for being late, so you know if it was anywhere beyond 12:05, he wouldn’t come. You check your phone for the millionth time, glossing over the time and if you have any messages. 11:58 and none. You release a quivering sigh, your palms clammy as you grip onto the chains and swing yourself further, hoping the rocking movements will calm you. It hits noon before you know it. With another sigh, you go to push yourself off the swing when a broad frame crests over the small hill. You see a tuft of dark hair first, then wide shoulders in a too-pressed button-up shirt. Your breath hitches in your throat, grounding yourself to the swing. Charlie came. Your stomach flips as more of him comes into view. You find yourself in a natural state, your teeth quelling your trembling lip. Fuck, you’ve missed him. You have missed him so much. Even the sight of him is enough to send you into a spiral like this.

You want to rush off the seat and throw your arms around him. You want to rush off the seat and scream at him until your throat goes raw and you see red. You want to cry at him, you want to hold him and be held in return. You want to-

“Hi,” his baritone tears you from his thoughts. You blink him back into focus, tilting your neck up to take him in fully.

“Hi,” you try to retain your composure, your moist palm gesturing to the swing beside you. “You wanna sit?” His lips purse as he contemplates, giving you a nod before joining you. He’s too big for the swing, much like he’s too big for a lot of things. The bottom of the seat squeezes his hips and legs in, looking out of place.

“So,” he begins, palms laid flat on his lap. “You wanted to talk.” You hum an affirmative, hand returning to the chain and holding on tight.

“I do.” You can’t stop your leg from bouncing, as much as you try to dig your foot into the ground. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he lies, unable to meet your eyes. You shake your head. It’s not good enough.

“You’ve been busy before. I know when you’ve been busy. You always warn me if you’re going to be busy, Charlie.” You’re right, he knows you’re right. If he knows he can’t come to his phone that day, he warns you in his good morning text. You always tell him to have a good day regardless with a heart. Even then, he’s always made time for you. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Charlie pauses, drumming his fingers on his thighs. It’s so hard to explain without having to admit it. He doesn’t want to avoid you, not really. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He doesn’t wish to admit that Henry has asked for Alfie as well. He knows he’s being selfish, but was there ever another choice? Did he want to do go down the path of the other choice? The one of constant pain and longing?

“It’s complicated,” he tries to explain, truly. But the words won’t come.

“I’ve got all day. Alfie's going to a friend’s house after school. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” You’ve always been a spitfire. He loves that about you. One of the many things he loves about you. It’s why he had to go. “Did I… Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Charlie’s quick to counteract. “I just didn’t handle something well. I thought putting space between us would help.” Your brows furrow, wondering what would have been the factor in which Charlie wanted to leave.

“Why didn’t you tell me you just needed space? Why was that so difficult?” you ask. Charlie runs his hand through his hair, gently tugging at his roots to keep him in check.

“I would have never been able to do it. You would have asked what was wrong and I wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.” You shake your head, sighing in disbelief. Go through with what? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

“You have to understand, it’s fine if you hate me,”

“I don-”

“But it’s not fair to the boys to be kept from one another. Henry is Alfie’s best friend. He’s been devastated not seeing him recently.” He knows. So many hearts were hurting because of him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. You push yourself up from the swing, rounding out to face him.

“What did I do to make you avoid me, Charlie?” you inquire, arms folding over your chest. “I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I just …” he huffs, “I got scared.” Your head cocks to the side, approaching him slowly.

“Scared?”

“The last time we spent time together, you said this… thing . I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it scared the shit out of me.” You raise your brows in hopes to get an explanation from him. Now his knee bounces. “You told me that if I was your husband, you’d never let me go and I just--”

“Why did that scare you so much?” your stomach flips, inching closer to him.

“Because I had this thought, okay? We were there and we were -- fuck, we were married, and that scared me because the thought itself wasn’t so bad,” he finally lets loose. You stop dead in your tracks, unable to breathe. Charlie had thought of marrying you? You? You attempt to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You had not been the only one with the thought, then. If you could freely share the dreams you wake up from, growing lonelier each day as you wake in your bed alone.

“Why?” you manage to croak, fingers digging into your side. Charlie bends in on himself, exhaling all puffs of air left in them. He practically folds in on himself, fist pushing against his bottom lip.

“Loving someone is scary, okay? Things can be great. There’s love and happiness, and in a second, that could be ripped away. People get married, and then they get divorced. Everything that was once good gets broken and destroyed. There’s nothing but pain and loss and-” He’s silenced by the feeling of your hands on his shoulders. He shivers at the contact, missing your touch. Looking up at you, your hands run upwards to cup his cheeks. He could die right here, your skin on his. How he burns for you.

“Will you not let yourself love?” your eyes take in every inch of him, heart wracking against your chest. “Will you not let yourself be loved?” His lips part at that. Not only is it a question, but an admission. You … oh god , you-

“I don’t know,” he swallows, pupils blown wide and following your own. You don’t give him time to think. Pulling him towards you, you slant your lips against his. It is euphoria, the feeling of your lips together. His lips are soft, slightly chapped in the middle. He tastes of spearmint gum and hints of cigarettes. His lips move against yours like a man starved, large paws coming to rest upon your hips to pull you in further. This is bliss. This is months in the making. This is right. Terrifying, but right. You pull away with a heaving chest, both pairs of lips kiss swollen and glistening.

“Let me love you, Charlie. Allow yourself to be loved. I know it’s scary, I’m scared too. But you deserve love.” Half of him wants to run, the fear of inevitable heartbreak looming in his mind. The other half wants to kiss you and never stop. He wants this. He’s always wanted this. One half decides, hands running up your sides to mimic the placement of yours on his face. When he joins your lips again, he makes his choice.

Charlie practically inhales his falafel sandwich, parts of the balls clumping off and falling into his to-go tray. He’ll never stop eating like a man starved. You can’t help but laugh, grabbing a napkin at the pooling white sauce at the corner of his mouth.

“For someone so uptight about their appearance, you sure do eat like you have nothing to lose,” you tease before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Blegh! Gross” Alfie groans, palms pressing into his eyes to prevent from seeing anything else.

“Better keep your eyes closed, then, buddy,” Charlie reaches for you once he swallows, hooking his fingers underneath your chin to pull you in for a kiss. Henry is the next to groan, draping over his friend to bury his face in the back of his shirt. You laugh against his lips, chasing a few more pecks before pulling away.

“Okay, boys. The kissing is over. You can look now,” you chuckle, reaching for your boba tea. Your friend had recommended Berlin’s, neither of you expecting to see falafel and boba on the menu, yet you won’t complain. You’re still on cloud nine in his company, your free hand reaching over to take a hold of his.

“When you’re older and with someone you love, you’re going to want to kiss them too,” Charlie remarks. Alfie makes another exaggerated gagging sound, Henry’s head cocking to the side, lost for words. It didn’t take the boys a long time to accept either of you into their lives in this sense. If anything, they saw it as a plus knowing they would see each other more. Even with their farce at your affection, the transition had gone smoothly. Your fingers lace with him, shooting him a knowing smile before bringing the thicker straw between your lips. Charlie hones in on the tapioca pearls along their journey through the straw and into your mouth. He’d make your last words a lie if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

“When I love someone, I will never kiss them!” Alfie argues. You laugh as you swallow, leaning to the side to rest your head against Charlie’s shoulder. His lips find the top of your head, lingering to take in the scent of familiar shampoo. The last shower you took was at his place, insisting on using his shampoo. Warmth floods him and the tip of his nose nudges at your scalp.

“We’ll talk about it when the time comes,” you smile, squeezing Charlie’s hand. He squeezes back, a gentle reassurance of his presence, his awareness. During your time together, you’ve come to learn more things about him that you love. You love how he looks when he first wakes up, hair dark and disheveled, practically sticking out in all directions. You love how specific he is about his eggs for breakfast. You love how he takes his coffee and how he blows on it to cool it down before taking a sip. You love how he’s an incredibly safe driver, even when it drives you up the walls when he can go faster and chooses not to. You love his awful dad jokes. You love how attentive he is with Alfie. You love how he holds you when you have time to yourself. You love how his heart still races when you press your ear up against his chest after all of this time. You love how he loves.

You love him.

There are so many things he loves about you. He loves how you’re always there to wipe his tears away during movies. He loves how you support him in any way you can, showing up to his work with lunch when you can, showing up to his shows and residencies. He loves how much you love New York after he takes you there for a week to follow up with Exit Ghost. He loves how your hand feels in his, so much smaller than his own and so very soft. He loves how you feel in his arms when he holds you close. He loves the way you smell, the perfume he gifted you settling perfectly into your skin. He loves how you love.

He loves you.

His previous fear seems foolish looking back. Why would he deny himself something so pure and whole? Of course, the fears are still there. He knows losing you would crush him beyond compare. But he lives for the now, the now in which you love him wholeheartedly and he loves you in return. Fears be damned, he will live in the now.

“What do you say?” he murmurs into your hair, “should we give them one more thing to lose their minds over?” You shift your head to take him in, a soft smirk spreading across your lips.

“Lay it on me.” Who is he to deny you? His lips slot over yours, and all is right again. In the background, the boys groan again,

“Love is weird,” Alfie comments before popping a fry into his mouth. You laugh against his lips, pulling away to lean your forehead against his.

“And yet deserving,” you whisper, just for him to hear. For the moment, it is only the two of you, love surrounding each other like a bubble. Neither of you wants it to pop. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, sharp canines peeping out from his lips. The wrinkles on the edge of his eyes crinkle with his smile. Right there, you fall in love all over again.

“Can we go to the park after?” Henry chimes in before taking a fry from his own. Charlie sits back to his normal height, the loss of you causing a slight twinge in his chest. But there will always be more time.

“Sure, honey. But the swings are ours.” Henry doesn’t question as he chews on his fry. You squeeze his hand again at the thought.

“Only if you push me this time,” you smirk, bringing your joined hands up to your lips for more adoration.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber x f! reader #charlie barber/f!reader #charlie barber x femme reader #charlie barber/femme reader #charlie barber x female reader #charlie barber/female reader #charlie barber #marriage story #marriage story fanfiction #adcu fanfiction #adcu fic #adcu fic exchange #child oc

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roanniom · 2 years

Text

Public Relations

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 3,892

Summary: Post-divorce, Charlie is on the press tour for his first directing gig on a feature film. You're his studio-hired publicist sent to keep him from alienating reporters with his negative attitude. You clash when it comes to presentation - but who will win in this battle of wills?

Note: Just realized I never uploaded my ADCU Fall Fic Exchange fic to tumblr, so here it is <3

Warnings: NSFW, alcohol consumption, some post-divorce angst for Charlie, oral sex (f receiving), PIV sex

Charlie Barber is going through a rough patch. Which means your life, as his new publicist, has been made substantially harder. The studio loved Charlie’s directorial debut and were eager to give it a wide release, but Charlie’s attitude on the press tour…left much to be desired. At their prompting, Charlie’s manager strongarmed him into hiring you – someone known for molding difficult personalities into picture perfect artists ready for a photo-op and a nice, clean sound byte.

You’d tackled harder projects than a stage director making the leap to the big screen. Or so you told yourself each morning that you braced yourself before knocking on Charlie’s hotel room door. You’ve had to join him on the press tour, quickly learning that calling and texting to advise him on what to say to reporters wouldn’t work if he refused to acknowledge your communication in the first place.

When Charlie opens the door this morning he is halfway through tying his tie. He offers you a silent nod before you notice he’s got his cell phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear.

“I know, Henry, I know. Going to the doctor is no fun but you’ve got to do it, buddy.” Charlie turns and retreats back into the room, leaving the door open for you to enter. You follow him in, keeping a respectful distance between you to offer at least a symbolic semblance of privacy for his intimate parental phone call. Charlie listens to his son on the other side of the phone and sits down heavily on the edge of the unmade bed.

“You know why I can’t take you, Henry. I’m doing stuff for my movie, remember?” Charlie runs a stressed hand through his hair and your write yourself a mental note to have a hair and makeup person run a comb through it before he sits down with this morning’s news anchors to do his next interview.

Charlie continues yanking at his uncooperative tie as he listens to Henry’s next question.

“Where am I today?” Charlie’s eyes snap up to you, frantic. It’s been a long process, with night flights and late check ins and this isn’t the first time he’s been turned around.

Calmly you mouth “London” at him. Charlie squeezes his eyes shut in recognition.

“I’m in London. You know what London is famous for, Henry?”

Looking away to hide your smile you cock your head to the side, straining to hear Henry’s response. Charlie laughs deep in his chest at whatever his son says. It’s the first genuine laugh you’ve heard out of your client since joining his team. It warms your heart a little.

“Well yes, that’s true, but I was going to say fish and chips. Remember how we used to get that after piano lessons?”

You glance up in time to watch Charlie’s face fall as a result of whatever Henry says in return.

“What are you talking about? You love fish and chips.” A furrow forms in his brow as he hears Henry’s answer. “Oh ‘mom says’? You tell om that a french fry or two never killed anyone, okay?”

Somewhere in the distance a clock chimes, marking the turn of the hour. You cough gently and Charlie’s eyes fly to you, as if he had already forgotten you were standing there. He shifts the phone to his other ear and begins yanking more chaotically on his uncooperative tie.

“Alright listen buddy, I’ve gotta go. I love you very much, okay?”

You watch Charlie listen expectantly for specific reply, one that – by the look of disappointment that ripples across his face – never seems to come. As Charlie hangs up you make a show of rifling through your bag so as to appear less a voyeur to this raw moment. You hear the sound of fabric rustling before the room rings with an emphatic “FUCK.” Your head snaps up to find Charlie yanking his tie apart in frustration. His head hangs, waves of unruly hair obstructing a face that you can only imagine looks as defeated as his slouched body.

Quickly you approach, reaching out and taking the two ends of his open tie in your hands. Charlie jerks up at your sudden closeness but stills when he realizes what you’re doing. You are silent as you tie his tie, neatly. Camera ready.

When you are done you look up into his eyes. Pain pours back into you from them. Grief and frustration and exhaustion. You wish, not for the first time, that you could see those eyes unclouded by anguish.

But this is the first time you’re wishing this for a reason other than saving your PR firm the hassle of another botched interview.

~*~

Many hours later, of course, your mood has soured once again to the towering director with the scowl and the bad attitude. You’re in the back of a town car with him on your way back to the hotel. A heavy silence stifling the air for the better part of the last five minutes in the wake of your most recent argument.

Things had gone better, at first. Charlie was civil. Charming, even. With the first round of reporters. With you.

Mostly with you. He’d gotten you coffee from the craft services table backstage at the morning show. The two of you got lunch together at a cute café down the street from the theater where his film was going to have an afternoon preview. You caught yourself looking at him in a different light. Maybe it was the fact that he was smiling more. You realized he was a lot more handsome when he smiled. Or maybe it was the fact that several times when you went to gaze at him you found him gazing back with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite interpret.

But boy did you want to.

However things took a rapid turn for the worse when an unsuspecting moderator asked him questions about Nicole during a panel directly following the screening. He’d stormed off the stage in front of everyone, leaving you to run after him, apologizing profusely to the event organizer.

You’d argued for the whole first half of the ride, but had both taken to glower in opposite direction after a while.

Charlie is the first to speak again.

“I’m not doing another interview if they are going to bring up my family.” The sentence rings of ultimatum. It’s a refrain you know so well at this point that you could sing it by heart.

“Charlie. They are going to ask. The family drama at the core of your film is integral to the - ,”

“The film. The family drama of the FILM. It’s fiction for fucksake. Why should they give a damn about my private life?”

“We’ve discussed this,” you say calmly, trying to place a steadying hand on his forearm only for him to shrug you away. “Your marriage to Nicole was a public one, made all the more public by divorce proceedings that coincided with an upswing in both your careers.”

“Oh cut the shit.”

“Excuse me?” you ask, eyes widening incredulously. You feel your calm draining from your demeanor. Your arms cross over your chest to defend yourself from his aggression.

“Cut the publicist bullshit,” Charlie bites, turning away to look out the window. Rainy London streets pass you by.

“Well that’s a little difficult seeing as I am your fucking publicist, Charlie!” You watch his jaw set and continue. “A professional. You’re supposed to be a professional, too. So act like it.

Charlie’s head whips around so fast you shift back a bit in your seat. His nostrils flair and his mouth opens and closes a few times. As if he is trying to find the words that match his indignation. Before he can settle on the right ones, however, the town car slows to a stop in front of your hotel. Charlie is out the car and up the front steps before you can finish thanking the driver.

Damn his long legs and refusal to face his issues.

~*~

“Charlie Barber you open this god damn door this minute!”

The behemoth had not answered a single one of your calls or messages since the moment you’d arrived back at the hotel. Initially it was fine. He wanted to blow off some steam? Whatever.

But it was well past 10pm now and if you didn’t talk strategy for the next full day of press, you were certain another calamity loomed on the horizon.

Though a thinly veiled attempt at professionalism coated your boiling rage as you stand expectant at his hotel door, you’d done the decidedly unprofessional thing by pregaming this conversation curtesy of your room’s mini bar. A few vodka sodas to calm your nerves had left you more confident than ever in your righteousness and in the knowledge that Charlie Barber was pretentious bastard sent to ruin you. A handsome bastard, your slightly addled mind interjects, but a bastard nonetheless.

In the midst of your knocks and internal discourse, the door swings open, revealing a stony faced Charlie.

“You’re insufferable. Do you know that?” he says through gritted teeth.

You push your way past him and walk into the room.

“And you’re an ass.” You turn on your heel and place your hands on your hips. “Now if we’re done with the sweet talk, can we get back down to business?”

Charlie rubs a hand across his face and you take in his bleary glare. That’s when you notice the open bottle of scotch behind him next to a glass empty save for some melting ice. The bottle is full-sized, indicating he’d clearly left the premises at some point to purchase the real stuff rather than rummaging through the mini bar like you had. Fancy fuck.

“Oh great, so we’re drinking now? I’m sure that will help things,” you add. You drop to sit down on the edge of his bed gracelessly and Charlie narrows his eyes.

“Something gives me the impression that I’m not the only one to crack open the booze, Ms. Professional?” His voice drips with venom. You jump back up, immediately on the defensive.

“I’m not the one whose job it is to go out there and charm the public. I’m also not the one failing miserably at that job.”

Charlie stares back at you, eyes piercing and whole body rigid. Slowly he slides his hands into his pockets, standing a little taller. Looking down on you.

“You don’t have a family. Do you.”

It comes at you like a slap I the face. Which surely shows in your expression.

“Of course I have a fucking - ”

“No children, I mean. No lover.”

You feel yourself wince bodily and a smirk quirks the corner of his lips. He’s gotten under your skin. Target acquired.

“The lover one struck a chord, I see.” He winds his way around you. Circling you. “Makes sense. If you had one you probably wouldn’t be so…”

“So much of a bitch?” you bait him. You’re hoping he’ll give you a reason to snap. Something to justify dropping him as a client. Something to make you head for the hills – seek out an escape you so far had been unable to bring yourself to make. Not with the constant of his sad eyes burned into your memory.

But right now those eyes are dark as they stare into yours.

“I was going to say difficult.” He says it like a bad word. He leans against the back of a chair, hands still infuriatingly relaxed in his pockets. “Frustrated.”

The innuendo in that second word makes you bristle.

“Oh I’m sorry. Is the divorced dad trying to make me feel bad about being alone?”

“I’m just saying -”

“Oh I’m hearing what you’re saying.” You step forward aggressively into his space. Charlie, however, doesn’t even flinch. “You’re saying I’m sexually frustrated and that’s why I’m giving you a hard time. Because it certainly can’t have anything to do with the fact that you’re refusing to follow my professional guidance.”

“I think you just like thinking you can order me around. Tell me what to do,” Charlie counters. His hands are still in his pockets, but you realize, with a bit of a start, that in moving close to him you’ve stood yourself right between his spread thighs as he leans against the chair. “I hate to tell you, sweetheart. But that won’t work.”

“Your ego knows no fucking bounds,” you reply, rolling your eyes. In spite of yourself you feel a heat rising within you at the sudden awareness of your close proximity. The warmth of his body somehow permeates your clothes, though you aren’t touching. The vodka in your bloodstream and his breath on your face conspire to send your pulse racing. But still you attempt to continue your verbal attack. “I bet you’re scared to be ordered around because deep down you want to be told what to do.”

Suddenly a massive hand grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. Your free hand braces your fall against Charlie’s chest and you cry out at the impact.

“Charlie!”

He’s staring down at you with the most intense look you’ve ever seen on him. It shoots a thrill straight down your spine.

“Go ahead.” His jaw is set and you see his chin quiver just slightly. Your mind almost goes blank. You’ve never seen him this close. You can see the exhaustion etched into the bags under his eyes, the lines bisecting his face. But you can also see the nuanced color of his irises. Feel the way he holds you – firm but not painfully so. His other hand has curled around the curve of your waist, keeping you there against his body.

“W-what?”

“Go ahead and try to tell me what to do.” His voice is gruff. Edged with simmering emotion. Your eyes flit to the furrow of his brow before dropping resoundingly to his lips. They are pouting – much like they often are – but have they always been this plush? This full? This tantalizing. They part as Charlie intakes a breath under your scrutiny. Your eyes flit up to his where you see the emotion within them has shifted into something…else.

You only give yourself a second to think your next words. Professionalism be damned.

“Kiss me, Charlie Barber.”

You half expect him not to do it. To scoff and push you off him. To reveal that this moment – this tension that has been building for longer than you care to admit – has been entirely in your head. But after a beat goes by he’s lurching forward and arresting your lips in a solid kiss.

What happens next is a whirl of motion and sound and sensation. Hands grasp and grope and grab, but you aren’t really sure who initiates or who escalates. All you know is that suddenly you have to get your hands on every inch of this massive, insufferable, tantalizing man possible. His dinner plate mitts squeeze and knead your every curve as well, sending zings of electricity rushing down your body.

Before you know it he’s wrestled you over to the bed, pushing you down onto the mattress.

“Tell me what to do,” Charlie mumbles into the side of your neck as he sucks and bites without mercy. It registers somewhere in your brain that he’s going to leave marks that will be utterly humiliating and difficult to hide. But another more practical and horny side of your brain reminds you that you packed plenty of turtlenecks and the weather is cold so shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

You haven’t responded to his request so Charlie pulls his mouth away and squeezes your hip.

“Tell me what to do, for fuck’s sake.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me,” you gasp out, pulling him back down to you by the hair at the back of his neck. Your mouths collide again and it is sloppy and desperate.

“Tell me,” he breathes out again when you resurface for air. Your mind races as you try to comprehend what he’s continuing to ask for.

“Touch me,” you respond. It’s somewhere between a hesitant request and a statement but Charlie’s hands are swiftly divesting you of your clothing. His hands play with your breasts, sweep over the planes of your stomach, round your hips and cup your ass.

“Now take off your clothes,” you say, giving this next command unprompted. Charlie grunts in affirmation and begins ripping off his suit, throwing his jacket across the room in the process. As he gets busy on his shirt and pants, you loosen and remove the tie you had helped secure just a few hours – and a lifetime, it seems – ago.

You know where this is headed of course. You wouldn’t have told him to strip if you had no intention of following through. But you’re still surprised to feel the press of his erection against your thigh through the fabric of his briefs. Emboldened by the way things have been going, you drop your hand beneath the waistband of his underwear without a second though, wrapping your fingers around his swollen girth.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You move to sit up, pulling his underwear down as you do so to reveal his thickening cock, red and leaking precum at the tip.

“Do you want it?” Charlie asks then, looking up from your hand around his cock to find your gaze locked on it. There’s a creeping smugness in his expression and you swipe your thumb across his tip suddenly, causing him to keen.

“Seems like you’re the one who wants something here, Charlie,” you taunt him, watching the way frustration ripples across his face. It reminds you that you’d been fighting in the moments leading up to all of this. It makes you a little petty. A little mean. “Who’s frustrated now? Hmm? Need a lover?”

Before you’ve even finished the word “lover” Charlie’s got you slammed back on your back and your legs wrenched into the air. He yanks them down over his shoulders and rips your panties to the side. His tongue is on your wet cunt in a second and you slam your head back down against the mattress.

“Oh my – god…” you trail off in a whimper as his tongue licks a fat stripe from your hole up to your clit, swirling around the little bud. While he lavishes your clit with attention, a finger comes up to massage the growing wetness at your entrance before plunging in, soon adding a second to stretch stretch stretch you.

Soon you’re beside yourself with the mounting pleasure of it all. Not only does it feel amazing, but the sounds Charlie makes between your legs makes the tension mount even faster. He’s panting and grunting with pleasure of his own, giving you a thrill like no other.

“I’m…I’m….I’m going to cum, Charlie. I’m gonna…ohhh.” Just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Charlie pulls back, hands grounding you against the mattress by the hinges of your hips. His fingers massage your skin soothingly but his grin is shiny and cocky.

“You wanted something?”

“Charlie Barber, you fucking bastard,” you whine, wriggling your hips fruitlessly in his grasp as the precipice of your halted orgasm fades.

“Oh I’m sorry. Did you need something?” He feigns confusion and you throw your head back in anger.

“Fuck me, Charlie!” Your tone is exasperated, but Charlie moves back up your body, wiping your juices on the back of his hand before dropping down to kiss the taste of your cunt onto your own lips.

The pace is slower now. The kiss deeper.

Charlie pulls away when you gasp at the sensation of the head of his cock notching in your entrance. He watches your face as he pushes in, mouth hovering right over yours to breath in your growing pants.

He’s large. Much too large. You’re full immediately and there is still so much to go.

“Fffuuuhh – I can’t…you’re. You’re so big.”

“You can take it, sweetheart.” He says it condescendingly. Tauntingly. The humiliation of the moment sinks in just as he sinks into your pussy. Your client is inside you. Your client who has spent the last week infuriating you. The client who has made life hell. His cock stretches you open as a fresh gush of wetness pools at how inappropriate this is. How dirty. You whine out and Charlie shushes you soothingly.

“I know. I know. Tell me about it.”

After he bottoms out inside you Charlie wastes no time setting a pace. You’d always wondered, deep down in the dark part of your brain, what kind of a lay a man like Charlie was. A brooding divorcee. Would he be eager to cum? Touch-starved and desperate? Would he be demanding and cocky, set loose on the world after escaping a loveless marriage?

Somehow he’s a mix of all of your assumptions combined, plus a few things that seem to be very distinctly Charlie. He grunts and moans more than you thought he would. His hair tumbles in his face with the force of his exertion. The skin of his neck and chest blooms with red splotches of blush. You’re mesmerized by the sight and feel of him, so much so that you don’t realize that you are gaping up at him, staring with your lips parted.

“Always telling me what to do and now that I’m inside you – what? You’ve got nothing to say?”

You narrow your eyes and squeeze down around him, making him cry out.

This seems to go on forever. A battle for control, a stalemate as you each continue to try one upping the other. Until you’re a tangle of raw nerves and panting and quivering.

You cum first, spurred on by a sudden and enthusiastic effort by Charlie whose thumb finds your clit with the perfect pressure and rhythm. You scream his name and he hums gutturally, clearly pleased.

You can tell Charlie is going to cum when he begins to babble.

“So fucking tight. So perfect. Knew you fucking would be.” His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and you watch as his jaw drops, his breathing gets harder. “I’m gonna – fuck.”

He pulls out, fist hastily working to help him across the finish line. You sit up then, forcing him to shift back onto his knees. Leaning forward, you push your breasts together. Even now the perfectly curated example of picture-perfect presentation. Charlie fucks his fist and stares at your tits hungrily, jaw hanging open.

You use this opportunity to get in one more command.

“Cum for me, Charlie.”

And he does.

Painting your breasts in his white hot spend. Letting out a shuddering groan as he finds his release.

Charlie stares at you as he catches his breath, eyes coming into focus, brain slowly unscrambling. You stare back at him, allowing the cold tendrils of reality to begin the slow creep back into your consciousness.

You don’t know where you’ll go from here. But as Charlie reaches for a towel so you can clean up, you let the smile you’d been holding back spread across your face.

No matter what happens.

You got the last word.

~*~

Most of my lovlies already read this on AO3 but here is a tiny taglist: @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @jynzandtonic @maybe-your-left @millenialcatlady

#charlie barber x you #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber/you #charlie barber/reader #Charlie barber smut #adcu fic exchange

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weareallstoriesintheend · 2 years

Text

Barista With Benefits (Charlie Barber x Reader)

Summary: You take Charlie and Henry on a little afternoon trip to the coffee shop where you work, your first real outing with Charlie as a couple.

Not only do you have to battle your blush when it comes to the prying eyes of your nosey work friends but an unexpected guest throws a spanner in the works of your sweet, quiet afternoon.

Notes: Fic written for @glassbxttless as part of @adcuficexchange

Warnings: Fluff, Emotional hurt/comfort, Mentions of divorce

The familiar ding of the bell hanging above the entrance greeted you as you pushed open the glossy green door. The warm afternoon environment of the cafe welcomed you inside, the room was quietly bustling with leftovers of sleepy businessmen, tired parents and a few couples enjoying some late lunchtime snacks.

The day was beautifully sunny and the light streamed in through the big windows on each wall, some of them were topped with stained glass which painted pretty colourful patterns on a few of the tables. Last week you and the new girl who was currently being trained as a barista had decorated the place for autumn. Garlands of orange leaves hung from the walls and there were small pumpkin decorations on every available surface and tucked into every corner.

You looked over to the counter behind where you usually stood serving customers yourself; however today you saw Jimmy and Sarah hard at work. Jimmy wandered off into the kitchen without noticing you, in a world of his own as usual, but Sarah waved you over curiously when she saw you.

“Coming in on your day off?” She asked, eyebrows furrowed in amusement. Then the door opened behind you and her eyes widened at who followed you in. You smiled sheepishly, knowing who she was looking at before you could even remark something witty to cover you. You nervously tugged at the wooden scarf that was tied neatly around your neck.

“And bringing your favourite customer with you I see” she whispered in your ear, throwing you a wink as Charlie walked behind you and placed a tentative hand on your hip. Henry skipped to your side also, his hand still tucked into his dads. Sarah flicked her long grey hair from her shoulders, giving you a knowing look.

She was the only other barista you worked with who you had divulged your little crush too. Charlie had been coming in basically every day for a year now and you’d learned his coffee order like the back of your hand by his… third visit perhaps.

Sarah often teased you about how you go all doe-eyed when he wished you a pleasant day on his way out to work. She’d prod your side and remark something utterly and inappropriately smutty for which you’d have to frantically shush her before serving the next customer.

But you couldn’t help but agree with every remark she’d made; his soft kind eyes, wide smile and broad shoulders drew you to him the second he’d walked in. He would come in on his days off, when he was dressed down in T-shirt’s instead of smart button ups, and you’d gaze slyly at the bulge of his bicep or the way his jeans hugged perfectly sculpted thighs as you set out making the best cup of coffee you could make. You’d know when you got it right as he’d take the first sip in your presence and make this deep, satisfied humming sound from low within his chest, a sound that made your skin prick with goosebumps. Charlie Barber was a dream; a vastly successful, witty, intelligent, beautiful dream. One completely out of the realms of your reality, or so you’d thought.

Charlie had shyly asked you on a date a few months back when he’d stopped by for his usual morning coffee and you’d been quietly seeing each other for a while, a secret you conveniently kept to yourself up until now. Thankfully Sarah had been out for three of those weeks on a big fancy, once in a lifetime cruise with her husband and then followed by a bout of stomach flu and some sneaky shift swaps you managed to keep your secret and avoid her smirking face. Now you shot her a glare of ‘say nothing!’ and she grinned cheekily.

“Morning Sarah” Charlie politely greeted her and she nodded back.

“Good morning Charlie, lovely to see you again”

Her eyes diverted to you and she gave you a look you instantly recognised, the smutty thoughts filtering through to you telepathically. Thankfully Charlie didn’t seem to notice your silent interaction. You were sure he’d also have something inappropriate to say about it.

“Hot chocolate and cake for these two and…. the usual black coffee for me please”

You watched in amusement as Henry tried to haul himself up to see the cake selection but with little success as his arms struggled to pull him up. You bunched your hands under his armpits and hoisted him to see the cakes on the high counter top. Henry enthusiastically pointed to the large cake overflowing with chocolate, “Two of those please Sarah” you requested.

You dropped Henry gently back to his feet and he scurried to the end of the counter to await the arrival of your order.

“So strong” Charlie whispered in your ear from behind, you could hear the teasing smile on his lips and he rubbed his palms up and down your arms. You turned and slapped him jokingly on the chest, “Behave!”

“Dad look!” Henry shouted, gesturing to the plates of cake being delivered in front of him.

“Inside voice please Henry” Charlie sighed, Dad voice back in full effect and he smiled apologetically to the elderly couple sat beside where you were leaning against the counter. He strode over to where Henry was basically bouncing on his heels to pick up the tray.

Watching them both go and pick a comfy booth to sit in you intended to follow until the older lady beside you tapped you on the arm softly, “Your son is very sweet”

You smiled and opened your mouth to correct her but couldn't think of the right thing to say, what was the appropriate response? ‘He’s not mine…I’m just his dads girlfriend’

To avoid the awkward newness of this conversation you just quietly thanked her. You still weren’t used to this.

“Your man is quite something too” she smirked, lowering her voice. Heat crept up your face and you nodded.

“Dorothy!” Her husband chastised her with a wink.

“I’m old not dead dear” she giggled, you chuckled to yourself and gestured a goodbye before going over to join Charlie and Henry at the table.

—————

“Something you need to tell me?” Charlie smiled.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head taking the last forkful of your cake.

“Well Sarah hasn’t stopped staring and smiling to herself since we sat down,” he chuckled. You ducked your head to hide the creeping blush and silently cursed her.

“I thought you said you hadn’t mentioned me to her?”

“I haven’t” you replied innocently, “Not recently”

Charlie laughed and sipped at his coffee, holding your eye contact making you squirm a little in your seat. He opened his mouth to speak but at that moment Henry piped up asking to go to the bathroom.

“It’s over there buddy” you pointed to a red door at the back, moving out so Henry could jump down. Henry hopped off of the seat and trotted off towards the bathroom.

Charlie took the opportunity of alone time to lean across the table, arms resting close to yours before whispering, “Dare I ask what filthy nonsense you two gossiped about when I wasn't around?”

You giggle and run your finger up his exposed forearm, “Probably best you don’t”

“Give me one hint”

You leaned close to his face and gently kissed his smirking lips. As you whispered to him you reached up as if to smooth out the collar of his shirt before stroking your hand down the vast expanse of his chest, “Let’s just say those shoulders of yours caused quite the stir”

His eyebrows raised and he laughed heartily, “Oh I see!”

Charlie grabbed your hand from his chest and brought your palm to his lips, placing a plush kiss to the centre before you nodded behind him at an approaching Henry. You slid back out the booth to let him in.

Henry rejoined you both with a thud into his seat, “Please don’t kiss in public, it’s gross”

You both smiled at each other and laughed at his scrunched up face, “You’ll understand when your older kiddo” Charlie winked at you before returning his attention to the last of his coffee. Henry screwed his face up all disgusted before returning the colouring he’d started.

Suddenly you watched as Charlie’s face changed, his gaze was directed over your shoulder and you saw his smile falter and his eyes widen just a touch. You turned to look, following his line of sight, and you instantly saw why. Nicole was standing by the door, it seemed she hadn’t noticed him yet but as you turned back to say something reassuring a woman’s voice behind you said “Charlie?”

“Mom!” Henry bounded out his seat next to you, clambering over your lap when you failed to move fast enough, and practically leapt into his mom's arms. His colouring pens scattered across the table. You kept your face turned away, almost hiding yourself in the corner of your booth, and busied yourself gathering the pens back up.

“Hey sweetie” her voice was sweet, a little gravelly but light at the same time. Her face was angular and pretty, blonde hair cropped short around her ears. A spiteful little voice in the back of your mind recalled a conversation in which Charlie had said he preferred longer hair.

“Hello Charlie” her voice was more stern now and you looked up at just the wrong time as you saw her eyes divert from looking at him to stealing a glance at you.

“Nicole” Charlie replied curtly, “I thought you were in…”

“Flew back early” her eyes darted to you again and you wanted the ground to swallow you up.

“This is…”

Before Charlie could finish his sentence with your name Nicole interrupted again, she seemed to have a habit of doing that, “I know…David told me about her”

David was a mutual friend of theirs from when they were married. You’d met him once, he seemed nice.

“Well how nice of David” Charlie said, voice tinged with anger. Something about that tone was new, only reserved for the utter contempt still held in the back of his mind for this woman. Despite them making amends after the divorce was final, you could still sometimes see the anguish he held when he talked about her or when her name flashed up on his phone.

“Can I have a word?” She asked, gesturing to the quiet corner of the cafe behind her. Charlie nodded and slid his long legs out of his side of the booth. Nicole ruffled Henry’s hair and he smiled up at her before he climbed across your lap again returning to his colouring.

Charlie looked down at you sympathetically and asked quietly, “Are you ok to watch him for a sec?”

“More than” you replied just as quietly.

——————-

“You didn’t think to at least speak to me before introducing our son to your girlfriend?” She spat the word girlfriend like it pained her to say it.

Your chest tightened, he hadn’t even mentioned you. Suddenly the crushing weight of the intrusion you’d made into their lives bore down on you and you shrank in your seat trying to turn your attention away from them before you heard anymore. Blinking back tears you tried to focus on the colouring the Henry was trying to show you, “Looks great kid, I like how you’ve used two different blues for the ocean”

You coughed to clear the strain in your throat and Henry looked at you, “Are you ok?” He asked sweetly.

You nodded without saying anything, forcing a smile on your face. Then to your surprise you watched as he looked from your face to where his parents were huddled in the corner gesturing wildly to each other. You felt Henry place his small, gentle hand over yours that was drumming fingers against the table.

“It's ok.” he began before lowering his voice to a whisper, “I get upset when they fight too.”

Smart boy.

You shrugged and smiled again, “Thanks kid” and you adjusted the twisted shoulder of his jumper before passing him the red pen he was grasping for just out of his reach.

Bile rose in your throat as dread filled you once more, all you could hear was agitated whispers but no words. Were they doing this for your benefit or for Henry’s?

Either way it didn’t matter, you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat. Anxious at the situation you were in.

You knew when you found out about his divorce and his son that being with Charlie would be complicated at times but this moment felt unbearable. Gathering your jacket you tugged it around you, at that moment Charlie turned from Nicole with his face twisted and burning red to see your movement as you stood. Practically diving towards you his large hands enveloped your shoulders, “Hey hey hey where are you going?”

You scowled, pointedly looking at a distracted Henry, “I’m leaving before I make this any more difficult”

“Absolutely not, stay!”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

Charlie hesitated, clear guilt swarmed his expression, “My relationship with you is none of my ex-wife’s business”

You scoffed and he continued with hands raised slightly in surrender, “But…I should have told her you had met Henry. That’s my fault, I just got nervous she would get to him before you did. That she would say something that would make your relationship with my son harder than it needed to be”

“I thought you were on better terms? She has a boyfriend right?”

Charlie nodded “Yes but I guess I’m still…wary.”

His response doused you in sympathy, every story of how Charlie and Nicole had fought to one up each other in the ‘fucking each other over’ stakes came back to you. He was wary in case she lashed out, in case she managed somehow to take away his new life like how she took away his old one. The divorce was her decision and although you knew Charlie was not faultless you had always known how much it hurt him.

You both watched as Nicole took her coffee and sat down at a small table in the corner and fished a book from her bag.

“Henry pack up, we’re heading to the park. Go say bye to mom” Charlie called over his shoulder, he looked back at you with his eyebrows raised in soft expectation, “You wanna come?”

Your quiet resistance made his face fall, “Please baby? Let’s go for a walk, Henry can bounce ahead like he always does and you can tell me what’s swimming round in that beautiful mind of yours? I want to talk about this”

Sighing you felt a tug on your jacket sleeve, “You’re coming right?” Henry asked, his wide eyes glistening up at you. You didn’t say anything and Henry’s small face furrowed, “Please? I wanna show you the ducks”

Charlie moved behind you, helped you to get your jacket on the rest of the way round your shoulders. He played nervously with the collar, pretending to smooth it out. You didn’t dare look to see if Nicole was watching you. But feeling Charlie’s reassuring touch and Henry's want for you to be around them, made a wave of something rush through your limbs… belonging?

This felt right, being with them felt right despite the uncomfortable situation sitting in the corner flicking through the pages of her book. You smiled and nodded, “Sounds fun”

Against your back you felt Charlie’s body relax and he whispered, “Thank you.”

“We’ll talk,” you whispered back.

Charlie laced his fingers through yours and from the opposite side a smaller hand slid into your waiting palm. Your heart ached, this was hard - potentially too hard - but something about them felt worth it. You gathered your thoughts and stilled your anxiety, you’d work it out. Everything would be fine, you trusted Charlie and he was right. All you needed to do was talk.

Leaning up you placed a small, sweet kiss to Charlie's pouted lips which earned a hilariously obnoxious “yuck!” from Henry. You looked on either side of you, “Let’s go boys.”

Your boys.

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #adam sackler #adcu #adcu fic exchange

86 notes · View notes

paterson-blue · 3 years

Text

Summary: Sackler's working on his impulse control. No, really--he is, he swears. It's just a lot harder when it comes to you.

Word Count: 8,432

Warnings: fem!AFAB!reader, angst with a happy ending, fluff, sexual tension, friends to lovers (but moves into established relationship), domestic shit, the regularly scheduled Sackler chaos, Sackler is soft, an anxious boy; a nervous boy, excessive gatorade drinking (it's his brand), classic Sackler banter, hair braiding, teasing, handjobs, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), slight nose action, unprotected PIV sex (no chance of pregnancy), cock warming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint) — let me know if I need to add anything else!

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

You’d entered his life slowly, inch by inch, sneaking into his consciousness until suddenly you were all he thought about. When he’d decided to wave at you across the aisle of the bodega all those months ago he’d had no idea of what the future would hold. All he knew was that he’d been seeing you there every day like clockwork; same time, same aisle.

He always grabbed a red Gatorade and you always grabbed some sort of sugary drink of your own. Occasionally the two of you seemed to move in sync, opening the fridge, reaching up, grabbing your item, and slamming the door all in one motion together. Adam thought it was kinda funny, two strangers' lives lining up in such a way, being part of each other’s daily routine. So one day he waves, a goofy grin on his face as he points to his signature bottle of red goodness.

You blink at him in surprise before almost shyly smiling back, your eyes bright, and oh—Adam’s stomach does a dangerous little flip-flop.

He waves at you for two weeks straight until it’s not enough anymore. He comes into the bodega one day determined to talk to you but with no concrete plan of how to do it. He’s a little early in his excitement, and he finds himself having to aimlessly browse the little store like a fuckin’ idiot before the familiar bell dings and he sees you come through the door. He half-trips over to the drink aisle, trying not to come across like he’s following you around, even though he definitely is.

You’re studying the various beverages in the fridge, mouth scrunched up as you consider them. He only allows himself a moment to admire you, not wanting you to catch him staring. He steps closer, boots thudding on the floor, making you look up at him. Now’s your chance, Sackler, a voice echoes in his head.

“What’s today’s flavor?” he hears himself say, and he feels relief wash over him when you give him that pretty smile.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” You sigh, settling your hands on your hips. “Maybe just water.”

“What?! Bullshit! You never get water!” Oh, so he’s just gonna double down on being a creep, huh? Saying he knows exactly what you get every day? Adam wants to smack the palm of his hand against his forehead.

But then you’re letting out a laugh, shaking your head at him. “Well maybe sometimes I like to change things up. We can’t all stick to red gatorade every damn day.”

Your comeback makes Adam feel half-giddy, both from the easy banter and from the acknowledgement that you’ve been paying just as much attention to him as he has to you.

“Well, I’ll have you know that red flavored Gatorade has special health benefits that others just don’t.” He states, leaning against the cool glass of the fridge. You’ve gone back to browsing, but you keep shooting him amused little looks; his ego crows at your attention.

“Is that so?” you ask, humoring him as you indeed select a bottle of water from the bottom shelf.

He’s nodding when you straighten back up, and points accusingly at the bottle of water. “Can’t believe you’re going for the boring shit.”

“Well,” you shrug, holding the bottle to your chest, “I’m feeling pretty boring today. But I dunno, tomorrow might be different. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

She doesn’t mean anything, Adam tries to tell himself. The two of you had been there together every day for the past two months. It’s not abnormal for you to assume he’ll show up again the next day. But still, your words, the between-the-lines invitation for him to see you again, makes his heart leap.

“I guess I will,” he responds firmly before grabbing his regular gatorade from the shelf. This time the two of you walk up to the register together, and before Adam can stop himself he’s digging into his jeans pocket, tugging out a couple crumpled bills. “Hey kid, lemme pay for that.”

You hesitate, but nod, chirping out a “thank you” in that sweet voice of yours. Adam slaps down the money, throwing in a pack of sunflower seeds along with the drinks. If it’s just to make the transaction last two seconds longer—to make him standing there with you two seconds longer—then he’ll keep it to himself. Soon, you’ve got your water and you're waving a goodbye as you step out of the store and onto the busy sidewalk.

Adam follows at a distance; watches you walk away, your purse slung over your shoulder, water already open and pressed to your lips. He watches until you disappear into the crowd, and then he’s sighing, looking down at his feet. It’s not until he’s trudging back home that he realizes he never even got your fuckin’ name.

_______________________________________

It’s another day before he gets your name. A week before the two of you leave together, leaning against the wall outside and sipping your respective drinks; two before he’s asking for your number. For some reason, you actually give it to him.

He’s nervous to text you first, which is unlike him. Sure, in the past he would get a little anxious, not wanting to make a complete fool out of himself, but he still went through with it. But it takes him an entire day to shoot you a message, asking if you wanted to go sit in the nearby park after the bodega stop. Your answer is an immediate yes, and suddenly Adam is eying the hole in the collar of his green t-shirt, wondering if he should change.

It’s not a date. The bodega isn’t a date, the park isn’t a date—the walks and lunches, coffee shops and movie nights in the weeks following aren’t dates either. So what if he cleaned the absolute shit out of his apartment before you came over for dinner? So what if he wore his nice jeans and black dress shirt, sleeves all rolled up to show off his forearms? So fuckin’ what?

It’s not a date.

It’s not a date until, a month into all your not-date’s, you’re standing at the sink with him as the two of you tag-team-clean the dishes. He’s washing, you’re drying, and there’s an easy rhythm flowing until a soapy plate slips from your grasp as he hands it to you. The dish smacks into the water-filled sink, creating a splash that soaks the both of you. You inhale a loud gasp, laughter already in your voice.

He seems to get the brunt of it, the front of his green plaid shirt darkening as warm, sudsy water bathes the fabric. His shoulders hunch up in surprise, and you’re giggling, covering your mouth with your hand. “Shit, I’m so sorry, that was an accident I swear.”

“Oh I call bullshit,” he growls, a grin spreading over his face. He yanks his arms up high, wriggling his fingers over your head so that water and suds drip onto you. “Pay back!” He crows, stalking towards you. You can easily duck under his arm to sideswipe him, to escape his grasp, but you don’t.

Instead, you swat at him with the dish towel in your hands, laughing as you shuffle backwards. “You better fuckin’ not, Sackler! I’ll scream!” You make idle threats at him but he doesn’t listen. He steps forward, forward, forward, hands dripping water all over your hair and shoulders as you shriek.

“I’mmmmm gonna getcha!” he sing-songs, jumping towards you, the wood floor creaking under his big feet. He’s got you cornered now, your back against the wall—ha! His arms swoop down in an attempt to engulf you, aiming to press his wet hands and shirtfront against you, but your hands fly out to grasp his wrists to halt him.

“I just bought this shirt!”

“It’s soapy water, it’s just gonna get more clean!”

“Adam!” You laugh, your voice betraying a tone of fond exasperation. And oh, you’re all smiley and breathless, eyes shining up at him—you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, lighting up his kitchen and his heart and his whole fuckin’ life with the brightest, warmest sunshine he’s ever felt. He stares at you, admiring you freely, not able to help it. You don’t seem to mind; you’re looking straight back at him, thumbs rubbing little circles on his wrists where water was trickling down to his forearms.

Adam’s never really been one for impulse control. That shit’s just never appealed to him. What was the point? If you’re gonna do something, just fuckin’ do it—get it out there in the open and see what happens. Yeah, sometimes things don’t go well, or—okay, they go really fuckin’ bad—but sometimes things turn out for the better! And the sweet feeling of elation whenever his bet, whenever trusting his gut, pays off? It was worth the risk.

So he lunges down, capturing your face in his wet palms as he presses his lips to yours. And shit, by some strange miraculous twist of fate you’re actually kissing him back. It makes him press forward, shoulders scrunched up and back curved towards you, angling himself for you to take. He thinks he could die happy, finally having your mouth against his, finally holding you the way he’s needed since the first fuckin’ day he saw you.

You sigh into his mouth and he gobbles it up greedily, sucking at your bottom lip, full on moaning when your tongue swipes against his cupid’s bow. When you insist on pulling away to get some air he stays close to share your breath, brushing his nose against yours. You hum out a pleased little noise and he wants to melt into the floor. He thinks about doing it—about sinking to his knees and pressing his face into your stomach, holding you tight, tight, tight.

He thinks he might have, if you hadn’t reached up to card your fingers through his hair, fingertips massaging deliciously at his scalp. He presses a needy little kiss to the corner of your mouth; your lips quirk upwards at his touch. When you break the silence it’s in a hushed tone, your hands sliding over his biceps. “That was nice.”

Adam grins, rubbing the tip of his nose over your cheekbone just because he can. “I can do better,” he promises cheekily, “Just gotta let me show you.”

You laugh, saying oh really? in a way that has him preening.

“Hell yeah. I’m a very well rounded individual.” He finally straightens back up, watching you with hopeful eyes, painfully shoving back the urge to ask you if you wanted to kiss him again.

“… I’ve got work tomorrow,” you finally say, and Adam nods, because he knows you do. You took your shit seriously. But oh, you’re reaching for his hand, and the relief he feels when you touch him is immediate. “But I'm free tomorrow night,” you tell him, your own eyes bright, waiting for him to take your offering—and there’s no way in hell he’s going to pass it up.

“Well good, because we’re having dinner. That back alley Thai place. And then I’ll take you out to that gross ice cream shop down the street you like so fuckin’ much.”

You nod, bouncing on your toes a little, and it’s so goddamn cute that Adam almost dips down to kiss you again. The most he lets himself do is rub the back of your hand with his thumb, watching you intently. “And I’m fuckin’ paying, don’t even think about bringing any money.”

You offer him a grin. “Alright. It’s a date.”

Adam nods, so fast he thinks he probably looks unhinged, but hey—that’s nothing new. “You bet your ass it’s a date, kid.”

An actual date. With you. It only took three months.

_______________________________________

So yeah. Impulse control.

Never been Adam’s thing.

It’s not that he doesn’t think about his actions. Okay, well, sure, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he just goes with his gut and throws caution to the wind, like when he’d kissed you. He’d just known it was what he should do, and so he did it. He likes to think most of his impulsive decisions are perfectly logical and sound, even the ones that don’t work out. It’s not his fault if other people don’t always agree with what he does. This is how he’s lived his life all these years, and it’s worked out more often than not. Why change something that isn’t broken, or whatever the saying is.

Except. He meets you. And fuck, suddenly he’s overthinking every little urge, every little snap judgement—tight-rope walking the thread of fate. He’s on edge for the best of reasons; you’re the most wonderful thing he thinks has ever fuckin’ happened to him and there’s no goddamn way he’s going to jeopardize what the two of you have. He has to do this right, has to do things properly. He’s going to date the absolute shit outta you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

He likes it, really—hopping each little stepping stone that leads to more of you. Taking things slower than he has in ages, maybe ever. He knows, in the back of his mind, that if he flew into you at his usual gale force chaos, you’d accept him all the same. Because you’re good. You’re soft and sweet, and have turned his life into something golden and warm.

But you deserve more than his chaos. You were so gentle and vulnerable with him, and Adam—he wants to be the same way with you. For you. So he grapples with his impulses, shoving them down when they rear their ugly heads. He’s not gonna fuck this up, no matter how much his brain tries. And oh, does it try.

_______________________________________

For example, he almost tells you he loves you not two weeks into the course of dating you.

It’s not his fault, honest—or that’s what he tells himself. His feelings just like to…. overwhelm him. Endlessly.

See, he’d had a show—a play; one he’d been working on since before he’d waved at you in the bodega those months ago. You knew about it, sure. He’d talked about it (ranted about it) plenty of times. You always listened even if you had no clue what he was going on about, always gave him whatever he needed—whether that was being alone, or extra rehearsal time, or allowing him to flop into your couch and scream into the pillows.

Still, he hadn’t invited you to the opening night. Or any nights, actually. He was too nervous, as much as he hated to admit it—mostly about fucking things up if you were there. Honestly, the thought of you sitting, watching him, made his insides all… wriggly. And even if it was the good kind of wriggly, he’d be too hyper-aware of it, too distracted by it.

He feels guilty even if you don’t seem upset. You have brunch with him—yeah, he was doing fuckin’ brunch now. That shit was good—and then give him a goodbye kiss, telling him to “break a leg.” It makes him smile, and he insists on a couple more kisses, just for luck. And then he’s off to the final rehearsal before opening.

It goes off without a hitch, and Adam’s beyond elated—and relieved, and proud. As he scrubs off his sweat and makeup backstage, he can’t help but wish he had someone there to share his pride with. But he doesn’t have time to get into his head; there’s stupid fuckin’ rich people to schmooze outside, and the director had told him under no uncertain terms would he be in attendance.

Adam yanks on his tie as he makes his way through the theater’s halls towards the ballroom, not looking forward to the boring conversation and unnecessarily tiny food he had ahead of him. He tries to sneak his way through the crowded lobby area but it’s kind of difficult to be discreet with his sheer size—something that shouldn’t surprise him by now and yet does every single time. He forces out gentle smiles and humble “thank you’s” at the praise his performance receives, attempting to make his long legs work double time.

But then he spots something in his periphery. He’s not even sure what it is at first, really--just that it means something to him. It’s important. A flash of fabric as someone exits the large revolving doors, and there it is, that nagging in his head, that impulse. He veers off course without even thinking about it; fuck the schmoozing. Following that flutter of fabric, he shoves his way through the door and people, stumbling out onto the sidewalk. His dark eyes scan the busy street before landing on what his subconscious had been so attracted to.

You.

It stuns him at first, shocks him to silence--and not much can do that, if he’s being honest. You were here. Had you been here the whole time? Did you watch the whole thing? Were you just gonna leave? Adam thinks all these things at once, his mind a cacophony of noise, and suddenly he’s bellowing your name over the bustle of the crowd. He watches you jump, acknowledges the head turns he’s getting--he doesn’t give a fuck. You’re turning to look at him and he’s all but bounding over, zeroed in on you. You looked so goddamn gorgeous, the lights of the city casting multicolored glows over your skin.

“You’re here.” He says when he gets close enough, gaze bouncing all over you, not able to keep to one spot.

You give him a sheepish look, extending him just half a smile. “I… Yeah, I’m sorry. I wanted to come. I know you didn’t ask me to, but this show is so important to you and I--” You let out a small laugh, “--I wanted to support you, even if it was a secret?”

Adam’s chest fills with warmth, and his voice is noticeably quieter when he speaks again. “And you were just gonna leave without saying goodbye? What the fuck, kid?”

You shrug, but in a bashful way, not in a way where you’re blowing off his question. “Well, it wasn’t about me, you know? I wanted to be here for you, but until you were ready for me to be here, be here… I wasn’t wanting to, I don’t know--force your hand, or anything.”

And shit, if that doesn’t give Adam pause. He doesn’t think he’s ever had someone do something like this for him--support him without wanting something in return, without wanting recognition for their ‘good deed.’ You were giving him yourself even when he wasn’t around to acknowledge it or thank you for it. The words almost slip out of his mouth right then and there. I love you. It would be so simple.

They’re on the tip of his tongue, ready to tumble out in the open area between the two of you at a moment’s notice; he does the only thing he can think of to stop it from happening. He lunges forward, half yanking you to him as he slams his mouth down onto yours. It's… not as gentle as he intends, but he’s desperate, because the words are already leaving his lips in a muffled jumble. He’s kissing you on the crowded sidewalk like he’s fuckin’ starving for it, like he can’t breathe without it. Maybe he can’t. He sure isn’t stopping to find out.

“Adam--” you murmur into his mouth, and he grunts at you in response, which earns him a laugh. Your hands slip over his dress shirt, underneath his suit jacket, and he leans into your touch. You pull away from his lips, but press lingering kisses to his jaw, and Adam thinks maybe it’s an okay compromise. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close; says the only (other) thing he can think of--that he knows he has to get off his chest.

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ date anyone else. Don’t wanna kiss anyone else. Just you.” He makes sure to look at you when he says it, not caring how intense he comes across. If he can’t say that he loves you outright, he’ll do it in every other little way he can. “I wanna do boyfriend shit for you. Like—like make you canned soup when you’re sick and—and text you whenever I see a fuckin’ tree that reminds me of you.”

You smile up at him in that way that makes him feel ridiculously small and a million feet tall all at once. “Boyfriend shit, huh? Does that mean I need to start thinking of girlfriend shit to do?”

Adam nods briskly, but then pauses, his hands sliding up and down your back. “Only if you want to.” He tries to school his tone into something soft and neutral, trying to protect himself in case you say no.

But then you’re relaxing into his chest, resting your head over his thrumming heart. “I want to.”

He’s glad you can’t see his grin, and he holds you tighter to him, hoping you wont notice the way he’s literally fuckin’ vibrating with happiness. He wants to shout, wants to yell out at everyone passing by on the street. Hear that, everyone?! She’s my fuckin’ girlfriend now! Mine!! Ha!

“Do you wanna come back inside with me?” He asks instead, trailing his fingertips up and down your arm. “I have to go suck up to a bunch’a idiots so they’ll give the director some money. They might be willing to give more if I bring along some hot eye candy.”

You snort, pulling away from him; his gaze flits over your face, taking in your pleased smile and sparkling eyes. You were happy. He made you happy. It’s all he ever wants, really. You agree to coming with him, and he gives you his arm to hold onto as he escorts you back into the building, head held high with pride.

_______________________________________

Of course, it just makes things harder.

He’s swallowing down “I love you’s” left and fuckin’ right: when you pick him up from an audition and hand him a red gatorade. When you remember his lunch order from the café down the street. When you laugh at something dumb he’s said—a joke he knows isn’t that funny.

When, alternatively, you say Sackler in that exasperated-yet-fond tone whenever he’s said something annoying. When the two of you sit quietly in the living room together, each doing work, comfortable in the silence. When you pass behind him while he’s cooking and brush a gentle hand against his back, casual as can be.

He swallows the words down the first time he stays over at your place. It’d been an accident; he’d fallen asleep on the couch after getting back from an out-of-state visit to see his niece. He’d woken up in the morning to the smell of coffee, finding himself tucked under blankets. You’d come over when you saw that he was awake; brushed his hair out of his bleary eyes, said- “Good morning, sleepy head.”

He starts staying over a lot more after that, in your bed instead of the couch. Each time he wakes up next to you, wrapped around you, one of you half on top of the other—his chest fuckin’ aches. And still, his brain tells him to keep his thoughts to himself, to hold his feelings in his chest until the right moment. What’s the right moment? He asks himself. He never receives an answer.

It’s a torture he’s never experienced before and he doesn’t know what to fuckin’ do with himself. The first time you climb into his lap, tugging his jeans open, wrapping your perfect hands around his cock--all he can do is stare up at you, plush mouth hanging open, barely daring to breathe much less let the usual filth fall from his lips.

Because holy fuck, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, so perfect for him, and he’s pretty sure if he tries to say a single thing he’s going to let it slip. So he just yanks you close, biting at your lips, letting you swallow down his grunts and groans. He touches you everywhere--tries to let his hands do the talking for him.

He thinks he should probably tone down just how fervently he’s staring at you as he presses his thick fingers deep inside your pussy, but he has to see, has to know he’s making you feel good. “Tell me.” He manages to say, voice hoarse as he glances down to see your sticky wetness on his fingers before he pushes them back in, thumbing at your clit as he does so. “Tell me how it feels.”

You’re quiet but from your whimpers and whines, and Adam almost adds on a desperate please before you’re suddenly speaking, your words more of a babble as he works you. “F-Feels good, Adam, baby, feels so full. Can--can you--a little faster?”

A little faster? He can do that. He speeds up the motion on your clit, curling his fingers against that special spongy area inside as he pounds them in and out of you, brown eyes nearing black as he stares you down. “Like this?” he growls out, and instead of answering with words you let out a squeal, your hips jerking against him as your eyes roll back in your head.

Adam grins, breathless and feral. “Yeah. Like that, huh? Pretty girl.” The feeling of you cumming on three of his big fingers is enough to drag a long moan out of his chest; you’re so fuckin’ beautiful. “That’s it, doll, ride my fingers—good girl, so fuckin’ needy for me.”

You’re all clingy afterwards, clutching at him; he clutches right back, pressing his face into your shoulder, listening to you breathe. I love you, he thinks. I fuckin’ love you.

When you finally let him press his face between your legs one night, the words echo endlessly in his head. He’s lost in you, in the pressure of your thighs against his ears, your hands clutching at his shaggy hair, the way you clench so sweetly against his tongue. He rubs his face back and forth, smearing your slick all over himself greedily, sliding his nose up and down your clit. You let out an uninhibited, shuddering noise and he smirks, eagerly sucking at your folds.

He lets his eyes flick up to look at you, taking in the softness of your stomach, your heaving tits, the arch of your neck as you toss your head back against the pillows. He can’t see your face like this but he doesn’t fuckin’ care, not when he has the vision of you before him, your soft skin under his palms, the tangy sweetness of you in his mouth.

You cry out his name when you orgasm, your hips bucking against his face and Adam just goes along for the ride, using his hands to ease your frenetic movements. He spells it out with his tongue against your clit as you slowly come back down, blood rushing in his ears.

I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U.

It’s a warm, early fall night when he fucks you for the first time, slow and deep, the bedroom windows cracked and letting in the nightly noise of the city. He doesn’t hear any of it--hears nothing but you and the sounds your bodies make together. There’s no rushing, no dirty words falling from his lips--there’ll be more than enough time for that later. Right now was about the slick slide of his cock in you, his eyes trained on yours, all wide like he’s surprised by this--shocked that any of its happening. In a way, he is.

Adam reaches out to settle a giant palm on your cheek, holding you, rubbing his nose against yours as he rolls his hips, muscles flexing under his skin as his back arches. He wants closer to you--closer, closer, and closer still--so he shuffles up the bed. It's a little awkward, but he doesn’t care, just as long as he can get deeper. You’ve got your knees hugging his hips, hands grabbing at his shoulder blades, making the prettiest noises in his ear. Adam, you say, and somehow his name has a thousand meanings in this moment. Adam, Adam, Adam.

Hearing it makes his toes curl up, makes him choke out a moan into your neck. “Fuck, I’m--I--” He fumbles for your face, breathing hot and heavy as he mouths over your skin to find your lips, kissing you sloppy to shut himself up. You’re clenching tight around his cock, a hand snuck down to rub quick little circles on your clit as you get close.

He doesn’t watch you as you cum this time, not when you’re pulling his own orgasm out of him, milking him for all he’s worth. He’s drenched in sweat, trembling as he sucks in shaky breaths. No thoughts fill his mind, head completely fuckin’ empty but for the pleasure humming through his veins.

You laugh afterwards, the two of you curled up together, Adam having collapsed to the side in an attempt not to crush you. He gives you a crooked grin of his own, sliding one big palm over your tummy, rubbing it as he slings a massive thigh over your legs. “Good?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he starts to finger your belly button. You bat his hands away, calling him a fucking weirdo even as you lean in to capture his lips with yours. He nips at your bottom lip happily, smoothing his hand over your side, grabbing whatever part of you he can.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “-but I’m the fuckin’ weirdo you have custody of.” You smirk, and then you’re tugging on his shoulders, trying to haul him closer to you. You both need to shower--to clean up, probably drink some water, more than likely change the sheets. But maybe, he thinks to himself as he curls up half on top of you, nuzzling into your cheek--maybe it can wait for just a little longer.

____________________________________

“Fuckin’—ow!”

“Adam, stop moving around—“

“Well stop pulling my fuckin’ hair!”

You sigh at him, crossing your arms over your chest and giving him a hard look in the mirror. Adam pouts, slumping on the stool he was sitting on; he knew he was being whiny but his scalp was fuckin’ sensitive!

“You’re the one who asked me to braid your hair, remember?” You point out, grabbing another elastic from the countertop. “You practically begged me.”

“I didn’t beg.” He huffs, making a face at you. You don’t move, and he chances a look at his watch—fuck, he was gonna be late if this took too much longer. “… Fine, I’m sorry, I’ll sit still. Promise.” He chews on his bottom lip, giving you his best puppy dog eyes; he’s heard they were pretty effective. He’s pleased when you finally step forward, reaching up to comb through his hair again, pulling it out of his face and plaiting it across the top of his head.

He’s landed an actual honest-to-fuck movie role. A little indie film, sure, but it was still another stepping stone in his career. He was beyond excited, was putting his all into it—and, apparently, since his character was a boxer, that meant doing early morning training followed by choreography.

It was fine, really. He was enjoying it, and he liked learning a new sport, liked feeling the burn in different muscles of his body. It wasn’t that he was out of shape, it was just fuckin’ intense. Some days absolutely kicked his ass but he was always eager to come back for more. His trainer, Beth, said she liked that about him. It gave Adam a sense of pride about what he was doing.

It’s just that his damn hair kept getting in the way. It would get all sweaty, sticking all over his skin, flying into his eyes at the most inopportune moments. He’d tried to put it up into a ponytail but that hadn’t lasted long at all. Finally last night, after days of his complaining, you’d told him he just needed to braid it. I don’t know how to do that shit, he’d said, and you’d snorted, and here the two of you were.

“M’gonna be late.” He warns, leg bouncing up and down, jittery. He’d been on time—early, even—to every single session so far, and he didn’t want to break that streak.

“You won’t be late,” you murmur, twisting the tiny elastic around the end of the braid, making him wince just a little—he shuts his eyes against the sting. They have to be tight or they won’t hold, you’d said. Your hands sweep his remaining loose hair behind his ears, combing your fingers through it as you give your work a once over.

“I think they’re okay. They shouldn’t fall apart, at least. No more hair getting in your eyes.” You scratch your nails lightly at the back of his neck, a silent apology for the strain on his scalp, before moving to rub the shells of his ears between your thumbs and forefingers. Adam makes a small, pleased noise at the sensations, leaning back into your chest. He wants to stay here like this, with you, but he knows he can’t.

“How do I look?” He questions, eyes still closed. Your hands slide down the sides of his neck to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently. He feels when you press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“Cute.” You tell him, and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Very pretty.”

He opens his eyes to meet your gaze in the mirror, wrinkling up his nose. “Cute?” You nod, and he shakes his head. “I can’t look fuckin’ cute while I’m boxing!” You just shrug, as if to say ‘well, what am I supposed to do about it?’, and then start putting up your supplies. Adam wants to keep on teasing you, but instead he hauls himself to standing, heading into the living room to grab his boots.

You trail in after him as he’s shoving them on his feet and perch on the edge of the couch to watch him. He speaks as he ties the laces, hyper-aware of the time even though the subway was only a couple minute walk from your apartment. “I shouldn’t be home late. Probably be back before you, even.”

Home. It only half registers that he says it, that he refers to your place as his. He doesn’t have time to worry about it now; besides, you only nod at him, like he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. He hops up, heavy feet stomping across the floor as goes to grab his trusty backpack. When he passes you on the way to the front door he drops a gentle kiss to your mouth.

“Thanks for my hair.” He says as he slips his arms through the straps of the bag and proceeds to pat his pockets, making sure he had everything he needed.

“Wait!” You’re crying out suddenly, making him freeze in place, looking at you with wide eyes. He watches you rush over to the fridge, digging in it for a moment or two; he gives his watch another nervous glance.

“Kid, what the hell…?” Adam scratches at the back of his neck, bouncing on his toes, ready to get out the door. When you shut the fridge, you’ve got two tupperware containers and a red gatorade in your hands; you hurry over to him, a small smile on your face.

“Here.” You tug him around with surprising strength, maneuvering him until you can unzip his backpack and put the plastic boxes and drink into the large pocket. “I made you lunch and some snacks. Don’t worry, it’s all protein. I know you always pack water but I wanted you to have more than that.”

Adam whips back around the second he’s allowed, his chest feeling warm and fluttery. He steals another kiss, one large hand on your jaw, nudging his nose against your cheek. Knowing he has to keep it short he pulls away, brushing his thumb over your chin as he does so. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t really know how to express what your actions mean to him. When had you even packed that? Last night, while he was asleep?

You give him a gentle smile, nuzzling your face into his palm. “You better get going. You’ll be late.”

Adam exhales. You always gave him an escape route, and he always fuckin’ took it. “Right, yeah. Okay.” He steps back, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack. “Have a good day.” He yanks open the front door; when you speak again, your words are rushed, clearly not wanting to keep him.

“You too! Oh, can you pick up some bread on your way home?

“What? Oh, bread—yeah, sure—“ He’s stepping through the door, mind already focused on the day ahead. His hand finds the doorknob by muscle memory— “Sounds good, I can do that, love you!”—and the door slams shut behind him. He takes the stairs two at a time, his long strides getting him to the subway station sooner than he thought.

It’s not until he’s two stops down, staring blankly out the window as he stands in the crowded subway car, that he realizes what he’s done. Dread settles in his gut, heavy like lead, and his stomach twists. Fuck. Fuck! How could he have done something so stupid?

He wipes his palms on his gym shorts, feeling like they’re all clammy. He’d said ‘I love you’, tossed it to you like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing! Fuck, what if you didn’t feel the same way? What if he’d ruined everything—pressured you somehow? Jesus Christ, well, guess it was time for him to leave the country. Or at least, move across town. New York was big enough to hide in, right?

He makes his way to the gym in a daze, his chest feeling all tight with anxiety. Getting into his routine is a struggle, and it frustrates him even more. Beth finally tells him to just have at one of the punching bags for a little bit, which does help loosen him up. Adam thinks it’s a tad ironic that imagining punching himself makes him feel better.

It’s not until he’s lumbering to the bodega to grab the bread you asked for, body aching and sticky with sweat, that he remembers you aren’t supposed to be home yet. He could sneak in undetected, plan an escape, or at least formulate some sort of explanation for his morning mistake. Though, he’s pretty sure saying “it was an accident, like when you were a kid and called your teacher ‘mom’” to his girlfriend wouldn’t bode well.

He knows he’s probably overreacting, but he’s never fuckin’ felt like this about someone before! He thought he’d known what love was; he thought he’d been in love in his past relationships. But he’s always said the words too fast, threw himself head first into the deep end. And yeah, he had loved them, in a way—cared about them, wanted them to care for him, too. But this? The all-encompassing affection and support you gave him? Your acceptance of him? He’s never had this before.

He’s never had someone want him fully as he is. And he wanted you the same way, loved every fuckin’ inch of you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of you; wants you by his side, forever. He feels so much that it scares him. And the thought of you not feeling the same, of you not wanting what he did—of his confession of love being something one-sided.

Adam was fucking terrified.

But he can’t run away. He knows he can’t. He always did, and always came back when it was far too late—when people were done with him. He won’t do that with you.

So he takes the steps up to your apartment one by one, trudging slowly, the loaf of bread held to his chest as if it would protect him somehow. He fumbles with the key in the lock, finally pushing through the door and kicking it closed behind him. Looking up, he freezes, heart leaping into his throat. There you were, sat on the couch.

“… I thought you’d be at work,” he says after a moment, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He forces his body into movement, numbly going to put the bread on the countertop before setting down his backpack and removing the empty containers from his lunch. He can feel your eyes on him even if he isn’t looking at you; it makes him hunch his shoulders up to his ears.

“I had a meeting get canceled,” you inform him, voice holding on to a certain edge even while your tone is light. There’s silence, Adam trying to pretend like he’s busy in the kitchen even though it’s pretty obvious he isn’t. “Sackler.” There’s that stern-yet-fond tone he loves hearing so much, and it’s impossible for him to ignore you. He chances turning around, giving you what he hopes is a blank look.

“Will you please come here?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him at this point, and his brain is telling him that you’re definitely up to something. But then, you’re standing up, and he registers you’re wearing his favorite tiny tank top—and nothing else—and he finds his feet tripping over to you before he can help it.

“Fuck, kid, look at you.” He breathes, hands reaching out greedily to grab at your tits, the softness of your hips, your bare ass. You laugh, pushing him down onto the couch, pressing your hand between his legs as you lean in to kiss him. He groans, bucking his hips up, already impatient. Shit, it would be so easy to just slip down the waistband of his shorts, yank you down onto his cock—

“Thank you for getting the bread,” you murmur against his lips, leaning over him, one knee on the couch. Adam lets out a strangled sort of laugh.

“This is because I got bread?” he asks, incredulous. You nod, and he still doesn’t believe you, but fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re pulling his hand between your thighs and his fingers are delving on instinct. You’re wet. Wetter than you normally are starting out like this. He swallows hard as he finds your entrance, as three of his thick fingers slip in easily.

“Fuuuuuhhck,” he groans, dark eyes flicking up to meet your gaze, “-you dirty fuckin’ girl. Did you get yourself all ready for me? Too eager for my big cock to wait?” He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as you whine, your hands tugging insistently at his shorts. He’s quick to help you pull them down along with his briefs, the both of you scrambling to be connected.

The second you slide down onto his cock he’s throwing his head back, thighs straining as he tries not to thrust into you with abandon. “Always so fuckin’ good,” he bites out, jaw clenched and voice all gravelly. His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he prepares to guide you at a punishing pace.

But then one of your hands is finding his face, angling him to look at you while your other hand balls itself in his shirt—and fuck, he hadn’t even had time to get his shirt off yet.

“Adam,” you say, all breathless, clenching around his cock in a way that has him grunting in response, almost fuckin’ shaking with need. You say his name again as you tug on his shirt, pulling the fabric up his chest. He reluctantly lets go of your hips in order to help get the offending garment off his torso, but then he’s right back to you, hands squeezing your ass.

“C’mon, baby, need you to move. Need to feel this tight fuckin’ pussy riding me.” His voice is little more than a growl, and he pulls you in to crash his lips to yours before you can respond. He’s overwhelmed, needy, previous anxiety forgotten—he forgot most things when you were so tight and warm and wet around him.

He plants his boot covered feet on the ground and thrusts upwards, a broken moan leaving his chest as you gasp into his mouth. You plant your hands on his shoulders and he thinks finally, you’re going to give him what he so badly needs. But then you’re pulling away from him, settling into his lap like you had all the time in the world, a little smirk on your face.

“We need to talk, Adam.”

He stares at you, gobsmacked; his cock does a little twitch inside of you, like it’s as confused as he is. “Talk? Now?” You nod, resolute, and Adam let’s out a long, hot breath through his nose. “What,” he bites out, palms kneading your ass; he thinks maybe his eye twitches, “—do we need to talk about?”

“Did you mean it this morning?” Your voice is all quiet as you run your fingertips over his french braids, then down to curl his loose hair behind his ears. “When you said you loved me?”

Adam’s mind—so singularly focused on fucking you—grinds to a complete halt. He gapes at you, unable to come up with any sort of excuse, any sort of witty counter to your question. It’s then that he realizes what you’ve done, you little fuckin’ minx—you’ve weaponized sex against him!

You fuckin’ knew he wouldn’t be able to think like this. Maybe he should be mad, but he knows--he knows this is exactly what he needs. So he closes his mouth, swallowing hard and sliding his hands from your ass to the small of your back, holding you close.

“Yes.” It’s shaky, falling from his lips. He tries to make his voice more firm. “I love you.” And then, just to double down on it: “I’m so in love with you it scares the shit outta me. I love fuckin’—everything about you. I never wanna love anyone else ever again, not if it's not you.”

His heart is beating wild in his chest, and the pervy little part of his brain wonders if you can feel it through his dick. You lean in and kiss him all slow, squeezing your perfect fuckin’ pussy around him, and his hands move further up your back to pull you into him. He feels unsteady, like he’s jumped off a precipice into the unknown. He’s dizzy with the relief of his confession, with the worry of your reaction even as you kiss him, with the feeling of such a tight, slick, heat around his cock.

“I love you, too.”

He almost misses it with the way you murmur it into the corner of his mouth and with his head spinning from overstimulation. He blinks at you, giving you those big brown eyes and his jaw works as his mind catches up to speed. You smile, dropping more kisses over his strong features, then laugh when he finally yanks his head back to stare at you, his breath catching in his chest.

“You love me.” It’s not a question, but more of a confirmation; him reassuring himself that what he’d heard was real. You nod, hands smoothing over his broad shoulders, down his biceps. His eyes search yours as his hips shift underneath you, making you sigh happily. Something in him snaps.

He re-positions his feet on the floor, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other wrapped around the back of your neck. Your eyes widen, and you have a split second to balance yourself against his chest before he’s snapping his hips up, fucking into you at a frantic pace. The gasp you make is music to his fuckin’ ears.

“Say it again.” He growls at you, gaze drifting over your body, watching the way your tits bounce with his thrusts. “Say it.”

“I love you.”

Your words make him moan, and he doesn’t care how ridiculous he sounds. “Again,” he demands, voice ragged, and you obey—you say it over and over again until his mind is filled with it, the words a soothing balm for all his insecurities. You cry out, trembling in his lap, his cock deep inside you, and Adam is overcome.

He holds you there, the hand on your neck moving between your legs to rub quick circles on your clit. “I fuckin’ love you too, goddamn, this tight little pussy. You gonna cum for me? Cum all over my big fuckin’ cock?” He’s panting, staring you down, not letting you look away. “Fuckin’—say it when you cum. Please—please.”

You nod quickly, mouth hanging open, squirming so deliciously on his cock as your cunt gets tighter and tighter around him. He isn’t sure he’s even breathing, fingers moving desperately as you sob out his name, hips jerking in his lap. Your hands clutch at him, fingers raking at his chest as you chant I love you, I love you, the words all broken by your cries and whines. It’s fuckin’ beautiful.

“Fuuuuhhhhck.” Adam groans between gritted teeth, eyes rolling back in his head as your pussy squeezes his cock like it’s trying to milk him, like it’s begging for all his fuckin’ cum. He lets out loud, feral, shuddering breaths, trying to hold back—he isn’t done with you yet. “Oh, you feel so fuckin’ good, jeeeezus.” His words sound all strangled, and he has just the smallest bit of sense to wrap his arms around you when you slump into his chest.

Your breaths are short little pants against his neck, and he closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of them—of you in general, the weight of you on top of him, your sticky skin against his, your body heat. “I love you.” He croaks out, saying it again just because he can. You hum in response, nuzzling your face closer; it makes him smile.

He trails the pads of his fingers down your spine and then back up, feeling the texture of your skin. You were his. His to touch, to kiss, to hold, to love.

He was yours.

It’s a heady, hopeful thought that tastes like the future.

______________________________________________________________

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saynotoshityouhate · 2 years

Text

Seasons of Love (Charlie Barber x Reader) - ADCU Fic Exchange Fall 2021

Summary: You’re a barista at a local coffee shop, frequented by the handsome theater director a few blocks down. You become friends as he goes through a nasty divorce. This one shot is a set of short scenes, like a play, showing the highlights of your relationship throughout a year.

Words: 2193

AN: Written for @jynzandtonic for the Fall 2021 @adcuficexchange

Tags: angst, crying, divorce, friends to lovers

WINTER

“Black coffee, please.” “Coming right up. Name for the order?” “Charlie.”

Your favorite part about being a barista, other than the free coffee, were your regular customers. They’d come in off the bustling New York City streets, dressed in their fancy clothes, off to their important jobs in the city. Your job, although seemingly unimportant and uninteresting, could make or break the days of these humans. Imagine if one of your stock broker patrons didn’t enjoy the coffee you made for them! You could cause a stock market crash! Well...probably not that drastic. But it was a really important job, and you loved it.

One of your favorite patrons was Charlie. He was a director at the small theater just a few blocks away. He was a man of routine, coming in every day at the same time and ordering the same thing. Every once and a while he’d order something for the whole company, or bring along his young son, Henry. But most days, it was a quick hello - pour him a cup of the darkest brew you had - and he was on his way. You only knew his name because you wrote it on his cup, every single day.

Charlie stumbled in out of the cold, dark pea coat covering his large frame, shaking his mop of dark hair free of the white flakes of snow. He always dressed nicely, but not too nice - he was approachably handsome, with a crooked smile and a booming laugh. You had established a friendly rapport by this point, greeting him with a fun fact of the day, or drawing a funny cartoon on his cup.

“The regular?” “Yes, for Charlie.” “I know!”

Today you handed him his large paper cup, on which you had drawn a snowman, with his stick arms crossed in front of him. The snowman had a thought bubble above his head which read “I’m freezing my beans off!” You chuckled to yourself, hoping he’d get the joke. He smiled as he took the warm cup in his large hand, turning to see your artwork. He smiled widely across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughed loudly. “Like coffee beans? Hilarious. The team at the theater is going to love this one.” You smiled and tilted your head. “You show them the cup art?” Well if that wasn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever heard! “Of course I do - it’s become a bit of a morning ritual for us.”

--------- SPRING

The small bell over the door of the cafe rang, and your head popped up from the latte art you were concentrating on. It was Charlie. You shot him a smile and nodded your head, you’d be with him in a moment.

You finished up your last order before heading to the register to meet him. Looking up, you paused, something was off. His dress shirt was wrinkled, and the buttons were off by one. He had dark circles under his red eyes. “Charlie?” You asked, quietly, tilting your head to one side. “Are you okay?” Charlie shook his head, eyes on his shoes. “Can I just have my coffee, please?” You looked at him concerned, before turning to pour him a cup of coffee. Turning back towards him, you caught him running one large hand across his eyes, clearly wiping away tears. Your heart broke. Grabbing a piece of receipt paper, you scribbled down your phone number and handed it to him, along with his coffee.

“Charlie - we’re friends, right? Here’s my number. Whatever’s going on...I’d be happy to listen, or help. Anything...really.” Charlie looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, and back up at you. His warm eyes met yours, his lower lip trembling. “Thank you, (Y/N). I...might just take you up on that.” You smiled, reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. “Please - call, text - anytime.” He nodded, mumbling another thank you, before heading out the door.

About fifteen minutes later you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. Taking it out you saw a text from an unknown number. You smiled, unlocking the phone to see a brief message.

“Free for a drink after work? Anything but coffee.”

You met Charlie at a small cocktail bar between the theater and the coffee shop. Walking in, you were suddenly very self-conscious of your state of dress, having come straight from work. You spotted Charlie in a dark booth in the corner and gave him a quick wave before walking his way. He stood to greet you, pulling you into a quick, awkward hug, before waving you in to take a seat.

Charlie was much more casual than when you saw him this morning, making you feel much more comfortable. His blue dress shirt was rolled up at the elbows, showing a large silver wrist watch and a detail you hadn’t quite noticed before - a gold band around his left ring finger. Your gaze lingered there just a moment longer than you’d like before you snapped your head up to look at him. “Hi, Charlie! I’m so glad we’re doing this. When I saw you this morning...I was really worried about you.” He smiled, fingers idly spinning the ring around on his finger. “Thanks for giving me your number, it’s nice to know I’ve got a friend who isn’t stuck in the middle of all of this.”

You tilted your head and furrowed your brow as Charlie raised a hand to call over a bartender. “Middle of what?” Charlie grabbed the menu from the end of the table, pointing out his whiskey selection from the long list of spirits before handing the list back to you. “What’ll you have?” Looking up at the bartender, you ordered. “Gin and tonic, please. Thank you.” Turning back to Charlie, you repeated your question,reaching your hand out to rest on his forearm. “Middle of what?” He removed his wedding ring, spinning it on the table in front of you, avoiding your gaze. “I’m...getting divorced.”

--------- SUMMER

“Charlie!” “Morning, (Y/N). Alright, let me try a cold brew. You won’t leave me alone about it, and lord knows it’s hot enough out there today.” “Yes! You’ll love it, promise.”

You ended your shift and decided to walk home through Times Square.

Standing on a bustling corner, you heard a familiar voice. Deep, upset, a midwest twang that stood out amongst the native New Yorkers around you. You spotted Charlie, a head above the rest, and tried to catch his eye. He was on the phone, so you pushed through the crowd and tapped him on the shoulder as he hung up his call, looking defeated. “Charlie!”

“H-hey, (Y/N).” He looked at you, as if you were out of place, not used to seeing you outside of the coffee shop or the bar where you started meeting a few nights a week. His head was clearly elsewhere. “She’s going to...try and take full custody…”

“Wait...of Henry? Can she do that? Why would she do that, Charlie?” You looked up at him, eyes full of concern, the hustle and bustle of the busy street corner swarming around the two of you. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It’s going to be alright. You’re going to figure this out. I’m here, I can help.” He looked down at you, wide eyed - in shock. “Let’s go grab a drink, okay? On me.” Charlie nodded, his eyes flitting over your frame, his hand still in yours. Abruptly, he pulled you into a hug - his long arms wrapping around you, holding you tight. In that moment, in the busiest place on the earth, you felt like you were the only two people for miles.

--------- FALL

“Mornin’, (Y/N). The usual, plus one small hot cocoa?” “Oh, hey Henry! Coming right up, you two.”

The divorce was finalized, and Henry was traveling to New York periodically when Charlie couldn’t get to Los Angeles. You smiled down at the boy, his mop of brown hair matched his dad’s, and your heart skipped a beat. They were an adorable pair. “What are you two up to today?” Henry perked up and smiled at you. “We’re going to the theater and then the zoo! And then Dad said I could have a pizza party and a blanket fort! Right, Dad?” Henry looked up at his father, who laughed at his enthusiasm. “That’s right, kiddo.” Charlie smiled at you, proud of his son and full of joy that his son enjoyed their time together.

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket. Pulling it out you saw a message from Charlie.

“Free after work? Need to talk.”

Your brow furrowed. Talk about good things or bad things, you wondered. You messaged back quickly - “I’m free, what about Henry?” Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, and then his reply - “Got a sitter. See you later.”

You slid into your regular booth, your G&T already sitting at the table waiting for you. You looked up at Charlie, and before you could even say hello, he was speaking. “(Y/N), I have to leave. I got a job...in Los Angeles, I…leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You had so many questions, your head was spinning. You felt so small in that moment, looking up into his warm, brown eyes. Suddenly the thought of not seeing him every day, even if just for the briefest of moments, broke your heart.

“Shit, I know, I should have told you…I was scared.” He rubbed his face with his palm, pushing his hair out of his face. “(Y/N)...” He grabbed both of your hands across the table, looking deep into your eyes. “I can’t do this without you. Please...come with me? I’ll buy you a plane ticket, find you a job at the University…” Your ears were buzzing and your heart was racing. Your gaze looked down at how small your hands looked enveloped in his. “Charlie...you can get coffee anywhere, probably much better coffee…”

He laughed, squeezing your hands. “No, no. It’s not about the coffee, although that’ll be an adjustment for me. It’s you.” You shook your head, closing your eyes tight. “Charlie, wait a minute...please.” He spoke over you, his deep voice crashing over yours as you tried to regain your composure. “I’m in love with you. I know it’s not fair to put this on you like this...” Your eyes filled with tears. “No...it’s not fair at all, Charlie.” You tried to pull your hands out from within his, but they wouldn’t budge.

“(Y/N), from the first cup of coffee you handed me, I couldn’t get you out of my head. You’re smart, witty, and so beautiful. And then the way you’ve been here for me over this past year...I can’t imagine spending a day without you. Just...think about it, alright? Please?”

---------

The next morning you started your shift, bleary eyed from lack of sleep. You tossed and turned, barely getting an hour of sleep. With each ding of the bell above the cafe door, your heart dropped. You couldn’t even look up to greet your customers anymore. You began to untie your apron, asking your coworker to cover you while you took five minutes to breathe in the back room, when the door dinged again. You sighed, looking up, to see Charlie standing there. You inhaled sharply, frozen as you watched him walk towards you, eyes wide and heart racing.

“One black coffee, please?” He smiled at you, large hands stuffed into the pockets of his khakis. “Charlie…” you exhaled, searching for the rest of your words, but there were none to be found. “Shh, it’s alright. Just wanted one more coffee, and to say goodbye before I left.” You nodded, lower lip trembling, before turning to pour his coffee. You grabbed a black marker from your apron pocket, writing his name on the cup. You paused, turning to look at him over your shoulder. His eyes were warm, watching you work. You smiled, turning back, writing a small message next to his name.

“Count me in.”

--------- WINTER...one year later

“Two iced americanos, please? And one strawberry banana smoothie.” “Coming right up.”

Winter in LA was much different than the ones you were used to in New York. No snow, no cold winds bringing tears to your eyes, or having to trudge to the subway station in heavy winter boots. The winds here were warm, the palm trees swaying in the breeze. You took your tray of beverages to the table outside, finding Charlie and Henry working on spelling homework. You placed the tray down on the table, leaning in to kiss Charlie on the cheek. “What word are we spelling, boys?” Henry beamed up at you. “F - I - A - N - C - E.” Your eyes widened and you snapped your head over to Charlie, who had maneuvered his large frame down on one knee. “What does that spell, Henry?” Charlie asked, eyes welling with tears, lifting a box out of his pants pocket. “Fiance!”

#charlie barber #charlie barber x you #charlie barber x reader #adcu community #adcu #adcu fic exchange

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babbushka · 3 years

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Did Their Headlights Look Like Heaven?

Clyde Logan x F!Reader

On the outskirts of Boone County, West Virginia, sits your small town where nothin' ever happens -- at least, not out in the open. It ain't until one brutally hot summer in the middle of July when a man from your past returns from war, that you get a glimpse of just what goes on when the sun goes down, and you learn that there's more than one thing to watch out for in the dark....

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20k; cw: Horror, Graphic Descriptions of Violence (murder, southern gothic horror, small town cults, death, blood & gore); NSFW (oral [F receiving] PIV sex, reunion sex, fingering); possessive/protective behavior, mention of baby Logan in the epilogue

A/N: I'm so excited to share my entry to the ADCU Spring Fic Exchange! I was lucky enough to get @safarigirlsp's prompt, and I hope that I did it justice! Big thank you to @adcuficexchange for setting up something so fun, and be sure to give the other fics in the event masterlist a read!

CLICK HERE TO READ ON AO3

Taglist under the cut

Tagging some Clyde lovin' friends!

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @lovinghufflepuffgirl @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea

#adam driver #adam driver fanfic #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan/reader #logan lucky #clyde logan x you #clyde logan/you #clyde logan smut #clyde logan fanfic #adcu #my writing #adcu fic exchange #adcu fanfiction

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glassbxttless · 3 years

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Summary: You’re new to the building and fortunately for you— you meet the handsome, yet annoyingly loud, hobby carpenter who lives across the hall.

Word Count: 9,011 (combined)

Warnings: female reader, plus size reader, swearing, body image, mentions of weight gain, smut, body reassurance, hurt/comfort, sort of a slow burn?, slight infidelity

One

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#glassbxttless adcu #glassbxttless #adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler x you #plus size reader #female reader #glass queue-tie #adcu fic exchange

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prince-kyloren · 3 years

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Tragodía

This was written for the summer 2021 fic exchange(@adcuficexchange)

Summary: Tragedy: (from the Greek: τραγῳδία, tragōidia[a]) is a form of drama in theatre based on human suffering and, mainly, the terrible or sorrowful events that befall a main character

Adam Sackler was an up and coming theater actor when tragedy struck. Now his soulmate is left to pick up the pieces and discover what love after death truly means.

Pairing: Sackler x AFAB!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: major character death, piv sex, oral (f receiving, L-bombs (it’s sorta sappy okay), afab!reader, light dirty talk bc it’s Sackler.

Just having given his second to last performance, he bowed as the audience cheered, and finally stepped off the stage as the curtains drew. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, a satisfied smile etched across his features. It was another successful show under his belt, and he really felt like things were starting to go in the right direction for him. He was starting to land more roles than he ever had before. His schedule for the upcoming few months was jam packed with new opportunities. As he started to make his way backstage, he made eye contact with one of the stage crew, a new guy who he had only seen the last few nights of the play's run. A shout of his name left the stage hand's lips before he felt an immense amount of pressure come down on his head, his knees buckled, before his back hit the wood flooring, his vision going black.

You woke with a start, head pounding, heart hammering against your ribcage. You reached your hand out, fumbling with a shaky hand, as it wrapped around the glass of water on the nightstand. The same dream had been haunting you every night for the past year. Each time, the dream was from his perspective, as if you were in his body, living out his death over and over and over again. And it hurt, god did it hurt. It wasn't just the physical pain of feeling exactly what he felt in his last moments and inevitably waking up with a pounding headache, but it was the pain of knowing that the person who you were supposed to live the rest of your life with once you found them, who was literally made for you, was gone.

The first time the dream occurred, was around the time that it had actually happened. The morning after, you had googled the incident, a simple search of "theater accident" had done the trick, and there on your screen was a photo. A photo of your soulmate who had tragically died in a freak accident. It was a fucking sandbag that killed him. A rookie stage crew member had lost grip on the sand bag as your soulmate was walking past. It was a case of precisely the wrong place at the wrong time.

The photo almost hurt worse than the dream itself. He was beautiful. Shiny soft black hair, pale skin dotted in a constellation of freckles and beauty marks, full lips that quirked to the side, and deep hazel eyes.

Adam. His name was Adam, and just looking at him you felt it. You could physically feel the pain in your chest. Feel how much you would have, and did love him, not even having been able to get to know him while he was alive. The love was ingrained in the deepest part of your soul, just as much a part of you as your genetics were.

It was hard, going about daily life knowing you're soulmate was deceased. Hard seeing couples spending time together, knowing that would never be you. Talking with friends, hearing of their loved ones, of how they met, what they did on a nightly basis. It stung when they thought they were being thoughtful. Stopping mid-sentence to ask you if you wanted to change the subject because "well you know.".

Around a year and a half after Adam had passed away, you awoke from the dream. A cold sweat dotting your brow, head feeling feeling as though it may combust, you reached for the bottle of Advil you began to keep in your bedside table. The room dark, you gently felt around for the glass of water you got before bed, not wanting to knock it over, and not wanting to turn the blinding lamp on to disrupt your sleepiness.

A dull scratch sound met your ears.

Confused and a little frightened by the noise you knew very well you didn't make, you stilled your outstretched hand.

The same sound again, only this time, the sound was only silenced once you felt the cold glass of your water cup meeting your still unmoving hand.

Slowly, you reach your hand a little upwards, to turn on the lamp.

The room was void of anyone besides yourself. The door was closed, and you knew you would have heard it if someone had opened it to escape.

You must have been hearing things.

After having taken some Advil, you flick the lamp off and hunker back down to sleep. Just before dozing off, you feel what you can only describe as a hand caressing your cheek.

You jump, turning the lamp back on, eyes darting around the room, hand reaching to grab at your cellphone just in case you need to dial 911.

"Hello? Is someone in here?" words leaving your mouth with false bravado.

A beat of silence.

But then you hear it. A voice. A deep voice.

"So you can feel my touch?"

You felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach like a rock.

"Yes. Who are you? Why can't I see you?" you looked around, holding your comforter close to your chest.

"I still haven't figured out how to physically show myself to you yet."

Another beat of silence,

"And Adam. My name's Adam."

"That's impossible, Adam's dead. What kind of sick joke is this?" Frustrations builds up in your voice, head swimming with possibilities of who could be fucking with you like this.

"Why do you think you can't see me kid?" he says with a sad chuckle.

"You're telling me, that I am speaking with the ghost of my dead soulmate?" it was your turn to chuckle, but for you it was in disbelief, and a little bit of sad hopefulness.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. And I'm so glad you can finally hear me, I've been trying to talk to you for months."

You felt it again, the touch of an invisible hand against your cheek, only this time you couldn't help but turn your face into the touch.

The months that followed after having learned that you could communicate with Adam were interesting, and far less lonely than before.

After longs days at work, you would come home to your apartment tidied up. Or loving words scrawled in the steam on the mirror when you took hot showers. You would spend hours into the night speaking with him, getting to know the real him, not just the Adam you read about in play reviews and theatre write-ups. The two of you would laugh for hours before you fell asleep, now being able to feel the presence of Adam laying beside you on the bed.

It was strange at first, feeling as though you were talking to air, or falling asleep next to nothing, when in fact you knew he was there.

You're dreams were no longer consumed by that same awful dream. They were now filled with memories from his life that Adam wanted to share with you, or dreams of dates with him that felt so real that you sometimes felt that they had actually occurred in the physical world.

But most recently, your dreams consisted of things far less innocent than the dream picnics and movie dates you had had before.

His arms wrapped around your thighs, calloused hands placed firmly on your belly keeping you still as he ran his tongue up and down your dripping cunt.

"I've wanted to do this since the moment I saw you." Adam mumbles around your clit, eliciting a moan from you caused by the vibrations of his words. His hands move south, thumbs spreading you wider, granting him better access to circle his tongue slow and gentle. Your hand gripped tightly in his dark waves, grounding you as Adam brought you closer to the edge. Every swipe of his wet tongue made you feel as though you were losing grip on reality, but then again you supposed you had already.

"You're so fucking wet, this all for me?" he pumped two digits into you, looking up at you with dark eyes. You nodded at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"You want me to fuck you don't you? Wanna finally feel my cock inside you?" he withdraws his finger, licking them before making his way up your body, positioning himself between your thighs.

"Yes, please Adam." you wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, until you feel his hardness press against where you so desperately want him. He noses against your neck, kissing and licking at your sweet spot before lifting his head to look in your eyes as he enters you for the first time. You both gasp, the feeling of being one at last too much.

It's too much, as he begins pumping into you. As he hangs his head in your neck, as you grip at his back, holding him as if he might disappear, and you think he might. He runs one hand between your bodies, thumb toying with your clit, hips moving faster, harder, bringing you closer and closer to the edge all over again.

"God, fuck I love you." It's not the first time he says it, but something about it nearly brings a tear to your eye. You think it might have something to do with feeling so encompassed by Adam in that moment.

"I love you too." you manage to get out between breathy moans.

You cum with a cry, eyes never leaving Adam's as he too reaches his climax. He doesn't pull out, there's no need to when it's just a dream. He collapses on top of you, being careful to not crush you as you both try to catch your breath. You run your fingers up and down his back as you hold him to you.

"I really mean it you know. I do love you." he whispers into your chest.

"I know Adam, I love you too."

It finally happens one day when you're getting ready for bed, years later. You sit up in bed, fingers turn page after page of your book.

"Look up." Adam says.

Your eyes flick up and glance at your bedroom door, confusion knitting your brows together.

"The corner." he says, amusement evident in his voice.

You look to the mirror in the corner of your room, a gasp escaping your lips. There you find his reflection staring back at you.

"Adam..."

"Hey kid."

#adam sackler x reader imagine #adam sackler smut #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler #adam Sackler x reader smut #adcu fic exchange

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strawberryjam-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Adam Sackler Hates Café's. Or Does He?

Warning(s): Absolutely none, this is pure fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

Made for the lovely @clydesducktape as part of the @adcuficexchange

A/N: Hey all, I have not seen Girls out of an immense hatred of L*na D*nham so if there is anything out of character for Sackler, that's why. There is some unrealism for the sake of plot progress but hey, that's the point of fanfiction isn't it. Hope y'all enjoy it and if you didn't...I don't really know what to tell you, invent a time machine maybe?

But maybe cafes weren't so bad if you were in them. A rough meeting develops into a playful friendship, when you both have exciting news to share, who know where that friendship could go?

Adam Sackler hated the new cafés that kept popping up all over the place. “Pretentious hipster bullshit” he called it. If he were drunk you could easily spark a heated rant over the “overpriced, tiny cups of slave labor coffee.” Though Adam hadn’t been drunk in a long time, he actually started going to his meetings consistently. The closest he’s gotten with alcohol was accidentally drinking a friend’s alcoholic cider, thinking it was apple juice. In retrospect, he did think it tasted weird.

But that’s beside the point. Adam hated cafés, but he had to be here to meet his new manager, supposedly someone who could make him a “theater star” —their words, not his.

Adam felt a buzz in his pocket, his manager letting him know ‘he’s stuck in traffic’ and will be—oh fuck—around thirty minutes late. He ran through his options.

Option 1: Find somewhere that’s not here to wait out the half-hour, but chance showing up late to an important meeting.

Definitely not the impression he wanted to give off

or,

Option 2: Stay in this fucking café for the sake of his career.

Unfortunately, it was an obvious choice. Though he supposed it wasn’t all that bad, there was a really cute barista who gave him his coffee. And, maybe the coffee wasn’t so bad-though he chugged it almost immediately. Now that he wasn’t stressing over meeting his manager, he felt himself relaxing into the surprisingly comfortable chair. The ambiance playing in the background was soft and slow. He’s been so busy the past few days he’d hardly slept at all. His eyes ever, so, slowly drifted shut.

“Excuse me, sir? I’m so sorry to wake you, and I kind of hate this rule, but if you aren’t eating or drinking anything, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought this instead of verbalizing it. Anger management had been suggested by his AA sponsor, the fruits of which were slowly becoming more apparent.

Adam craned his neck up to look at you from his slouched position in the chair. It was the cute barista. You were looking down at him with a kind smile but nervous eyes. Oh fuck, please tell me I didn’t sleep through the meeting. He snapped his wrist toward him. Thank god, he must have just drifted off.

You watched the odd, large man in the too-small chair jolting around without saying anything. You opened your mouth to repeat what you’d said, thinking he hadn’t heard you, “Can I get a coffee?” His smooth, deep rumble startled you. He seemed to have not expected that sound to come out of his mouth either, his eyes widening. He cleared his throat.

You thought to yourself, he seems out of his comfort zone. Certainly not a regular customer. “Sir, uh, what kind of coffee?”

Fucking hipsters. Now, he thought that he had only said this in his head, but judging by the look on your face, it may not have been the case.

“Uh, medium, black. No cream, sugar, nothing.” Adam hoped he recovered from saying that in front of you. You walked away while he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. The first cute girl who’s talked to him outside of work—does this count as work? No. Does it? Anyway—and he insults you to your face.

Your body reentered his peripheral vision, and he straightened up in his seat.

As you handed him the paper cup, he brushed your hand with his much larger one. He couldn’t help but revel at the brief sensation.

You turned to walk away, but he stopped you, “Hey I just wanna apologize for the hipster thing, I didn’t mean it towards you.”

You looked behind you at the clock hanging on the wall. Thank god you get a break in a few minutes.

“So, I don’t know if this sounds creepy or anything but do you wanna sit for a few minutes with me.” Being in New York, you were well acquainted with all the weird, harassing men in the city. But your manager was a bit of a dick who lived by a customer-first ideology. If this large—handsome—man got pissed at you and told your manager you were rude, who knows what the repercussions could be.

“Sure.” You said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “But I can only stay for a few minutes.” You sat at the edge of your seat rather stiffly.

A bubble of uncomfortable silence surrounded the two of you in the middle of the busy atmosphere of the café.

Adam opened his mouth, “Look kid, I really do want to apologize for what I said earlier. I know you’re just doing your fucking job or whatever. My new manager is late as shit and I’m just stressed out. That doesn’t justify me taking it out on you though.” He gave you a soft smile. Despite the harsh language, you did believe he was sincere.

“What’s the manager for?” You asked, surprising him mid-sip. He was expecting a curt nod followed by your departure.

Adam almost choked on his coffee, it was actually better than the one he had before—he wondered if you’d made it. He wiped his mouth with his hand, “Uh I’m an actor, theater and shit you know?” He noticed your eyes light up at that.

“What’s that like?” You leaned forward in your seat towards him, anticipating his answer. You knew very well how many people came to this city in search of something bigger—yourself included—only to be working three jobs for the rest of your life in New York.

Just as he had collected his thoughts and past experiences to form an answer, a shout at the door rang out in your direction. “Y/N come on let’s go! If we want to make lunch on time we have to go now!” You gave him a sheepish smile. Quick hands reached towards the napkin which came with his coffee. You grabbed the pen clipped onto your apron, scribbling something down on it.

You leaped up to grab your things from the back, to see your friend had done it for you. You turned to him again, “Good luck with your meeting.”

With that, you walked out of the café with your friend. Adam looked down at the napkin—fucking hipster kids—a number. He smirked.

Hey kid

what are you up to ;)

You couldn’t help but giggle at the words on your screen. You typed back,

nothing much

and put that winky face away it makes you seem like a perv

maybe I am a perv ;)

You had been texting Adam for the past few weeks now. Sending anything from one-word responses to practical novels was your only form of communication so far. His manager had been keeping him busy with auditions and rehearsals, so much so he was too tired to do anything afterwards.

Your phone buzzed again.

So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out???

He gave you absolutely no context, just a random invitation followed by three question marks.

do you have enough question marks there

The ellipses popped up immediately, you snorted to yourself. You allowed him the few seconds to type, but after a minute had passed since they started, you wondered what was taking him so long.

You typed a quick, you good?

He finally sent his message, no wonder it took so long.

So I went to an audition that was way out of my league but they must have liked me so I got the job. My manager wanted to take me out for drinks but obviously I said no to that. So basically what I’m asking is do you want to go get ice cream with me? My manager said I shouldn’t worry about doing anything until I get my script. I really just want to celebrate and hang out with a friend today.

You smiled at his message, it made you think back to first meeting him and how much of a rocky start it had been. In New York there was always the feeling you didn’t have any actual friends; they were only hanging out to gain something. With Adam, you didn’t feel that, just mutual kindness and support.

OMG Adam I’m so happy for you!!!

and fuck yes let’s get ice cream it’s too fucking hot in this city

He texted you where to meet him, saying he’d probably be there in five minutes, he told you not to rush though and that it was just close to his apartment. You still rushed. Your neighbours might have assumed a tornado occurred in only your apartment based on the sound of you scrambling over and around your furniture. A record for quickest wardrobe change had to have been set in that minute you took arranging an outfit.

You decided to splurge on a taxi, it was too hot to walk 20 minutes, besides it wouldn’t be busy at this time of day, most people were working right now. The taxi pulled up to the sidewalk next to the agreed-upon spot, but you didn’t see Adam anywhere. Maybe you somehow beat him here, you thought.

Stepping out of the car, you instantly felt sweat drip on your forehead. You walked towards a sliver of shade next to a building.

“Boo!” Two large man paws lightly slapped your sides from behind.

“Jesus fucking christ.” You turned around and swiftly punched the man in his stomach.

“Oh fuck me.” The mean giant said in between obnoxious laughs.

You gave him a childish pout, “I can’t believe you did that to me Adam!” He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t help but burst into laughter again.

He composed himself with a deep breath and a calming hand getsure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. shit kid you are way stronger than I thought. I’ll make it up to you, I’ll make it up to you kid. I’ll pay for whatever you want at the ice cream place.” He gave a big toothy grin; you noticed a few crooked teeth endearingly poking out the sides of his lips.

A nod of your head and he grabbed your hand and pulled you down the street. It was hard to pay attention to where you were going as all of your focus was on keeping up with his long strides. He abruptly stopped and turned down a dingy alleyway. While you trusted him, you had also mainly communicated online. Now that you thought of it, you’d never even seen his manager. Maybe he made the whole thing up and this is where you die. Maybe he planned to do this all alon-.

“Kid, hey, we’re here.” He was waving a large hand in your face. You looked around and saw a chalk sign with an arrow ‘Hidden Gems Handmade Ice Cream’

was neatly printed beneath it in a rainbow of pastels. “I stumbled across this place when I was really drunk a while back and it’s been my go to since then.” He opened the small ironwork gate that led into the small patio area. There were maybe twelve other people eating varieties of frozen treats at picnic tables.

Adam seemed to be quite the regular. The workers behind the small counter built into the wall knew his name and vice versa. He pointed out the menu and his recommendations. You decided to go for a cone of Fear the Turtle while Adam chose a bowl of Sasho’s Crew Crunch. He brought out his wallet to pay, and waved you off towards the tables, a silent ask to find a seat. You found a table in the corner, climbing foliage and trees created a nice patch of shade.

Lavender and camomile flowers floated a pleasing scent down to you. When Adam asked to get ice cream with you, you expected to meet him at a bodega that served cheap scoops. You also thought this place seemed pretty hipstery for a self-proclaimed anti-hipster to frequent. It only took him five strides to reach you, but he gave you finger guns in the middle of his walk to you.

“Nice spot kid.” He said around a mouthful of ice cream. The words were muffled and garbled, but you understood them, giving him a shy smile of recognition between licks at your cone, which he handed to you with a wide grin.

Adam looked down at you, his lips and surrounding face were covered in sticky ice cream, you giggled at him. He stuck his tongue out at you and then attempted to lick the mess off his face. “How’s the cafe going?” He sloppily wiped his mouth with his arm.

“I’m not sure actually. My boss is moving so I may not have a job by the end of the month, which is great, obviously. I’ve applied to a few places in case, but the spots had already been filled, gotta love the New York shitty job hustle.” Adam gave you a look of sympathy, he just got the opportunity of a lifetime, and you were about to have no job.

You threw your hands up, cone and all, to dissuade him from feeling bad. “But today is about you.” You said with a smile before taking a bite out of the cone with a loud crunch.

“Kid taste this!” Adam stuffed his spoon in your mouth. You moaned, both from surprise and from the rich flavour of his ice cream; it was very different from the salty-sweet combinations of yours. Adam felt his pants get tighter. Fuck, he thought, he shouldn’t be finding you so hot right now. Big doe eyes, mouth still around that spoon, bet you’d look even better with your mouth around something else—fuck, he needs to get laid.

Your phone’s ringtone brought him out of his thoughts. You gave him a sheepish smile in apology.

“Y/N!” It was your boss, “How’s my favourite employee?” This was news to you. “Good” it sounded more like a question. “So as you know I’m moving, and well, I’d rather say this in person, could you come over to the cafe now?” Shit, “Yeah I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You hung up

“I’m so sorry Adam, it’s my boss, they want me to meet with them now.” You said, grabbing your things and ordering an Uber.

“Don’t worry kid, will you be fine finding your way out of here?” He held genuine concern but still could feel his earlier thoughts and their accompanying burn. You smiled and waved him off.

“Yup!”

You were not fine finding your way out, not that you would ever admit that to Adam. You almost walked into someone’s apartment by accident, eventually having to follow the sounds of traffic to get out. Your Uber driver pulled up to the curb in front of you; you waited for them to say your name before getting in—a tip you learned online.

The ride was stuffy but much preferred to walking the distance to the cafe. You were definitely going to have to budget more tightly after today’s spending.

Hey! Just wanted to make sure you got to your car, Adam sent you.

Yeah i’m good

Btw it’s an uber not my car

If I had the money for a car in new york, i wouldn’t be working in a cafe ;p

The car pulled to park outside of the oddly unbusy cafe. Shouting out a quick “Thank you.” to your Uber driver, you hurried into the building to get away from the scorching heat.

“Ah Y/N, I’m so glad you were able to come.” You wondered where this joy had come from.

“So as you know I’m moving across the country, but as far as I know I haven’t told anyone why yet. A couple weeks ago I bought a lotto ticket like I always do, then when the numbers came in I found out I won the jackpot.” She paused for effect seeing the shock on your face.

“Thing is though, the money doesn’t go nearly as far here as it does in Kansas. I don’t wanna close this place though, it’s my baby, and you, Y/N are my longest worker, so what I’m asking is, do you want it?”

All you could muster to say was a bewildered, “Huh?”

“Do you want to become the owner of this cafe? You can say no of course, but you were the first person that came to mind for the job. I don’t need the answer now but if you could let me know by the end of the week that would be-”

“Yes!” Your mind was going so fast you couldn’t stop yourself from interrupting her to accept the offer.

Her eyebrows rose, “Are you sure? it’s a big thing to take on and I don’t want you to be overburdened, too many people in this country go bankrupt and I’m not about to be responsible for another.”

You nodded your head, composing yourself. “I’m sure. I-I know this place better than anyone and I can—I can do it.”

“Well then,” she smiled, “I’ll reach out tomorrow about details. I have to go but feel free to stay as long as you like.”

You nodded as your only acknowledgement, sitting down in disbelief on a nearby chair. As she left the building, the door’s bell ringing throughout the cafe let you know you were completely alone. Just you and the reality you agreed to own a fucking cafe.

“Fuck.” You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your palms.

You yelped. Fuck, your phone buzzed, scaring you nearly out of your seat.

Hey kid

You good??

It was just Adam checking up on you. You texted him back.

yeah

fien

fine*

do you remember where the cafe is

Yeah, why

can you come over?

Adam was headed out the door as soon as he received the message. Running through dangerous bouts of traffic, still taking the time to scream at drivers for almost hitting him. To be fair though, as far as he knew you could be in extreme distress, he wasn’t going to take his time when fuck knows what you were going through.

He was dripping sweat from every inch possible. His shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back made him wince, but he kept moving, just a few more blocks.

There! He could see the entrance to the same place he met you not even a month ago. Has it only been that long? He finally slowed down, violently heaving to regain his breath.

Adam pushed his body into the door, and on seeing your mostly calm face, collapsed to the floor.

Your face wasn’t calm for long, as on seeing him, you scrambled to his side on the floor. “The fuck happened to you?”

In the middle of trying to gain his breath, he gave you a signature toothy grin, “You told me to get over here kid. I fucking got over here.” You slapped his chest before recoiling at the wet fabric.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes while he synced his breathing with yours. He sat up, leaning on his palms.

“So why did you want me to come here?” He asked.

“Um, well I am, uh, gonna be the new owner of the cafe.” The last word was said more like a question.

“What! Kid that’s fucking great, holy shit.” Looking up at him in this sweaty, uncomfortable cafe, you felt something tighten in your chest. “I knew something good was coming your way, I fucking knew it,” His plump lips jutted out while he talked, and even though his arms were wildly swinging, you couldn’t take your eyes off his lips. “I thought to myself,” Fuck it “that kid is gonna have a gre—”

You leaned up to meet his level, smashing your mouth to his in what can only be described as an amalgamation of weeks of unknown yearning. He was still in shock but quickly found his senses. Adam licked his way into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

You were the one to break away. A thin trail of saliva connected your mouths, evidence of what had just occurred.

“If cafés turned you on this much I would have bought you one myself.” He smiled down at you, proud of his joke.

You slapped his chest, which his shirt was still grossly stuck to. “Asshole.” You muttered up at him.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, holding your face and pulling you in for a short but sweet kiss, “but you’re stuck with me now.”

#adam driver #reader #adcu #adcu community #adcu fic exchange #fanfic #oneshot #adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #x reader #girls hbo #fuck l*na d*nham

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adcuficexchange · 3 years

Text

ADCU Summer 2021 Fic Exchange Masterlist

It’s here: the full collection of Adam Sackler x Reader fics for the Summer 2021 exchange!

Across the Alley by @saynotoshityouhate - (E, 1.3k)

Your new neighbor likes to put on a show - but little did you know, he knows you’ve been watching.

Jellyfish Are Assholes by @leatherboundbirate - (E, 1.5k)

During a trip to the beach on a hot summer day, you sustain an injury. Adam Sackler, ever the attentive partner, helps bandage you up and then takes your mind off of the pain.

Casting Call by @fathersonandhouseofgucci - (E, 2.5k)

Some miscommunication and a salty Adam Sackler. Lovers to enemies to lovers, on the fast track, if you will.

The Sound by @millenialcatlady - (T, 3.7k)

Adam is looking for a new roommate, and Ray thinks you would be a perfect fit.

Talking Body by @glassbxttless - (not rated, 9k)

You’re new to the building and fortunately for you— you meet the handsome, yet annoyingly loud, hobby carpenter who lives across the hall.

Impulse Control by @paterson-blue - (E, 8.5k)

Sackler's working on his impulse control. No, really--he is, he swears. It's just a lot harder when it comes to you.

As Long As You Need by @weareallstoriesintheend - (M, 3.1k)

Adam and Reader are hookup buddies. Adam gets concerned that you don't want to see him for a few weeks and comes over to check on reader. Reader is struggling with anxiety/depression and Adam comforts them through a panic attack.

Press Play on Tape by @hopeamarsu - (E, 7.4k)

Adam Sackler has been cast in a Hallmark movie about soulmates and soulmate identifying marks. A lot of the shoot has been outdoors so it's time to press play on tape in the recording booth and do some ADR work. But when tensions rise due to a complicated line in the movie, what's there to do to relax and unwind so that the session can continue? Well, there's always the option of watching some videos.

Squirt Guns and Switches by @saynotoshityouhate - (E, 1.7k)

Your childish boyfriend ruined your nephew's birthday gift - but that didn't ruin your evening.

ADCU Fic Exchange Adam Sackler by @peachyproserpina - (E, 3k)

Adam asks you to be his girlfriend for a wedding over the weekend. Unresolved tensions come to a head after you agree.

Adam Sackler Hates Cafés. Or Does He? by @strawberryjam-scribbles - (M, 3.5k)

Adam Sackler hated the new cafés that kept popping up all over the place. “Pretentious hipster bullshit” he called it. If he were drunk you could easily spark a heated rant over the “overpriced, tiny cups of slave labor coffee.” But maybe cafes weren't so bad if you were in them. A rough meeting develops into a playful friendship, when you both have exciting news to share, who know where that friendship could go?

Headboards & Bedding by @mariesackler - (E, 1.9k)

Grumbling, you dragged your body from the floor. How long had you and Adam been living together? And yet, you were still sleeping on the hand-me-down mattress from your former roommate. You were adults, for fuck's sake. You weren't sure your back could handle another night. It was bad enough that you had to fight for space when sleeping with your gremlin of a man.

Inferno by @direnightshade - (M, 6.7k)

The story fades into the background as the figure draws closer and grows more visible even through the streaks of water that continue to distort the view from the glass in front of him. His eyes widen in recognition of the long, brown leather duster that hangs down nearly to the pavement. The holster isn’t visible beneath it, but the gun held firmly in hand is a dead giveaway. “You,” he murmurs to himself in complete disbelief.

Chime After Chime by @clydesducktape - (T, 3.8k)

The universe works in mysterious way, or it's a plotting jerkface. But Adam Sackler has had enough of New York when an opportunity to go west to California presents itself, he follows his gut to see what is in store for him.

Practice Sessions by - LondonID (E, 3.8k)

Being in a company with Adam Sackler was exhausting, especially when you had to rehearse sex scene with him to help out your friend.

Ask Her by @jynzandtonic - (E, 4.9k)

When you let it slip that you fooled around with your best friend back in the day, Sackler asks if you'd do it again. When you say you would, he can't seem to let the idea of the three of you go. Maybe—just maybe—all you have to do is ask her.

Tragodía by @prince-kyloren - (E, 1.7k)

Adam Sackler was an up and coming theatre actor when tragedy struck. Now his soulmate is left to pick up the pieces and discover what love after death truly means.

No More Games by - 1986_Special (M, 2.3k)

Every first Friday of the month, you join your friend Lindsay as she and her theater pals hit the club circuit. You look forward to it every single time, even if it means spending the evening with your frenemy (and, okay, secret crush), Adam Sackler.

#ADCU Summer 2021 Fic Exchange #adcu fic exchange #adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler x you #adam sackler/reader #adam sackler/you #adam sackler fanfic #adam sackler fanfiction #adam sackler smut #adcu #adcu fanfic #adcu fanfiction #adam driver character #adcu community

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weareallstoriesintheend · 3 years

Text

As Long As You Need (Reader x Adam Sackler)

Summary: Adam and Reader are hookup buddies. Adam gets concerned that you don't want to see him for a few weeks and comes over to check on reader. Reader is struggling with anxiety/depression and Adam comforts them through a panic attack.

Warnings: Depression, anxiety & panic attacks

Note: This was the fic I wrote for the Summer 2021 @adcuficexchange for LondonID!🥰 I hope this fic is something that resonates with people, I know mental health is a vast and personal subject but I hope something hits home. Even if it's just some beautiful care from our favourite gremlin 💕

The light of the day was fading slowly and the grey cover of dusk was slipping its way into the room. You lay in bed, head tucked against the pillows, body exhausted with the expense of the energy anxiety was taking from you. You felt empty and yet full to the brim, your mind weighed so heavy that you could barely move most days. The second you heard the loud thumping knocks on your front door you jolted as if waking up from a bad dream.

“Kid you in there?” Adams voice came, muffled by the thick wood of the doors between you, booming through your silence. You realised in that moment that you hadn’t spoken to him or seen him for a while and as someone who was a pretty regular occurrence in your life it suddenly felt strange to hear his voice after such a long time, you pulled your phone out from under the pillow and unlocked it. Your eyes screwed shut at the blinding light, but peeking through your eyelashes you checked your messages. Your last text to him had been nearly 3 weeks ago, then the page was just filled with him texting you again and again. All of which, in the haze of your mind, you had ignored. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him; you craved his cheeky smile, soft hair and adorable galaxy of freckles that smattered his skin. It was just the thought of having to explain the tornado that was tearing you apart that felt like a crushing pressure you couldn’t bear. Basic daily life was enough, sometimes too much, so anything on top of that you had shut out.

You curled yourself into the sheets a little more, pulling them around your shoulders. Although they were soft cotton the brush of them across your overly sensitive skin felt like sandpaper dragging over a raw exposed nerve. You stayed as still as possible whilst his knocks continued to echo through your apartment.

In a way you wondered if you had any obligation to him at all, you guys just hooked up every now and again after meeting at a mutual friends birthday party a year or so ago. Nothing serious, no dates, just fucking. He scratched an itch for you so you didn’t have to brave the dating world that daunted you. He was fun, he made you laugh but he didn’t pressure you to spend any more time with him than coming over to hold you face down into your mattress allowed.

The knocks turned to bangs of a fist and you pulled your blanket over your head, maybe he’d just go away if he thought you weren’t home. Your body thrummed with the disturbance of your comfortable silence and it made you uneasy. A slight nausea rippled through your throat. “I know you’re home” his voice bellowed, you closed your eyes and didn’t respond. “Open the fucking door kid” he shouted, he didn’t sound angry but you couldn’t quite make out the tone. He’d never used it before around you that’s for sure, he almost sounded worried. Then there was more thumping on the door, “Kid, for fucks sake your sweet old lady neighbour is looking at me like I’m fucking nuts, open the door”

You sighed and slung yourself off the bed onto your feet. The rush of movement made your head spin; your muscles and joints ached with a lack of energy. You tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the main room of your apartment, hoping that he couldn’t hear your deliberately soft padding footsteps. With your eyes trained on the door you didn’t notice the chair sticking out from the table and you bumped it as you passed. You froze dead still waiting to see if he’d heard it.

“I can hear you rustling around in there. Just open the fucking door and talk to me”

“I don’t want you to see me” you replied hesitantly, not raising the volume of your voice too high knowing he could hear you through the door now. The croak of your voice finally speaking was crackly and broken. “Why not?”

“I… I don’t look great” you looked at yourself in the reflection of the painting hanging on the wall. In the glass you could just about see yourself looking back; your hair was greasy and dishevelled, your eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red and dark circles created a deep shadow underneath them. You suddenly balked at how awful you actually looked, you hadn’t showered in a few days and it really showed. Your face looked kind of gaunt with the limited food and sleep you’d given yourself for the last few weeks, mind always racing with one thought after another. The racing thoughts only leaving space for the basics of working at your laptop for 8 hours a day and activities to numb your mind till a restless bedtime. “Are you kidding?” he scoffed, thumping his fist once against the door, “I’ve seen you sweating, crying and covered in my cum… I don’t think you looking a little messy is going to be bother me” You cringed at how loud he was talking and in your embarrassment you frantically pulled the door open, “Jesus Adam don’t say that so loud my neighbours will hear y-“ you paused mid-sentence when you saw how he was looking at you. He was shocked and trying to hide it but his eyes were wide with sympathy. You instantly went to close the door on him again but he put his overly large foot in the way.

“Nope, no way! You opened it, I’m like a vampire, you’ve got to let me in now” he smiled cheekily. You sighed and let go of the door walking away from him. “Listen I don’t know why you’re here” you said, voice trailing behind you as you made your way to the couch hearing him step inside and close the door behind him, “I don’t really think I’m in any fit state to be fucking anyone” “I’m not here to fuck you” he retorted, for some reason that kind of stung. “Then why are you here?” you said, nestling into the couch cushions as he firmly placed himself standing in front of you. Adam was staring down at you with that intense glare he always seemed to have and you squinted your eyes, hurting due to the light from the windows, to look up at him. “Why am I here? You haven’t talked to me for like… three weeks. What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? I thought I was going to find you rotting in the bathtub or some shit” You rolled your eyes “I’m fine” “Oh right this…” he paused, flailing his arms at the quite frankly disgusting state of your living room, “… this is ‘fine’?” “This is as good as it gets” you muttered under your breath. He scoffed and you looked up at him, you took a second to take him in. He’d clearly run here, the beads of sweat were trailing gently down his temples and had matted the curly little front pieces of his hair. The outfit he was wearing, a dark blue cut off tank top, grey knee length shorts and heavy tan work boots over cream socks, would look kind of uncoordinated on anyone else but something about Adam always just… made sense.

“What do you mean?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Nothing” you rolled your eyes again, “You know you can just go right? I don’t even know why you’re bothering”

“What are you talking about kid? I wanted to make sure you were alright. You went all ghost on me and I was worried about you”

“Worried?” now it was your turn to scoff, you could feel the sickening panic rolling around inside your stomach and you needed him to leave.

“Yeah kid… worried” Adams voice suddenly had a tinge of anger behind it and it made the panic swirl harder around inside you.

“Well I don’t need you to worry about me. That’s not your job, your job is to fuck me and leave. And you’re good at that. So you do your job and I’ll do mine”

“Not true” he retorted, face screwed up a little against the harshness of your words.

“You were the one that set those rules Adam” you replied, frustration tainting your words “You don’t need to act like you give a shit”

“Hey when I commit, I really commit” “Commit to what?” you shouted, losing a little of your patience as your ears started to ring and the blood pumped through your body like a steady beat of music. “Commit to you!” he yelled back “We may not be dating or whatever but when I want someone in my life I work for that. Clearly you don’t…we are supposed to be fucking friends after all!”

He had every right to be mad, you had barely treated him like a human being lately and the wash of guilt made your heart start to jump in its rhythm. You could feel the brush of heat up the back of your neck and your pulse thudding in your ears. You shook your head wishing away what you knew was happening; the panic of the overwhelming sense of everything was rising up from your toes. He couldn’t see you like this, it was too embarrassing.

Although your breath was basically coming out like gasps you looked up at him and firmly said “Please leave”

He shook his head “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re avoiding me. Did I do something?” You stood up from your seat on the couch but didn’t get very far, your body felt over stimulated and you couldn’t get your mind clear enough to decide where to go to escape him. So you started pacing back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.

“Adam please just go” this time your voice betrayed you even further, the tell-tale break in your speech giving away the tears that had begun to brim in your eyes. You pushed the base of your palms harshly into your eye sockets, rubbing away the tears. “Hey hey hey” he said softly, reaching out for your wrists and you flinched back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Please just leave!” you shouted, panicked breath coming out of you in heavy pants. “I can’t breathe” you whispered to yourself turning away from him. Your tears, now virtually unstoppable, cascaded down your cheeks as the panic truly set in. You swayed slightly as you began to feel light-headed.

“Tell me what you need” you heard him say, but his voice felt like it was miles away from you even as he stood mere steps away with his hands outstretched slightly in your direction.

This was it, you were officially going crazy. You couldn’t even handle a simple conversation or own up to your shitty actions. You stole a glance at Adam, his eyebrows were pulled down with concern watching you and a wave of nausea rolled up into the back of your throat. He was going to think you were insane after this, this was the last time you were ever going to see him and this was how you were acting. You felt your cheeks heat up, burning with panic and embarrassment. One of the only things that kept you afloat, the only thing had made you happy as of late, was going to walk out. You could imagine him telling his friends about the crazy chick he used to fuck on the side, “She just totally flipped out on me, honestly man fucking nuts” you could practically hear his voice already, full of mocking vitriol towards you.

Then you really started to hyperventilate, chest aching with the weight of your gasps, but something in the back of your mind gave you respite… that wasn’t Adam. That wouldn’t be how he would act. He was kind. You glanced up at him as your hands began to shake violently.

“I-I’m sorry” you stuttered out, you felt your body collapse underneath you as the room began to spin around you. He dove forward to catch you as your body buckled down to the hard wooden floor.

“Come here” his voice was gentle and barely audible to you but he held you tight, this time you didn’t flinch and he quickly gathered you into his arms in the fear you would move away from him again. “It’s just a panic attack, you’re going to be okay. I’m right here, it’ll be over soon” As he pulled you into his chest, seating himself on the floor with you, he stretched his long legs out around you so his whole body was caging you against him. Your breath instantly started to slow down as the warmth and closeness of him soothed you. He didn’t speak too much, he just calmed your mind with hushed whispers of “Shhh” and “You’re going to be okay”.

You clung yourself to him, vibrating with the force of the trembles that were wracking your body. Your teeth chattered in your head causing you to screw your eyes closed in pain. Your fingers wound tight in his shirt as your breathing finally began to even out. Your body released some of the tension that was winding your muscles tight and you leant a little more into his chest.

“H-how did you know?” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper as you regained your breath.

He shrugged “My mom used to get them… and my sister for a while. I’m used to it.” he smiled softly, lips merely twitching up at the edges as he gauged your reaction. He stroked his large hand through your tangled hair, massaging his fingers over your scalp as your body relaxed and you sighed. “Better?” he asked, placing a careful kiss to the top of your head. You nodded, the scent of his cologne and sweat drifted over you as you kept yourself gripped against him, not quite ready to be moved from his warmth.

“You didn’t have to do this” you croaked, looking up at him now. He shook his head and rolled his eyes jokingly, a smirk coming over his lips as he does it.

“You know we don’t just have to fuck right? We can be more than that.” he chuckled, holding your face gently with one hand, “We can also talk, we are friends right?”

You nodded again, looking up at him with wide glassy eyes. He kissed the tip of your nose and you scrunched it.

“Listen maybe we’re just friends for a little while. We can… get lunch or walk through the park when the weather gets better. Whatever you want” he shrugged, you smiled at the level of effort he was so clearly trying to give. Adam hated stuff like that, lunches out and walks in the park; he often said how trivial it all seemed to him. He liked to be at home in his own little world. So the fact he was offering to make you feel better was more than enough to bring a smile to your face. You nodded and giggled when he pumped the air with his fist in celebration.

“And you know, if you need someone to come with you to therapy or whatever I can do that too” he mumbled clearly unsure how you would respond, “You still go to therapy right? I know you mentioned it a while ago and I figured-“ he began to ramble nervously. You pressed your hand into his chest and nodded.

You pushed yourself up a little and placed a kiss to his cheek, “That would help, thank you”

He shuffled a little and rose to get to his feet before extending a hand out to you. You clasped your hand across his, so much smaller in his grasp, and used his body weight to pull yourself up on unsteady legs. He wrapped his arms around you a little bit, his body hunched over yours protectively.

“But first, you need food… and a shower” he paused for a moment, making small grunt-like thinking noises as he looked you over. Then all at once he dipped and gathered you up in his arms, you squealed loudly and wrapped your arms around his neck “What are you doing?” you protested through unsure giggles.

He didn’t say anything but started walking towards your bathroom. He kicked the door open with the toe of his boot and swung his arms so that your head just missed the door frame. He propped you, sitting upright, on the edge of your bathtub before reaching up and turning on your shower. He gestured for you to stand as the water began heating up behind you. Soft clouds of steam quickly started to rise up around the room and he nodded with satisfaction. He tentatively tugged at the base of your oversized-hoodie and you raised your arms above your head. He slipped your hoodie off in one swift motion and dropped it to the floor beside you both. You self-consciously crossed your arms over your now bare chest and he smiled down at you. He placed a kiss to your forehead before kneeling down to wriggle your panties off your hips and down your legs. You shuffled shyly, despite the fact he’d seen you naked so very many times, and stepped out of them as he reached your ankles. He tossed them on top of your hoodie, placing a tender kiss to your stomach as he knelt in front of you, before standing back up to his full height “I’ll get you fresh stuff and wash those” he noted, almost to himself as he spun you by your shoulders so you had your back to him. “You get in there” he pointed to the steady stream of hot water creating billows of steam in the small bathroom, “And I’m going to make you some soup, you still have cans of that chicken one you like?” You nodded once and he placed a firm kiss to your shoulder. With his hands on your waist he placed a final kiss to the top of your head before his touch left you completely. You smiled at his constant need to show you physical care, it was like he understood how even simple affection could heal even the worst of the pain your brain could throw at you. You turned to look over your shoulder as he left the room; like he sensed your hesitation he stopped and turned to look at you with a sweet smile…

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me too”

#adam sackler x reader #adam sackler #tw:mental health #adam sackler x you #adcu #adcu fic #adcu summer fic exchange #adcu fic exchange

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direnightshade · 3 years

Text

Inferno

Warnings: Violence / Gun Violence, Post-Apocalyptic Themes, Angst, Unhappy Ending, Death / Major Character Death, Pandemic, Major Injury Word Count: 6,705

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

----------------

An arid landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. The familiar rows of brownstones and businesses of Brooklyn have long since vanished, replaced by a sun-baked desert. On the horizon, two figures stand facing one another, their muscles tensed and their focus solely on the other. Neither notices Sackler’s advance toward them.

The leather palm of the fingerless glove that the gunslinger wears creaks with the brief flex of fingers. You are itching to reach for the weapon holstered at your hip, eager to pull the warm steel from its confines to unleash the fury that you’ve been waiting to deliver for years now. But now, you know, is not the time. You will not be the first to make the move. No, this is dependent upon him , the man dressed in all black who stands opposite you with a look of smug determination.

The rough terrain crunches beneath Adam’s shoes and the dust that kicks up clings to them with each step forward that he takes, but as he draws nearer he notes how the sky grows increasingly darker. Large, grey clouds, swollen with an impending storm darken the sky and blot out the sun until a familiar rumble in the distance can be heard. It isn’t long until the first bolt of lightning strikes, effectively halting his steps. The electric current crackles and sizzles on its path downward and it’s then that Sackler realizes the strangest thing: the bolt does not disappear into the ground but rather into the fingertips of the man in black who now holds his hands upwards towards the sky.

Adam’s gaze shifts to where you stand. Your hand has since migrated to the gun at your hip and your thumb has lifted the leather snap of the holster, making for a quicker, easier draw of the weapon. It’s like slow motion, watching the scene unfold before him as your head swivels while your hand grips the gun and lifts in one fluid motion. With a squeeze of the trigger, a bullet rips through the air, the bang of the gun mirroring the echo of the thunder that accompanies a second bolt of lightning that careens down towards the parched Earth.

The moment that the bullet nears the man in black, it’s as if someone has flicked a switch and time has resumed its correct rate of movement once more as the man lowers his hands and faces his palms out towards you, both deflecting the bullet and sending a stream of electric current in your direction. Your eyes widen and just as the current reaches you...

The familiar blare of an alarm clock startles Sackler awake, immediately causing his eyelids to part to now take in the sight of the stark white ceiling above him. Gone is the dry landscape of some foreign desert; he has found his way back to the comfort of home. A large hand settles atop his chest and he takes a moment to puff out his cheeks and exhale a long breath whilst he feels the steady rhythm of his beating heart beneath his touch. This is not the first that he has dreamt of you and the man in black, nor does he suspect that it will be the last, but this time, he realizes, was different. This time the man in black had seemed to have the upper hand, something in which he’d never managed to in dreams prior.

Sackler had never believed much in astrology or dream meanings and the like, but the brevity and the sheer vividness of each one chipped away at his stance little by little until finally he’d found himself up and out of bed, pouring over page after page of varying dream meanings. From the cracked, barren wasteland of the desert to the storm that raged above, every meaning—if Sackler looked close enough— could feasibly be tied back to one problem or another in his life. But even with the research and the meanings loosely tied to reality, he still found the tiniest seed of doubt sprouting in his gut—a little flutter of worry that something just wasn’t quite right .

The scrape of a wooden chair across the linoleum floor sounds out into the small apartment when he rises up from his spot at the table, suppressing the unease for the time being. Sackler grabs his backpack and slings a strap over his shoulder before making the short stroll across the space to retrieve his bike. He’d forget about this for now, chalking it up to nothing more than a dream. Because that’s all it could possibly be...couldn’t it?

***

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Shoshana stands beside Adam, her hand gently swirling the wooden stirrer to mix her cream into the coffee that she holds.

The noncommittal hum that she receives in response isn’t to her liking, however. She huffs and nudges Adam’s ribs with her elbow, careful to not waste a single precious drop of the still piping hot liquid.

When Adam turns his head to look at her, she speaks up again. “You have to come! Marnie already said you’d told her you’d be there.”

“Yeaaaah, yeah. I’ll be there,” he replies, eyeing the board overhead that contains a multitude of hand-written items available to order. A brief moment of silence follows and then: “Wait, what time does it start?”

“Adam!”

A pinch is delivered to his side, eliciting a dramatic yelp in response to minimal pain. “Wh— ow! What?!”

“It’s six o’clock. And don’t be late,” Shoshana says, pausing momentarily to blow gingerly across the heated surface of her coffee before taking a long, thoughtful sip. “You know how Marnie gets.”

Sackler’s lips purse, thumbs hooking around the straps of his backpack while his eyes continue to peruse the board overhead. Another moment passes before he feels a nudge, this time another elbow, in his side. “Why bother, just get it black like you always do.”

He huffs out an amused breath and smiles down at Shoshana who mirrors the expression prior to excusing herself and pivoting on her heels to make her exit. He watches as she steps out of the door, the bell overhead ringing to signal her vacation of the premises; when the familiar blonde head of hair disappears among the crowd on the other side of the exterior wall’s windows, Adam’s gaze slides over to the clock that adorns the nearby wall. One thirty.

With a sigh, he turns back to face Ray who is already in the process of sliding him the usual: one black coffee in a plain off-white insulated cup complete with lid. Tossing down enough money to cover both the coffee and tip, Adam flashes Ray a grin and turns to follow Shoshana’s path back out onto the street.

***

The unassuming brick building that sits on Willoughby is lit by a pair of skyward pointing spotlights, illuminating the red brick against the dark backdrop of nightfall. Inside, the stark white of the walls and grey concrete floors reflect the blinding fluorescents overhead. Art is dotted sparsely along the walls, ranging from geometric abstraction to realism. Hushed tones fill the space as would-be patrons, guests, and painters alike all speak to one another among the art.

The soles of a pair of scuffed tan leather boots carry Adam further into the gallery while his gaze sweeps the area, roaming from one piece to another. The hands that are shoved deep into his one good pair of pants flex within the stiff material of his pockets as he stops in front of a painting by someone with a name he doesn’t recognize. Like nearly every other piece of art in this place that he’s laid eyes upon, this one is loud; bold, bright colors are splashed across the canvas in such a way that it almost appears angry, as if someone had been in the throes of being upset when making this. Though, what the fuck does he know about art?

Adam snorts to himself and pivots, stepping away from this piece and moving on, one after another until…

“Hooooly shiiiiiit,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

“It’s a masterpiece isn’t it,” says a familiar voice abruptly to his right. “I’d say it’s my best work yet.”

Sackler’s gaze slides over to the nameplate that sits beneath the painting, though he doesn’t have to. He knows precisely this belongs to by their voice alone.

“I call it The Duality of Life and Death,” says Booth with an air of smugness. “You see, the Gunslinger, they’re the embodiment of life; all light and warm tones, whereas Death here is in all black, being kept at bay by the Gunslinger’s trusty weapon.”

He cannot believe what he is seeing. In fact, he is so focused on the painting before him that Sackler fails to register any and all words that leave Booth’s mouth. It is as if this artwork has been pulled straight from his most recent dream. Everything, right down to the bolts of lightning, tinged purple by the storm, is an accurate portrayal of the vividness of the dream he’d lived through the night prior. Impossible. And yet…

“Shut up,” Sackler mumbles just loud enough for Booth to hear.

“Excuse me?” Booth balks at the audacity of Adam’s sudden intrusion upon his well-rehearsed pitch and not so modest boasting about his talents.

“How much?”

The conversation lapses, and for a moment, all that can be heard is the sound of the murmurs of the other patrons. Booth huffs out a laugh, unsure of whether or not this is a genuine inquiry.

“Too much for you.”

“How much,” Adam asks again, this time more forcefully. His head turns and, for the first time since Booth’s arrival, he directs his full attention to the man beside him.

Another brief silence follows. “Fifteen hundred.”

“I’ll give you seven,” Adam counters.

A scoff follows the attempted negotiation. “Absolutely not. Fifteen hundred and not a penny less.”

Sackler’s jaw twitches in irritation and he knows without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that Booth is taking him for a ride with the price, but he simply cannot walk away from this. Not when the coincidence is far too great for him to ignore.

“Fine. You have yourself a deal.”

***

Hours later, Adam finds himself back in his apartment fifteen hundred dollars lighter and one painting in hand. Having disrobed down to the grey pair of boxers he still dons, he settles his weight heavily onto the edge of his mattress, his eyes fixated on the acquired painting that now hangs on the wall directly opposite of where he sits.

It’s uncanny, he thinks to himself, unable to shake the familiarity of it. Just as in his dream, the Gunslinger— you —are looking at him, and from even this great distance, your stare seems to pierce right through him. He stares and he stares and he stares until finally, sleep begins to wrap its tendrils around him, pulling him further down into a groggy state until he gives in and lies back against the mattress.

His eyes slowly slide closed, thoughts still on the painting, on his dream, on you . In the distance, an impending storm rumbles.

***

‘As many of you in the city have noticed, there has been a rather unusual weather pattern that’s settled over us, bringing with it an unsettling amount of rain and near hurricane level winds. Our storm tracker seems to indicate that this weather pattern is swirling in place, only delivering more debilitating rain that’s quickly turned to flash flooding in the area. The Hudson and East Rivers have both begun to breach their respective banks. But this isn’t the only unusual thing to come from the storm. There have also been strange electromagnetic pul—’

The nearby lamp flickers and then shuts off just as the television screen turns black, cutting off the meteorologist mid forecast. This has been, provided Sackler’s been keeping count accurately, the twelfth time this morning that the power has cut out. If this time is like the others, he can expect it to come back within the next five minutes.

He puffs his cheeks out prior to exhaling a deep breath, his eyes casting downward towards the phone in his hand—the very one he’d only just allowed himself to be talked into purchasing a mere three days ago. A large thumb taps the darkened glass screen to bring it to life. Twenty-eight percent, reads the small battery icon at the upper righthand corner. He sighs, opting not to waste more of the battery life by calling anyone. There’s no use, he knows. Instead, he tosses the device to the side, watching as it bounces against the worn cushions of the couch he sits on.

Outside, the storm rages on.

Rising up from his spot on the couch, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight, he crosses the small space of his living room to approach the window that gives him the perfect vantage point of the street below. Rain batters against the window, blurring his view, but below he spots a figure striding with purpose down the street.

Behind him, the microwave beeps and the light of his lamp clicks back on with the sudden return of electricity. Static sounds from the direction of the television and then:

‘In other parts of the world we’re seeing an emergence of a previously unknown virus. To date, there are no cases that we are aware of within the United States, but the CDC is urging anyone with the following symptoms to make a report—’

“You,” he murmurs to himself in complete disbelief.

Without hesitation, and without allowing his mind to catch up with the actions he now takes, he pushes himself away from the window and makes a break for the apartment’s door, leaving behind the nearly dead phone on the couch.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

Plants of varying nature have long since begun to sprout through the cracks in sidewalks and pavement alike, their tendrils crawling up brick exteriors of buildings and brownstone homes. The hustle and bustle that the city is known for has quieted to a deafening degree; where once there were horns and shouts, now there is nothing more than the occasional whipping of the wind and, if one were so lucky, the rare sound of another survivor’s voice.

The illness that had swept across the globe crippled economies and decimated nations, including this very one. Businesses shuddered, families suffered, and in the end, no hope for a cure had been found.

Except for you, that is.

Ever since your arrival to the city where the man in black has taken up residence, it has been claimed by you that you are the only one who can put a stop to the man who’d brought a near end to civilization as Sackler knows it. Back in the realm from whence you have emerged, you have failed to stop him once, but this time, you vow, you will not falter in your mission.

The unmistakable metallic sound of a can being opened can be heard nearby. Sackler turns his head to look over at where you sit, your body curled over the pot that sits atop the lit tabletop burner. His face scrunches in distaste when he watches you dump the tin of beans unceremoniously into the empty pot in order to heat them up. It is the involuntary sound of displeasure that emanates from the back of his throat that captures your attention.

“What,” you ask as your head lifts to look in his direction.

He huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug just as his attention shifts to the window of the apartment you find yourselves in currently. His head shakes once, twice, and then: “I don’t think I have it in me to eat another can of fuckin’ beans. At this point I think my blood’s made of it.”

The soft snort that emanates from where you stand pulls his attention back to you. He hadn’t heard you pick up the wooden spoon that you now hold, but he watches as you gently stir the warming beans, bringing them up to the desired temperature.

“It’s not like we have many options these days.”

Sackler notes how you refrain from looking in his direction, and instead direct your reply downward towards the soon to be meal. He grits his teeth together, jaw muscles ticking in visible agitation at the remark. It’s been one year, three hundred and sixty-five days, since the man in black’s arrival to Earth and only you, or so you’ve claimed, are the one that can stop him—only you can stop the sickness that he’s wrought on the planet and its people, and yet here you stand in his shitty apartment’s kitchen of all places, cooking some fucking beans.

It’s enough to drive him mad.

“We might not have options, but you sure as shit do,” he snaps, now having lost his patience. “That man, or whatever the fuck he is,” he says, pointing a finger in the direction of the window, “is out there. We know where he is, where he’s been for the last year and still you haven’t done shit about it!”

The wooden spoon once held in your hand now clatters against the side of the pot, the beans forgotten as Adam watches you twist off the flame and turn to face him with a sneer.

“I told you, it isn’t that simple. He’s dangerous , and he’s stronger than he’s ever been. And in case you haven’t noticed—”

“All the more reason to get it done, Kid! No use standing around here wasting time.”

“—I’m the last one of my kind left!”

Silence fills the space when your respective outbursts subside, and it isn’t until then that Sackler notices that you’ve taken steps to bring yourself closer to him. He wonders if you’ve noticed it too. Adam watches as your lips press together into a thin line, evidence of your displeasure with him and the situation the two of you find yourself in.

In a moment of seemingly perfectly choreographed movements, the two of you reach for one another, hands grasping at fabric, skin, anything and everything that you can reach. A groan of satisfaction tumbles from Sackler’s mouth the moment that he draws your body closer until you are firmly pressed against him, the sound greedily inhaled by you amidst a clashing of lips.

***

Hours later, when the light sheen of sweat covering your bodies has cooled, and the warmth of your skin is pressed against his, Adam turns his head and deposits a kiss to the crown of your own. In immediate response, you exhale a barely audible sigh.

There is a palpable energy that fills the space now; it is not the same explosive kind from earlier, the very one that led the two of you to the mattress you currently find yourselves on, no… This time it is different, uncomfortable. Sackler’s lips press together briefly, his jaw working in the familiar way you’ve come to notice in the short span of time that you’ve known him.

“I can practically hear the gears grinding in that head of yours, Kid,” he murmurs.

In reply you hum, though a moment of silence elapses before you respond. “We can’t,” you begin, the two words spoken with a quietness to rival your earlier sigh. Quickly, you lapse into more soundless thought.

Sackler’s arm tightens around your form, holding you closer to him; it is a wordless response that speaks volumes. Don’t , it says. Let us have this one moment of peace before the inevitable storm comes raging in and one of us finds ourselves swept away .

“Adam…” His name is a whisper, spoken so softly that if there were any other remaining souls in this building, not one would hear.

“Don’t,” he exclaims more forcefully than he’d intended. The words that follow are quieter, mournful, even. “Just don’t…” A shaky breath is inhaled and Sackler closes his eyes, an all too familiar ache beginning to make its home in the depths of his chest.

Beside him, bedsheets rustle as you lift yourself up out of the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Slowly, Adam’s eyelids part to look up only to find that you have propped yourself up by your elbow to peer down at him with a pained expression etched onto your features. A hand lifts and his eyes flutter closed once more when the sensation of your fingertips delicately tracing his cheek can be felt.

Such a tender touch only seems to feed the ache.

“We can’t be together.” The pain that he feels seems to be echoed in your own statement. It is a realization that drives the proverbial knife deeper and then twists. Your fingertips skim along his lips which now quiver with unshed sobs for a love that has died before it has even had a chance to bloom. “It’s too dangerous.”

A large hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you in place so that he may press kiss after kiss into your open palm in what feels like a desperate bid to prevent this moment from fading from existence. Adam shakes his head and slides your hand over to rest against his cheek, nuzzling into the touch before opening his eyes once more. This time when he looks up at you, he can see the tears that have gathered at your waterline, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks at any moment.

You exhale a trembling breath and when you close your eyes, the tears fall freely. Sackler lifts his hands, thumbs wicking away the moisture from your face as best he can. With a gentle hush, he guides you down to lay against him again, this time with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“You understand that, right,” you ask through the sobs that now begin to rack your body.

In response, Adam wraps an arm around your back, his other hand now cradling your head as you rest against him. “Yeah, Kid… I do,” he whispers in reply, his own tears now blurring his vision.

***

A rustling of wrappers can be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper. When Adam cracks one eye open, it’s to find that the light of an early dawn has begun to creep its way through the sheer curtain draped across his window, spilling in to illuminate your form as you work to close his backpack. He groans and lifts a hand to rub his palm against one eye, working the grogginess from it whilst he begins to sit upright.

“Whasssgoin’on,” he slurs, voice still thick with sleep.

He’s met by the thump of the backpack as it lands against his chest, and coughing out a breath, he wraps his arms around the material in immediate reaction.

“Get up,” you say, now turning your attention to your own gear, ensuring that you have everything that you need. “Get dressed and make sure you take that with you. We’re heading out.”

“Out?” The sleep that had laced his voice has dissipated entirely, now replaced with a brief bout of confusion. “Out where?”

Sliding your gun into its holster, you pivot simultaneously, the soles of your boots scuffing the old worn hardwood floor. “We have a stop to make. I need more ammunition and then we’re headed into Manhattan.”

It takes him a moment, but when the weight of your words hit him with full force, it’s impossible for you to miss the look of recognition that passes across his face. He scrambles from the bed, momentarily discarding the backpack in order to grab his clothes from the pile he’d discarded on the floor just a day earlier. At long last, after everything he has endured over the course of the last year, after everything that you have endured, as well as the two of you together, the day has finally arrived. And yet…

There is a small seed of hesitation that has sewn itself into the depths of his belly, sprouting up into worry.

***

Brooklyn remains as quiet as it has been for this past year; a gentle breeze cuts through a brownstone-lined street, rustling Sackler’s hair and causing the near floor-length duster that you wear to billow in its wake. The soles of your boots scuff along the pavement, kicking up pebbles that have torn up from the once heavily-traveled road. Beside you, Sackler adjusts the strap of the backpack that dangles precariously from his shoulder.

“You know you aren’t going to find any ammunition in any of the stores around here.” The words leave him matter-of-factly, as if he knows this to be true.

Your head swivels to look over at him and your eyes squint slightly as if to ask for further elaboration on the subject at hand. In automatic response, his hands lift, palms facing outward as if in defense though the two of you carry on walking alongside one another.

“Gun laws,” he says. “They’re super strict here.”

You huff out a grunt in reply and mutter a barely audible ‘that’s fine’ in return to which Adam quickly follows with: “T-that’s fine? What do you mean that’s fine? Hey! Hey , where are you going?!”

Stunned into momentary silence, Adam watches as you veer off course and make a beeline for one of the passing brownstones that sits vacant. “I don’t need a store,” you call out from over your shoulder.

With a swift, solid kick of your boot to the center of the door, you manage to dislodge the lock and allow yourself entry. The interior of the home is dark in spite of the sun that hangs high overhead just outside—a byproduct of city living. Upon further investigation, the home looks tidy, orderly, as if whomever used to live here locked up and left long before the sickness that swept the nation one year ago was able to settle in and take hold of the building’s occupants.

“Up here,” Adam says, the sudden boom of his voice cutting through your thoughts.

He is already halfway up the wooden staircase that leads to the second floor by the time you look over, taking the steps two at a time to reach the landing. It isn’t long until you are close behind, following him into one of the spacious bedrooms. Sackler’s backpack falls to the floor with a light thump just as he all but dives to the floor, his lean body stretching out as he peers beneath the bed. A hand reaches under, retrieving a small black case along with two boxes.

“Check these.” He rises up from his spot on the floor and immediately pivots to make his way into the large walk-in closet.

The sound of hangers sliding along metal rods can be heard as he pushes row after row of clothes aside in order to hunt down what he suspects will be a second weapon. By the time that he re-emerges, it is to find that you have scattered the boxes of ammunition from beneath the bed on top of the duvet. Beside the discarded ammo sits the black box, now opened to reveal Glock.

“This isn’t what I need,” you reply before turning your head to look over at where he stands at the threshold of the closet. “But that is.”

Just as you nod your head to the boxes of ammunition belonging to the very same revolver that sits on your hip, you stride across the expanse of the bedroom to approach him. Sackler hands the boxes to you without hesitation, watching as you squirrel the individual bullets away in the bandolier that sits snugly around your waist.

When the last of the ammunition has been tucked away, you lift your gaze to find Sackler staring back at you with an expression that you can’t quite pin down. There is an air of wistfulness about it and something else you cannot put your finger on.

“Ready,” you ask, lacing the question with an enthusiasm that is so manufactured that it feels bitter and foreign in your mouth.

Sackler nods but does not respond verbally. Instead, he turns and makes his way out of the bedroom first with you following close behind. Back by the bed, still lying on the floor, remains the backpack that Sackler had brought with him on the first leg of your journey.

***

Even from the Brooklyn Bridge, it is impossible to miss how the tallest residential building in the whole of the city looms above all else. But here, now, standing just beneath it on Park Avenue, makes all other vantage points pale in comparison. The front wall of the building that once housed luxury accommodations is all glass, pure and pristine—not a single pane disturbed or broken, unlike the remainder of the buildings that have gone neglected since the planet’s downfall.

“This is the one.”

“Yeeeeah.” Adam’s head tips back, eyes squinting to peer up at the sheer size of the building. “I figured.” When he rights his stance, head turning now to look over at you, he rolls a shoulder into a shrug. “Nothing says ‘the villain’s in here’ like the only untouched building in all of New York, and my guess, the world.”

You hum out an unintelligible reply—a grunt of sorts, something that requires no retort from Sackler, but receives one nonetheless.

“Hey,” he calls out, a hand snapping out to grasp your upper arm just as you begin to take steps towards the building’s front door. Only when you turn to face him again does he ease his grasp and then release it entirely. “Whatever happens in there—”

“Adam…”

“—whatever happens in there…” Sackler pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly, eyes searching your own. “That son of a bitch is dead, yeah?”

He watches as your head nods, albeit a bit more slowly than he’d like. When he says nothing, you nod again, this time with more conviction. “Yes.”

In turn, Sackler nods and utters a ‘ good ’ before following you through the front door. The lobby of the building is just as the outside stands: untouched and in good condition just as the day that it had been prior to the man in black’s arrival to the city. Despite the lack of people in the space—security or otherwise—it’s impossible to miss the hum of anticipation that shoots through the air like electricity. Every hair on the back of Adam’s neck seems to rise with the feeling, and his eyes dart around the room whilst he continues to follow your lead to the nearby staircase.

“Woah, hold on,” he whispers as the stairwell’s door clicks shut softly behind him, his hand once again reaching to grasp your arm to effectively stop your advance towards the stairs.

“What?!” The words that you hiss out in reply echo slightly against the concrete walls and floor alike.

A gentle tug pulls you closer, and though you don’t resist, it isn’t lost on Adam how your eyes narrow ever so slightly at the abrupt halt of your plans. “Something’s... off … It,” he starts, sighing and releasing his hold on you to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It feels wrong.”

When your brows crease in momentary confusion, he elaborates.

“You don’t think it’s weird that no one’s here? There’s no, I don’t fucking know, evil henchmen or some shit to stop us?”

A huff of air is expelled just as you turn your gaze upward as if to look to the floors above where you will undoubtedly find the man at long last. Adam watches as your lips press together momentarily before you look back to him and whisper once more. “Does it really matter? He’s here,” you insist, your own hand reaching to grasp his forearm. “You feel it. I know you do.”

When silence fills the space between you, Adam nods once in affirmation to your statement. He does feel him, it’s impossible not to. The crackle of electricity in the air has only grown more intense even only having moved a few hundred feet upon entry into the building.

“Come on,” you say, loosening yourself from his hold just as your hand slips from his arm simultaneously. “Let’s finish this.”

***

Thunder rumbles beyond the panes of glass that makeup the exterior walls by the time the two of you reach your destination and the final floor of the eighty-five story building. The door staircase’s door leads to a small hall that in turn leads to a solid black door complete with a tiny peep hole that the former occupants undoubtedly used to peer out at any visitors. Sackler surmises that now such a peep hole is useless and unused.

The feeling of unease that has settled into the depths of his stomach only seems to grow when you reach for the handle, turning it without resistance and finding that the door is unlocked. It’s a trap, he wants to call out, but that—he knows—would only serve to verbalize the obvious. You are just as aware as he, and yet…

The two of you push onward, stepping into the penthouse apartment that overlooks the entirety of Manhattan. Beyond the panes of glass that makeup the living area, Central Park stands empty, bathed in the purple light of the rapidly impending storm. To your left, movement captures both yours and Sackler’s attention and when your heads collectively turn to find the source, a sweeping sense of dread drapes over Adam like the heaviest of blankets.

“I see you’ve finally found me.” The soles of the boots the man in black wears, land heavily against the cool marble tile that covers the floor where he walks. “It only took you, oh,” he pauses briefly, pretending to check his watch, “a little over a year now. I thought your tracking skills were far superior than that, Gunslinger. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

“You don’t give them enough,” Adam sneers, taking his place beside you.

The man’s gaze slides from you to Sackler and back again. There is a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth before his lips part, stretching wide across his face in a toothy grin. Laughter fills the space as his head is thrown back momentarily. Though the sound fades, the amused grin remains when the man’s attention is turned to you, effectively dismissing Sackler.

“Who is this? Is this the reason you’ve taken your sweet old time?” The man tuts in disapproval, his gaze flitting to where Adam stands, sizing him up with a single sweep down and then back up again. “You always did have a weak heart,” he mocks. “It’s a wonder you are the last one of your kind standing.”

The clouds that roll in now block the sun entirely, casting a dark shadow over the city that spills over into the living room and draping itself across the three of you. Outside, lightning strikes nearby as thunder rolls ominously overhead. The hand that rests at your side twitches in eager anticipation of the quick draw that will undoubtedly occur sooner rather than later.

“You’re wrong.”

The man’s gaze once again slides over to where Adam stands, hands balled into fists as if in preparation for the fight to come. The charged air seems to thicken to an uncomfortable degree and for a fleeting moment, Sackler wonders if this sullen energy is radiating from the man himself.

Another strike of lightning illuminates the space, followed rapidly by another that seems to pass through the nearby floor to ceiling length windowpane. With a wave of an outstretched hand, the man sends the bolt in your direction, seeking to put an end to this before it can even begin. Your hand lifts to retrieve the gun from your holster, but quick of a draw as you are, not even you are quick enough for the event that unfolds before your very eyes.

Whilst the bolt comes careening towards you, a large body steps in front at the last possible moment, absorbing the blow.

“No!” You cry out in disbelief, pulling the gun free and firing off three shots in rapid succession, two of which hit their intended target.

As the man in black clutches at his torso, stumbling back behind a nearby piece of furniture for cover, you collapse down onto your knees beside a wounded Sackler.

“No, no, no, no, no, Adam.” The gun in your hand clatters to the floor heavily whilst your hands now roam over his body frantically. You know that there is nothing you can do, the blow has been dealt and the damage has been done. No amount of wishing can save him now.

Sackler chokes, splutters, and wheezes as he struggles to catch what little breath he can. “Kid,” he manages to gasp through labored breaths.

An anguished sob sounds from the back of your throat upon hearing him. Tears begin to fill your vision, spilling over onto your cheeks as your head tips forward to rest your forehead against his shirt near the blackened edges where the lightning bolt made contact with his chest.

“Kid,” he rasps again.

A large hand settles at the back of your head when you lift it just enough to peer down at him. He’s gone impossibly pale, and the realization makes your heart shatter into the smallest pieces imaginable. He is, you know, on the verge of death.

“I—”

“No, Adam. Don’t,” you hush softly, bringing your own hand to his hair, brushing it back from his clammy forehead. “Just rest, you’re going to be okay.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, like ash after a fire has decimated everything in its wake.

There is a slight shake of his head, and the hand at the back of your own presses just enough pressure for you to follow his lead, allowing him to draw you closer. Weakly, he lifts his head up from the ground to meet you on your descent. The tears come effortlessly now when your lips meet, and the hands that once roamed his form now hold his face as you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

“Kid, I—” A series of coughs wrack his body as you help to lower his head back down to the ground. “I. Kid.” Sackler’s eyes roll as he inhales an arduous breath. “I lov—”

The breath leaves his body in a rush, chest stilling and body falling limp.

The golden rays of the setting sun part through the black clouds and cast themselves upon the scene as if to highlight the tragedy that’s just unfolded. But now is not the time for mourning; there will be a time and a place for this later, though every fiber of your being screams for you to stay with him now.

Rapidly you blink, seeking to dispel the tears from your eyes and rid yourself of your blurred vision. Slowly, you push yourself up and onto your feet, grabbing your gun as you go, your gaze still focused on the now lifeless body that lies in front of you. This mission, the one you’d been on solely for yourself and the realm from whence you have traveled from, is now a quest for the man you’d come to love so completely. For him you will do this. For him you will see to it that the man in black will be no more, that order will be restored to Adam’s world once more and that things will revert to the way they once were.

This will be his legacy.

-------------------------

Tagging my fellow Sackler lovers!

@livelongdolan @daydreamsofren @crimsoncounties @caillea @candycanes19 @gurl-ly @duty-isnt-always-honour @exit-goat @little-laamb @themuseic @kylosbitch @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @desiraypark @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @mazeltovcocktail555 @historyandfandoms50 @leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @xxcatrenxx @alpha-lobito @cornmousequeen @tashastrange89 @10blurredsmoke10

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