Percy // She/Her

Shouts drowned out the clinks of glasses as they collided unceremoniously, liquid splashing out and all over before they were pulled back and downed. The bar patrons barely paid you all any mind, a flick of their eyes to the commotion before returning to their respective activities. You finished your drink, the first to slam your cup back down on the table, a chorus of glass and laughter following suit. You thumbed the sides of your mouth, careful of your slightly busted lip, and began collecting your things.

“Alright, ladies, I gotta head out unfortunately—” Immediately, you were bombarded with ‘aww’s and ‘come on’s, to which you raised your hands in defeat. “—I know, I know, but I’ve got a giant bruise on my hip I need to ice and a grumpy man waiting for me.” You picked up on the dipped head and glittery, questioning gaze of your co-lead and close friend, Andrea.

“You don’t mean—”

“Nope,” you said a little quicker than intended, bordering on snippy, and set your duffel bag across your chest. “I haven’t spoken to him in months, and I plan to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” she said, an air of disbelief buried under her tone. You finally slung the tied strings of your quad skates over one of your shoulders and gave Andrea’s upper arm a rub.

“Thanks for looking out, but I’m good,” you assured and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “First round’s on me!” you called over your shoulder as you made your way to the bar. Your teammates cheered and bid their enthusiastic farewells.

Almost every stool near the bartop was full but you managed to squeeze yourself between two men—one had his back up against the bar, a whiskey glass in his hand, and the other was watching whatever game with a ball that was currently on the screens above everyone, nursing a beer. You felt the man with the whiskey’s eyes look you up and down, taking in your derby jersey, matching shorts, and sneakers, but you did your best to ignore him. The other man had unkempt hair that still managed to look decent and a full beard. He spared a glance at the movement beside him, but didn’t bother you.

The bartender was at the other end of the counter tending to other patrons, so you did your best to look very interested in your wallet, back turned toward the whiskey man to give off disinterest—

“Celebrating some sort of win?” the man asked. You closed your eyes momentarily, a long breath exiting your nostrils, before sparing a glance at the whiskey man. He just looked obnoxious. His blonde hair was slicked back with a pair of sunglasses set atop his head, a button-up that was barely buttoned at all, a pair of dress pants, and some shiny shoes.

“Uh, yeah,” you said.

“You a gymnast?”

“No,” you said. The man scoffed in return.

“You don’t have to be a bitch—”

“Okay.” You sighed. The man with the beer’s gaze flicked to you again just as you turned your head. “Fuck off, yeah?” You stared the man down, the corner of his mouth twitching. He looked like he wanted to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he was interrupted by the bartender.

“What can I get you?”

“Thank God,” you muttered and turned to the bartender with a smile. “Hey, just paying for my table’s first round.” You placed a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.

“You got it,” he said and snagged the item from you. “Be good, yeah?”

“Thanks, Jack,” you answered and squeezed his forearm over the counter. “Catch you next week!”

You quickly removed yourself from between the whiskey and beer men, not paying that obnoxious dickhead any further mind, and maneuvered your way out of the establishment. The warm summer air of Hell’s Kitchen settled on your exposed skin, and despite how tired you felt and the pulsing bruise on your hip, you were still on cloud nine from the semi-finals win. The Hellcakes were going to go all the way—the finals were going to be a breeze.

You turned down the street, headed for the subway station, ready to be back in your bed—sleeping in on your day off was high on your list of things to do. Yes. Shower, bed, midnight snack, and cuddles. A sound plan.

Until you feel a hand on your upper arm and, before you could react, are shoved into an alleyway and your back collides with one of the rugged brick walls. You scream, but it’s muffled by a hand over your mouth. You blinked, getting a good look at the fucking whiskey asshole from the bar staring into your eyes—dangerous.

“Hope you enjoyed that win,” he whispered, face only separated by his hand. “Because it’s your last.” You felt the press of what you could only assume was a gun against your ribs, and you felt yourself tense up, jaw tightening. You were on your own. Matt wasn’t looking after you anymore. It was just you… And that was okay. You could get out of this.

You had to.

FRANK

Frank just wanted a drink.

The bar was a good distance from his makeshift space—a manager’s office in the basement of a barely occupied building. He hadn’t done any dirty work for a bit, mostly monitoring and tracking, and in his spare time, he came here. He didn’t mind the busy nature of the place, practically no one recognized him with his current appearance, and it always had the latest game on. Even when a rambunctious group of women came in and settled around a table in the far back, donning the same jersey and skates slung over their shoulders, he barely paid them any mind.

Patrons came and went from the barstools beside him, except for one—some business looking asshole who left a stool between them. He would have taken note of him just like anyone else if he hadn’t been so intently watching the jerseys. Frank’s eyes squinted a bit, catching his fifth glance back at them, and the man fully swung around on his stool while still trying to be casual. Frank wasn’t interested in stopping him from being shut down by that entire table; he wanted to see him embarrass himself.

But instead, the opportunity came to him.

Just from the cursory glance he gave you, you were a small thing with curves for days, and a slight familiarity about you that he couldn’t place. If it were a different time, he might’ve tried to make a pass at you, but instead, he went back to his game with an ear trained on your conversation. You weren’t interested, at all, and he couldn’t help but prepare himself in case this asshat decided to push you. He couldn’t help the smirk at the corner of his lips when he heard you tell him to ‘fuck off’, stifling a chuckle with another sip of beer.

Frank heard your departure and couldn’t help but look after you, catching the swing of your skates against your duffle… and heard the man leave his stool. Frank felt annoyance settle inside him and watched after him as well. He wouldn’t have been concerned if it weren’t for the speed at which he got up and the gun he clocked as he put on his jacket.

Fuck.

Frank flicked a bill on the counter for the bartender and quickly got to his feet to pursue both of you. If it was nothing, it was nothing, but Frank knew there was always a chance for something else, and he couldn’t find it in him to ever knowingly let that happen. No fuckin’ way.

The summer air pushed back against him the moment he opened the door and exited the bar, eyes scanning the street for you or that prick. It didn’t take him long to spot the man, just in time to see him pull you into an alleyway.

“Shit,” Frank grunted and removed his pistol from the waistband of his pants before taking off down the sidewalk. He carelessly ran through a crosswalk, narrowly avoiding a car whose driver laid on their horn for a few seconds, and felt his heart skip a beat when he heard the pop of a gunshot followed by your screech. “SHIT.”

Frank rounded the corner of the alley, gun poised and ready, just in time to see you headbutt the man hard enough for him to release you.

The man cried out, and you wasted no time taking one of your skates and slamming it into the side of his head. Expletives poured from his mouth as he clutched his now bleeding head, and you turned to run, grasping at what Frank assumed was a wound on your leg, red trickling down into the matching crimson of your knee-high socks. Your face was twisted in surprise and horror when you saw him at the end of the alley, probably thinking he was with this asshole.

The man collected himself again and immediately trained the gun on you.

“Put it down!” Frank commanded, voice booming in the dark alley. You flinched at the sound, shaky hands shooting upwards in immediate surrender. The man behind you watched both of you, and Frank could practically see the wheels turning in his mind.

“Fuckin’ hell, I knew I recognized you,” the man said, New York accent thick and prominent now. “This ain’t your business, Punisher.” His words were laced with annoyance and venom. Frank was unfazed by the recognition.

“She already told you no. Get the hell outta here.”

The man scoffed.

“I got a contract and you’re in my way,” he said.

It took barely a flinch for Frank to react. Thankfully, you moved then, ducked behind the nearest rank dumpster, ears covered by your palms as the gunshot popped loudly and the bullet embedded itself in the man’s chest. Frank noted your shaking and your tears, but he needed information before he could help.

“Be right back,” he said, lightly touching your shoulder, but yielding no response. He expected that.

His boots crunched against the debris in the alley as he approached the man. He was gasping, blood leaking down the side of his mouth. Frank placed his boot on the wound and pressed hard enough for the man to cry out, hands shooting up to grab his leg.

“What’s the contract?” he asked, a calmness in his gruff voice.

“I–I don’t—”

Frank pressed down again. The man gasped.

“Her! Her!” he exclaimed. “Dead! She’s bad for someone’s business! That’s all I know!”

“Whose business?”

“Fuck if I know—” The man coughed up more blood. “I just got the bounty a couple hours ago!”

Frank nodded slowly, gazing down the alleyway to where you were still shaking behind the dumpster. He ran his teeth over his bottom lip. Fuck.

The bounty hunter’s eyes widened at the sight of Frank raising his gun again, but before he could utter the inevitable ‘wait!’ Frank pulled the trigger. Right between the eyes. He removed his boot and crouched, fingers gliding through pockets until he found the man’s wallet and phone, pocketing them. Finally, he snagged the gun that had fallen off to the side and made his way back to you.

“Hey, hey,” he said, softer than before. Both guns were tucked safely in his waistband when he knelt in front of you, careful not to startle you. “You’re alright now.” No response. Shock. Frank shifted enough for him to reach forward, ducking his head in an attempt to find your gaze, and placed his index finger under your chin. He saw the slight flinch. “Hey,” he tried again. Slowly, your face turned up to him. “I know you’re probably scared and confused, and I’m just another stranger—”

“F-Frank Castle,” you said, lips quivering.

He paused at that, holding your tearful gaze as he nodded. That familiarity was still there, maybe even more prominent than before, but he still didn’t know where from. All he knew was that you were in trouble, and he felt the need he always felt: to help.

“Yeah, that’s me, uh,” he said with a small smile. “You’re bleeding, and you got money on your head. So, let me get somewhere safe. Alright?”

You didn’t respond at first, the shock probably nullifying all of your common sense, but the sound of police sirens was getting closer.

“Look, I know it’s a lot, but—”

“Okay,” you said suddenly. “O-Okay. I… I’ll go with you."

Frank nodded.

“Okay.” He stood up to his full height, hands finding your arms to assist you. “Up you go. Attagirl.” You winced and struggled to put pressure on your bleeding leg. Frank noticed that and immediately tucked your arm around his waist, your fingers digging into his side, and his other hand carefully placed on your ribs to keep you steady. “Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, covered in the alley’s dirt and grime, and your bloodied skate tapping against your hip.

YOU

“Ah!” you hissed, fingers digging into Frank’s shoulder as he continued to stitch the wound on your leg closed. His eyes shifted to your face, fingers ceasing all movement as he examined your features. “Sorry… Just stings.”

“Mmhm,” he said with a nod. “Like I said, squeeze as hard as you need to.” Frank’s attention went back to the wound on your leg, and you took in a deep breath, an attempt to settle your growing headache and the pain you felt all over. “Can barely feel it anyway.”

You huffed a laugh at that, a knowing one, as you remembered all the times Matt practically told you the same as you patched him up.

“Of course. Must just be a vigilante thing,” you said with a bit of disdain. He picked up on that and smirked a little.

“You know a lot of vigilantes?” he asked, suture practically complete. Your jaw clenched, exhaling deeply.

“Just one,” you said bitterly. “Not used to being on this side of the stitches.”

He hummed a response, likely contemplating who you were referencing—or maybe already knowing who—as he tied off the last stitch. He leaned forward toward your leg, a movement that made you lean back and prop yourself up on the small cot he called his bed, and watched him cut the string with his teeth. You gnawed on the inside of your lip, remembering all the nights you’d found yourself doing the same after patching up a gnarly wound for Matt.

Frank got to his feet and approached the sink on the far side of the room, snagging a small towel from the drying rack beside it. This place was unlike anything you’d ever seen—guns of all kinds mounted throughout the room, monitors that showed various points of entry to the building, half-finished projects on desks, a small workout area, lockers, a wall covered in newspaper clippings and other things you couldn’t read… This place was for function, not comfort.

“So, what’s got you on a hit list?” he asked, ringing out the soaked towel and turning to walk back to you.

“Hell if I know,” you responded. “I’m a vet tech most days and I do roller derby in my free time…”

Frank got fully on his knees this time, which took you aback, and gestured with his fingers for your leg. You did so without much thinking, an odd sensation of comfort you hadn’t expected with someone like Frank Castle. All you’d ever heard about him was that you should avoid him at all costs. Dangerous. Deadly. But right now, this ‘dangerous man’ was on his knees, propping your foot up on his thigh, and folding down your crusty, blood-soaked sock so he could start cleaning the blood off your leg.

“Any pissed off clients? Fido’s rich mom want you dead for not helping him?”

“Not that I know of,” you said. “We don’t get a lot of uppity clients.” You were mesmerized by how slowly, how methodically he moved the material over the streaks of crimson. You thought about offering to do this yourself, but you had a feeling he’d insist. It did help ease the nerves you still felt from the alleyway, but it didn’t quiet the boom of the gunshots that still echoed in your mind.

“You sure—”

“Did you kill him?” you interrupted.

Again, Frank stopped his task to look up at you, and you really got a look at him in the quiet. He somehow looked both disheveled and put together at the same time, a functional appearance, one he probably didn’t think too much about if there wasn’t a reason to. Any memories you had of him while he was actively in the news, taking down nefarious folks you’d never heard of, were of him clean-shaven and angry. You remembered being terrified of him. Even Matt encouraged you to steer clear of him, giving you the most minute details to keep that terror alive. Yet here you were.

Frank’s finger gently tapped against your calf as he contemplated his answer, but he didn’t look away from you.

“Yeah,” he finally said. Your lip quivered ever so slightly, but you bit it to keep from fully bursting into tears. “Hey. Hey, don’t do that.” Frank squeezed your calf a little, head tilting to search for the gaze you’d turned away from him. “That piece of shit was gonna kill you. He wasn’t gonna stop. You hear me? None of ‘em are going to. They made this you or them. Not you.”

“I—I dunno, I just—” Your breath was shaky. You could understand his logic, you know you would’ve done anything to get out of that situation, to survive, but knowing someone was dead as a direct result of it all was a lot for your conscience. Matt beating people up? Breaking their bones? Doing irreparable damage? Somehow, you could sleep at night knowing that, but this was different. This was how the Punisher handled his enemies, and there was not one drop of Catholic guilt to be seen.

“Stop that,” he said, pulling you out of your spiral of vigilante comparisons. “Look at me.” You pulled up your gaze until it locked on those brown eyes, a mixture of compassion and seriousness in them. He squeezed your leg again, a grounding and reassuring gesture that surprisingly worked, and continued his original task. “I’m the one who pulled the trigger. I made the choice. That ain’t on you. That’s on me. And I’d do it again.”

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered.

“Doesn’t matter if I do,” he rebutted. “Someone wants you dead. You needed help, so I’m givin’ it. Freely. That’s just me. It just so happens my brand of help is bullets and blood, not just gettin’ smacked over the head with a damn billy club.”

At that, you froze, eyebrows furrowing at the comment. Did he… Did he know?

“Daredevil does a lot of good,” you said, slightly defensive out of nowhere. You did believe that deep down, knowing how good Matt’s intentions are and seeing firsthand what he gave up for the city—including you.

Frank smiled at your words, a bubble of laughter leaving him. He’d finally made it to the top of your leg where the bullet graze was, hyper aware of his hand now behind your knee as the towel dabbed gently against the stitch line.

“Yeah, he sure does,” he said. “Don’t you think you might be a lil’ biased, though?” Frank says your name. Your cheeks burn.

“I… Don’t know what you mean,” you said and pulled against his grip. He relented instantly and rolled back onto his feet, towering over you with the bloody towel in his grasp. You caught a glimpse of another smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned away from you.

“Well, you’re Red’s girl, right?” he asked, tossing the towel in the sink and rinsing his hands. “Thought I recognized you. Couldn’t place your face until a few minutes ago.”

Your eyes narrowed, and your jaw clenched. That underlying anger you’d been trying to get rid of these last few months bubbled beneath the surface of your skin, simmering at the thought of your ex. It still hurt, and it made you mad that it did. So much so that when you answered, your voice was lower and cursory, “No.” Frank had continued his movement across the space, grabbing a beer for you both and a foldable chair that he set down in front of you.

“Mmm,” he hummed and took a seat. He popped off the caps with a quick maneuver of a knife and offered you a beer, which you took with a tiny bit of reluctance.

“Not sure I ever really was,” you added, taking a swig that contorted your face. Beer wasn’t your favorite, but it was something to take the edge off everything.

Frank cocked an eyebrow at your comment, eyes looking you over just a tad slower than before, and leaned back in the chair, the material straining with the movement.

“His loss then,” he said practically into the bottle. You held back a laugh at that, despite your lips betraying you by turning into a tight-lipped smile.

“So everyone keeps saying,” you responded and took a swig yourself.

Whether Matt considered it a loss anymore was beyond you, especially with a new girlfriend to focus on that likely didn’t know who he was beneath the suit and tie. Maybe that’s really what he wanted all along, instead of someone in the know, constantly worried, constantly holding him accountable for the impact his decisions as Daredevil had on his overall life. The strain it had put on you both… But that wasn’t your life anymore. Though you found it humorous that despite all the worry Matt had about his enemies finding you never came to fruition, you’d somehow made an enemy of your own. And Frank was here instead.

“The derby thing,” Frank started, thankfully changing the subject. He settled into the chair, legs spread wide as he got comfortable. “You start that before or after Red?”

“Before. Well before,” you said, jaw tight. Frank moved his head up and down.

“Don’t know shit about it, ‘side from it being rough and tumble, but I imagine you can make some enemies punchin’ someone in the face.”

“Not that rough,” you corrected. “It’s not roller rink meets Fight Club. You can push people out of position, be a little rough, but you can’t get out of pocket with it. There’s penalties for that.”

“So no Sandra’s or Barbra’s mad at you for breakin’ their nose?”

“I’ve had some tension over the years with people, but nothing that hasn’t fizzled out…” You genuinely considered it, lost in thought for a moment. It was true though. Sure, emotions could run high and adrenaline could fuel borderline fights on the track, but you couldn’t think of a single person over the years who’d want to kill you. “Yeah, no, nothin’.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured and got up from his chair, dragging it over to the desk with the monitors on it. It was also where he’d put the bounty hunter’s phone and wallet. “I’m gonna dig. You take the cot.”

You lowered the bottle from your lips slowly, confusion in your expression.

“What… do you mean?”

Frank peered up at you.

“You gotta sleep, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought I’d be doing that in my bed.”

“You want to go back to your apartment… with bounty hunters looking for a payday?”

You quieted and set the cool glass bottle against your thigh.

“I just… want to go home,” you whispered. Frank leaned back in his chair again, teetering on the back legs, and sighed.

“Can’t do that right now, unfortunately,” he said softly. Despite wanting to fight back, to stubbornly fight Frank about this decision, you also recognized that you almost died earlier in the night. Even though you’d fought back, if Frank hadn’t shown up, you might’ve been dead in an alley while someone cashed in their reward. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how absurd it all sounded—bounty hunters and death—but in that moment, Frank was your safest option.

“Right,” you said, defeated.

“Get some sleep,” he said, sincerity intertwined with the gruffness of his whisper.

So you did as you were told. You placed the bottle down on the floor and laid back on the cot, curling yourself into a ball despite the ache in your bones, the bruise on your hip, the sting of your stitches. It was a strange feeling being in Frank’s space, a man you knew of but had never met, and your perception of him was being challenged at every moment. He handled you with gentleness, empathy, and reassured you that you were safe… And you believed him. Frank approached you with candidness so far, no half-truths or lies to sift through, and, if you were honest with yourself, it was nice.

However, Frank was still a stranger despite how comfortable he made you feel around him, and ultimately it did nothing to negate the stress of the night, the want to be home, to cry the fear out in your shower, to curl up with your little man… You craved the familiarity of home despite how ridiculous that was. You wanted to leave, and you would, but for now, silent tears streamed down your cheeks as you allowed the sounds of Frank’s tinkering to lull you to sleep.

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

When you awoke, the sun was still tucked below the horizon, and Frank Castle was nowhere to be found.

You adjusted yourself on the small cot, feeling the tug of a blanket that wasn’t there when you initially closed your eyes as well as a bag of ice that had been perfectly placed where your bruise was—which was more noticeable than you’d realized, extending just below the hem of your shorts when you examined yourself. The bag of ice tumbled off the cot to the floor with a crunchy thump, and you sat up to take in your surroundings.

The only evidence of Frank was a duffle bag set up a few feet away and an extra blanket for himself. It dawned on you that he’d slept on the floor, head propped against a bag full of who knew what. You felt bad about that, not even considering where he’d sleep when you only saw the one cot, but you didn’t linger. You had to go.

You quickly got to your feet, sharp pain shooting up from the damage you’d momentarily forgotten about, and searched for your stuff.

You’d come back. Yeah. You just needed to get some stuff and check on everything. It was going to be fine. The rational part of you knew this was stupid as hell, you should stay with Frank or at least wait for him to get back, but the scared part of you wanted familiarity, it wanted home.

You considered that you were still in your recognizable jersey, bright red and unique logo, and that you hadn’t brought any extra clothes. A sigh left you, anxiety slowly creeping higher the longer you waited to leave. So, with incredible audacity, you swiped a black zip-up hoodie from what you could only assume was a ‘clean’ laundry pile. When you smelled it, your nose scrunched. It smelled as clean as you expected it to be in a place like this, and was just happy for it not to be a total offense to your senses, that he tried to some degree.

You quickly slipped off your jersey, zipped up the hoodie over your sports bra, pulled the hood up, and was pleasantly surprised to find it just long enough to cover up your bruise and stitches well. He’d ‘get this back in a few hours’ was what you kept telling yourself. You stuffed your jersey in your duffel bag and did the same to your skates, which you noted were devoid of any blood, pushing the material’s limits and fighting to get the zipper closed. Once you did so, with a strong tug, you set it across your chest like you’d done the day before.

The door made no sound when you pulled it open, eyes scanning the hallway for anyone, and thankful to see it empty. You were in such a state the night before that you couldn’t even remember where you were or how you’d gotten there, just that you’d gone down. You moved into the hallway and removed your phone from one of the duffel’s pockets, unsurprised by the ‘no service’ displayed in the top bar.

“Shit, okay. Okay… Okay,” you whispered to yourself. Getting up to the street level was your main priority, so you picked the direction you vaguely remembered walking with Frank, and hoped it’d lead you to the elevators.

Your footsteps echoed ever so slightly against the walls, bouncing off the doors and pipes lining them. It smelled like stagnant, industrial air. Whatever was being worked on was certainly contributing to that. Your fingers clutched the strap of your bag, you did your best to observe your surroundings without seeming suspicious yourself. Street level. Phone service. Map. Subway. Home. That was your plan. Simple. Then you’d… find your way back.

After a few minutes, you finally entered a room that had elevators and semi-jogged to them, slamming your finger against the ‘up’ button repeatedly. Your heartbeat was accelerating, anxiety more and more prominent, and by the time the elevator reached your floor, you were ready to barrel into it. You paced a little, eyes on the door, and when it opened, you froze.

Frank.

He had been leaning against the back of the elevator, eyes closed like he was taking a cat nap, and in his hand was a small box of donuts and two, you assumed, coffees in the other. He noticed you immediately, taking in your appearance, and surprisingly, his lips tilted up into that half smile you were already growing used to. You stepped back as he exited the elevator, heart thumping wildly, and fully expected him to chastise you.

“Looks good on you,” he said. You blinked, feeling a slight twinge of heat rising to your cheeks for a reason you couldn’t comprehend. “Tryin’ to make a run for it?”

“No, no, I just…” You were having trouble finding your excuse now. He didn’t move, didn’t get closer, just stood there with his donuts and coffee.

“Big, bad Punisher too much for ya?” he teased, eyebrow cocked. “You wanna run back to Red then? Tell him to handle the bounty hunters? Sit in a courtroom for weeks while their bosses pay off the jury?”

“No,” you said, annoyance rising and mixing with your flustered, tired mind.

“Then what do you want, kid?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped. Frank’s head tilted to the side, intrigue layered in, tongue running along one of his canines absently. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Kind of actin’ like one right now—”

“Fuck off, Castle,” you bit back. There was a long pause, his eyes never leaving your face. It started to make you self-conscious, fingers wringing the strap of your bag. You didn’t know why you were giving him such an attitude; he’d done nothing but be nice to you since he put down a man in an alleyway for you. You just didn’t know what to do. What to say. Wrapped up with another notorious vigilante was not a scenario you’d considered again. But Frank seemed unfazed. He seemed amused, like he was seeing something you weren’t.

“Alright,” he conceded and finally took a step forward. Frank tilted his head down slightly and lowered his voice when he said, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

You stood your ground, even with the sudden pet name, but your jaw noticeably flexed. You took a long inhale.

“I want to go home,” you said.

Frank said your name, and you felt a twist in your stomach.

“Were you this mouthy with Red?”

“Are you taking me home or not?” you countered, not interested in talking about Matthew at the moment. Frank leaned back, and you couldn’t tell if he was upset or impressed.

“Real stupid to do that,” he said. You were going to say something, but he lifted the hand with the coffee holder and put up his index finger, shutting you up with only a huff in response. “But if I do, I’m stayin’ until this is done.”

“Sure, fine,” you said, not sure what that fully meant, but happy to hear you were going to be going home.

“Gonna be the shadow you never wanted,” he added before he held out the donuts and coffee to you. “Hold these. Gotta grab some things.” You looked up at him, a bit surprised that he was suddenly compliant with your request. So you reached out, gently taking the items from him. “Stay here,” he said, practically a command. “It’s too early for me to be chasing your lil’ ass through Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Fuck—”

“Off, yeah, yeah. Just stay put,” he said with a wave of his hand as he turned away from you. That shut you up immediately, watching him walk back toward the direction you’d come from minutes before. “And don’t eat my donuts,” he called back over his shoulder.

“How would I even know which ones those are?” you asked, tone losing its snippiness.

You understood John wasn’t the best, loud, authoritative, a bit scary, and you did your best to avoid him, or at least stay respectful, but this had been the first time you’d seen damage… And other people saw it too. He slumped down into his desk next to you, the teacher sparing him a glance, but nothing more as he watched the after-bell stragglers claim their desks too. Moisture tickled the corner of your eyelids and you weren’t sure if it was from sadness or anger. You’d been spanked before by your father for being a little too fussy or mouthy or something stupid you didn’t deserve to be hit for, but nothing like this. You tried to be hopeful—maybe he fell or something—but you knew. You always would.

“Stop.” That was all Dean said, like he could sense your want to say something in the way sympathy poured from your expression. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, which was just how Dean operated. Shove it down, down, down, until you forget about it or find a way to deal with it. Confronting it wasn’t an option. At least not right now. Despite knowing each other for a couple of years, he’d remained closed off from everyone but Sam. You picked up on that quickly and you wouldn’t dream of changing it, you just hoped he’d realize one day that you were his friend, you cared, and you’d fight the world for him too.

The rest of the day you tried to curb your sad eyes from lingering on him for too long in each class you shared. Gym was especially tough with the way Dean unscrupulously pelted your fellow classmates with bright red dodgeballs. You watched as the opposite team winced and cried out upon impact, skin red and stinging, and anger blooming in some of the other boys. It was when one of Dean’s throws collided with the side of someone’s head, hand instantly gripping their ear and tears in their eyes, that the coach finally stepped in. 

The whistle was loud and startled you, but Dean just stood there, chest heaving, eyes locked on the crying boy.

“Hey!” the coach shouted. “Take a lap Winchester!”

Dean didn’t budge. His jaw was clenched so hard you thought it might lock permanently. Your anxiety started to peak when you spotted the coach making his way toward him, stride purposeful and intent on getting the boy to do what he said—which you knew wouldn’t end well if Dean’s closed fist was any indication. 

So you closed the gap between you, interrupted the coach’s path, and wrapped your fingers around his wrist. He snapped his attention toward you, bright green irises surrounded by bloodshot sclera locked onto your face. Anger remained in his expression and he tensed against your grip.

“Dean. Go,” you said as firmly as you could, urgency in your eyes. He spared a small glance at the approaching coach, nostrils flaring, and snatched his arm away from you so suddenly that you almost lost your balance. You watched him walk off toward the locker room and that satisfied the coach enough to focus his attention on the child who’d been on the receiving end of Dean’s rage. You clasped your hands together so they wouldn’t shake and tried to ignore the curious eyes that remained on you.

The last of the day carried on, Dean slumped in his chair beside you for the classes you saw him in, no interest in conversing, and when the bell rang for the end of the day, you darted to the lunch room. You managed to convince one of the lunch ladies who liked you to let you grab an ice cream cup from the fridge and, with an unceremonious drop of coins onto the register, you darted out with a ‘thank you’ tossed over your shoulder.

You dodged through the crowded hallways with your books, ice cream perched on top of them, toward where Dean’s last class was. The room was empty by the time you got there and your eyes searched for him, fearful you’d missed him completely until you spotted his flannel at the end of the sidewalk. 

“Dean!” you called just before you caught up to him. Breathless, you kept pace with him and offered him the ice cream. He stopped. You stopped. Dean looked down at the offering, expression softening for the first time all day.

“What’s this for?” he asked, monotone.

“For you,” you responded.

“Why?” The word was tinged with a smidgen of venom, likely unintentional because when he looked up at you, his expression made you frown. Like he didn’t deserve the nicety.

“Ice cream makes me happy when I’m sad,” you offered softly. “And I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Dean stated, an edge to his tone again, an attempt to push you away from him.

All you could say was, “Okay.” I see you, but okay. It’d be a common theme between the two of you over the years.

You stood before him, ice cream cup cold on your palm, as he contemplated whether to take it from you or not… Until he did. Dean’s fingers gently grabbed the item from you, careful to not drop the spoon teetering on the top, and sighed.

“I gotta pick up Sammy,” he said, just shy of a question.

“I’ll come with you,” you responded. Dean nodded. You adjusted your backpack and books, a gentle smile still on your lips. A breeze passed over the both of you when you’d begun your trek to Sam’s school, leaves floating down around you and a gentle rattle from the chain link fence beside you. It didn’t take him long to open the ice cream, digging the spoon into the softened substance and taking a bite. You tried not to look at him, unsure if it’d send him back into that sour mood by accident, but you were happy to see those lines on his forehead release. 

You didn’t look his way at all until he said, “Pie.”

“Hmm?” you asked.

“Pie makes me happy,” he said, taking another bite of ice cream. Your smile widened.

“What kind of pie?”

He was trying and you could appreciate that.

“...Apple,” he confessed.

“My momma makes really good apple pie,” you said. “Next time she makes some, I’ll bring you a piece.” Dean huffed a small laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound—happy to see the tension lighten.

“Alright,” he managed, finally shifting his eyes to you. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” you said.

The rest of your walk was spent in a more peaceful silence, the rigidness of his shoulders finally eased into a relaxed slouch. If any of the other kids had paid you any mind, they never said, but even if they had, it was never about them. It was always about you and Dean. It’d take a long time for his rage to ease, even slightly, but he always did his best to never aim it at you or Sam. You were the only two people that helped him feel normal—not like some extension of John and his ambition. Not some little soldier.

Now and again you’d see Mary, his wife, give his cheek an affectionate scratch, a quick sentiment, before she’d move on to adjust the display. She was elegant, intimidating, and just looked plain tired sometimes despite her enormous effort to hide the latter.

They were the best hunters in the state as far as you understood it. A compliment bestowed by your father, a friend and longtime admirer of the Winchester family’s success. You never understood why he cared so much –or maybe envied was the better word– when he had the most successful orchard this side of the state. Unparalleled even. At least that’s another thing you were told.

Truthfully, at the age of 11, your favorite thing to do was to pick apples and help your mother make sweets, not listen to your father shake hands and attempt to impress like John. You spent most of your time tuning out the conversation, perched on a stool beneath the tent, and playing with an apple.

The last wave of summer heat had settled over the fairgrounds early that morning, sticky and heavy, but it didn’t deter Lawrence’s population from indulging in questionably sound fair rides, petting zoos from the local farmers, and the market where you spent most of your time. 

Passerbys would attempt to have conversations with you when your father and mother were both caught in talks about investments and admiration. So you’d smile, albeit tight-lipped and shy, and give soft-spoken answers when you knew them, though thankfully most of them were sentiments about your ‘pretty braid’ and how cute the flowers you’d stuck into it were.

Kids of all ages ran past you in search of the rides and cotton candy, their boisterous laughter carrying through the stalls. A new school year had started and, while you weren’t opposed to making friends, you had none. The transition from elementary to middle was surprisingly difficult and being on the quieter side of the social spectrum meant it was harder. So instead, you sat on your stool and played with an apple and remained respectful of the adults who tried to converse with you.

Then you saw him, one of the Winchester boys. Dean.

You’d never interacted with them further than a shy hello behind your mother’s legs and spotting them in the booth across from you every year. If John ever stopped by the orchard, the boys usually stayed in the car, but on occasion, a begrudging Dean would trail behind his father, holding his baby brother’s hand, silent while John talked about things he also couldn’t have cared less about. Sam would always return your shy wave and you’d duck your head behind your Mom when you felt Dean’s harsh gaze find you. 

It shouldn’t have been that way at his age. His shoulders were weighed down with responsibility and the duty of being a shield for his brother. Although he was only a year older than you, he felt like he was decades gone already.

That’s why on one of those days you saw John’s work truck —Impala left home in the safety of their garage you’d imagined— pull into the orchard, you ducked out of your room and into the kitchen. There was no call for you today, mother napping on the loveseat in front of the television, romance novel tucked in her lap, and your father instantly sauntering out of the house to greet John with a handshake, palms smacking together obnoxiously. 

So you quickly wrapped your fingers around a dish towel decorated in drawings of baked goods, fabric slightly damp from use, and grabbed the nearby step stool to reach the counter. You plucked two freshly picked apples from the basket you’d filled that morning and quickly tied the material around them with a bow.

The boys stayed in the truck that day, the engine softly rumbling, and the windows rolled down enough for you to see them playing with a set of green toy soldiers on the dashboard. They’re missing pieces, a little melted from being left in the car sometimes, but well-loved all the same. 

Neither of them spotted you as you dashed along the untrimmed hedges, head low, and approached the passenger side. Some Metallica poured out of the windows over the blast of the AC and idle engine. Dean bobbed his head along to the rhythm, playfully knocking Sam’s soldier over with exaggerated sound effects.

You used the grab handle on the door with your free hand to pull yourself up, bare feet on the warm plastic of the step bar, until your eyes could peek over the edge of the window. Too immersed in their make-believe battle, you sneakily pulled the bow-tied dish towel up over the remaining glass and unceremoniously dropped the items into the seat next to Sam before scurrying away. You couldn’t hear what they had said, obviously startled, and you only spared a glance back at the car when you reached the hedges again.

Even from far away, you could feel the pressure of Dean’s gaze, but this time it didn’t feel so bad. You saw Sam fiddle with your quickly tied bow, a big smile on his lips as he excitedly pulled the fruit out for Dean to see. You held his gaze for a moment, the first time of what you didn’t know would be many, and then darted off like a little startled coyote.

That day at the festival, however, he hadn’t seen you—but Sam did.

A collection of apples teetered in the crook of your tiny arm as you tried to restock the wooden boxes at the front of the stall. It was something to do instead of listening to your parents prattle on—your Mom was now invested in a conversation with Mrs. Johnson, your Math teacher from your, now old, elementary school. You’d placed a shiny red apple at the top of the stack just as you felt something touch your arm. The sensation made you jump, a couple of apples tumbling from your grasp, and you turned wide-eyed to face the culprit.

To your surprise, a matching wide-eyed Sam Winchester, gaze upturned and a bit fearful. Dean appeared beside him, barely looking at you, hands shoved in his pockets. You couldn’t make out his expression, some level of apathy and sourness 

“S-Sorry,” Sam muttered. “My brother wanted to know—” Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder a little roughly with his elbow. Sam muttered an ‘ow’ before he turned back to you. “Do you wanna go with us on the big swings?” He gestured to the ride in the distance, metal taut with the weight of its passengers as it spun in a circle. It was your favorite.

You looked back to your parents and said, “Mommy can I go with them on the swings?” You didn’t bother asking your father, but you noticed John’s eyes flick over to the three of you for a moment, smile lines big with that charisma-dipped smile. Your mother turned to you and slight surprise danced across her face when she saw the two boys.

“Sure honey, just stay together, okay?”

With a smile you turned to drop the apples in your arms in the tub behind the display and returned to the front to grab the couple that you’d dropped. You were met with Dean’s outstretched hands, fruit seated in his palms, and gaze averted. They were almost as red as his cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a bit of shyness returning as you took the fruit from him. There was this funny feeling in your chest, an unfamiliar sensation, but you pushed it aside and quickly tossed the apples into the same tub as before.

The three of you had made it half a step away from the booth when a booming voice cut through the steady noise of the fairgrounds, “Boys.”

All of your heads snapped to John, who’d abruptly stopped the conversation with your father to turn his attention to you. You watched as both boys’ posture straightened, shoulders square, eyes on their father. Your eyebrows furrowed at them and you couldn’t help but look at John too. From beside him, almost held in place by the hand John held out to halt their conversation, was your father whose gaze had moved to the three of you, obedient. You’d eventually add that to the list of things you despised him for. A piece of tall grass for a backbone—letting anything with more power bend him every which way.

“Stay together. Two cycles on the ride.”

“But Mom said—” Sam tried.

“Two. Cycles. Then right back here,” he said. Dean’s jaw clenched, but all the emotion was on Sam’s face. It looked like he wanted to talk back, to cause a fuss, but Dean just held a hand out in front of him, like he’d done this many times before.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said before he grabbed Sam’s hand to lead him away. You followed suit, eyes lingering on John who watched his boys for a long moment before catching your gaze. You held it for a moment, but your head tipped downward at the weight of the control seeping from his stature.

“You too, missy!” your father called out, but you ignored him and ran to catch up to the boys. They said nothing for a few moments, tension apparent in the way Dean clenched his fists as he walked beside Sam.

“My daddy is mean sometimes too,” you offered softly.

A quiet understanding blossomed between the three of you as you traversed the fairgrounds, gentle comradery that none of you knew you’d needed. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about it and you decided it best not to press it further than that. John seemed like a nice man, but an unsettling feeling sat heavy in the pit of your stomach any time you found yourself under his scrutiny—though he’d never said anything but nice things to you.

When you’d made it to the swings, Sam and Dean took the first ride together, leaving you on your own behind them. You remembered Sam occasionally turning his head to wave or make a silly expression, which you’d return, and Dean rolling his eyes at you both. The wind whipped your braid around and hot summer air transformed into a cool breeze as you spun. Oranges and lavenders danced across the sky as evening crept in. Eventually, the ride slowed to a stop and the three of you dashed into line again, excited for another go.

“Can I go alone this time? Please, Dean?” Sam asked as he jumped into the swing in front of you again—which you’d promptly claimed and fastened yourself into. “You can sit next to her!” You fiddled with your nail beds nervously. Dean halted his claim on the seat beside his brother, almost as if he contemplated turning him down, but eventually conceded.

“Fine,” he said.

Before he left the swing he made sure Sam was secure with a tug on his seat belt, and once satisfied, turned to you. You held up the bar for him to slide under next to you, the knee of his ripped jeans nudging yours as he got comfortable and strapped himself in. There was a small delay with a couple of the other riders, just long enough for you to recognize that weird feeling building in your chest. 

“I like your flowers,” he muttered suddenly, only gazing at you from the corner of his eyes. Your shoulders shifted slightly, one of your hands moving to your braid instinctively to caress it. You returned the side-eye gaze.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I-I like your necklace.” The amulet hung from a black string, a brass-colored face with what appeared to be horns poking out the sides.

The ride attendants loosely checked your seat belts, halting further conversation as the ride started up soon after they passed. A child-like infatuation blossomed in that moment, something you couldn’t even explain to yourself at the time, but despite everything Dean did to keep people at arm's length, there was a comfort you felt being around him. You wanted to know more about this boy and his brother who he loved so much.

A hand on your elbow called your attention toward the feeling and you managed to catch a glimpse of Sebastian Leslie, one of Cooper’s close friends, as he leaned close to your ear. You smiled, mostly for the attendees, and leaned into him a bit, hand against his forearm. Curious eyes passed over you both momentarily but moved on just as quickly when they realized who you two were.

“He gave her the divorce papers before the party,” he whispered loud enough for you only to hear. “It’s been an hour and he hasn’t shown his face once.”

Your smile hadn’t faltered for a moment, adjusting his ascot and squeezing his upper arm reassuringly.

“I got it,” you said and turned away from Sebastian. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you did have it, this entire thing with Barb had him acting distant and slightly cold to everyone that wasn’t Janey.

You’d done your best to just stay out of his way, handled anything that was asked of you without much complaint, and generally just tried to make his life easier while he navigated the treacherous terrain that had become his home life. Which is what made this all the more difficult—the Vault-Tec deal, his new movie, and the party at hand at the result of them both. Hollywood stars and scientists mingled all in the same space awaiting the man of the hour… unaware of what was happening behind closed doors. But that was a problem for tomorrow you and tomorrow Cooper.

“Nice dress, by the way,” Sebastian commented. It was, in fact, the nicest thing you currently owned, even if it had been the very thing you wore under your college graduation gown a few years prior. White and gold, with swirls and florals, no sleeves, a modest front, and a deep v in the back that stopped at a bow. The skirt was asymmetrical, showing off your legs and a pair of cute heels you saved for parties like this. You were a P.A not a starlet after all. You did a little twirl for Sebastian which earned some laughter from you both before you left him completely.

The greetings continued on your path toward the stairs that you knew would lead up to his bedroom, the most likely place he’d be holed up in. Glasses clinked and boisterous laughter carried over the soft music, while you made your way up to the second floor where the partygoers hadn’t dared tread. The sounds of the party muffled with every step into the dimly lit hallway, framed movie posters lining the walls toward the door at the end of the path, ajar enough to let a sliver of light pour out. You reached out your hand to rap lightly on the wood.

“Mr. Howard?” you tried. A small, familiar woof hit your ears and soon you spotted a curious nose, sniffs loud, and tail wagging furiously. “Hey, Roosevelt,” you said affectionately, the door opening naturally as you offered him pets. “Where’s your dad at huh?” Roosevelt pulled away and went back into the room as if requesting you to follow. You did so cautiously, not wanting to intrude if Cooper wasn’t decent, and closed the door behind you. “Mr. Howard?” you called again.

“In here!” he finally answered back.

You moved further into the space until you spotted him in front of the large mirror beside his bed, a deep blue shimmery tie dangling from his neck and a yellow one with polka dots that he was holding up for comparison in one of his free hands. He sighed.

“So you’ve been stuck in here for an hour picking a tie?” you asked lightly, a soft smile on your lips. He spotted you in the mirror and gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“I guess so,” he said. You could tell he was deflated, and rightfully so. The blue of his attire was so deep it was almost black—on brand as always but subtle enough to feel like he was mourning something. Appropriate but in combination with his tone, it made you feel sad. He wasn’t just your boss for the last couple of years, he was your friend, and you cared about him, about his family. It hurt you to see them being torn apart like this but you knew it had to be for a reason… a world-shattering one to bring divorce into it.

You stepped a bit closer, smile and tone still soft.

“May I, Mr. Howard?” you asked and held out a hand. Cooper turned to you with heavy eyes, lingering on your face in a way that made you want to pull him into a tight hug, but you resisted. He held out the tie for you to take and you did so, approaching him and laying the fabric gently against his shoulder to compare. You could feel his eyes on your face as you contemplated between the two items that had supposedly kept him in his bedroom this long.

“Be honest with me…” he whispered. “Did I royally fuck this all up?” Your eyes tilted up to his, a tight-lipped smile growing as you considered him. It was a vulnerable question. He was hurting, you could see it in the way he held himself, the slouched shoulders, semi-puffy eyelids, and the tone of his words. Meaningful conversations were not uncommon for the two of you, especially when he felt out of his depth about something or needed reassurance, but you hadn’t expected him to even mention the divorce to you right now.

“I think…” you started, cautious again. “You love Janey and Barb, so so much.” Your fingers wrapped around the tie that’d been hanging loosely around his neck so you could gently remove it. His eyes flicked to your movements briefly before returning to your face. You tossed the pieces of fabric onto the dresser. “And if whatever made you feel like this was the right course of action… Well…” You adjusted the collar of his shirt—the top two buttons were undone already in that casual style he liked—and brushed the shoulders of his deep blue, velvety blazer. You looked him directly in the eye. “I think you should trust your gut.”

Cooper returned the gaze. He nodded slowly, your words absorbed like water in limestone. You stepped back and removed your hands from his shoulders, but stopped when you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, just enough pressure to keep you from turning away. He gave you the biggest smile he could muster and put both his hands over yours.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for being here. For everythin’ lately.”

“Of course,” you replied and squeezed his hands back with yours. It felt like he was tethering himself back to reality in a way, the veil of his pain and heartache lifting enough for him to feel a little closer to normal. Only a little though. “You sure you want to go out there? I can tell ‘em all to scram if you really want me to,” you offered, tone playful though you fully meant it. That earned an amused huff out of him and he released you, the warmth from his palms lingering on your skin.

“Nah, s’alright,” he said. You reached for the whiskey glass on the dresser that he looked to have been sipping from before you arrived; it was just under halfway full. The ice clinked against the sides of the glass as you handed it to him.

“I guess you’d better get out there, Mr. Howard.”

“It’d seem so,” he said, taking the glass from you. You watched him close his eyes and inhale deeply, finding his center again. Roosevelt whined softly from his dog bed. “Alright,” he muttered a little reluctantly. Cooper took a couple steps past you and you were content to follow behind him had he not stopped, your name leaving his lips as a question.

“Yes?”

“Just…” He nibbled at the inside of his lip and offered you his elbow. “Just Cooper tonight, alright? I need somebody to treat me like a normal person.”

“Sure thing, Cooper,” you said with a smile, taking the offer and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you.” Cooper shifted his shoulders beside you, no doubt holding all of his tension there, and you made a mental note to schedule a spa day for him. You both walked toward the door. “You look lovely by the way, m’sure Sebastian was makin’ eyes at you.”

“Sebastian Leslie can keep his eyeballs to himself,” you said with a roll of your eyes and a smile. “I’m not interested.”

“Look at you, breakin’ the hearts of Hollywood’s most eligibles,” he said. You dug your elbow playfully into his side. “Come on, back to the wolves we go.”

“Last chance. I can still run ‘em off,” you said.

“You’re a terrifyin’ lil’ force of nature, but, unfortunately, these investors' pocketbooks are what’s gonna keep the lights on.”

“Then let’s put that movie star charm to good use,” you said.

“You think I’m charmin’? Psh. I remember distinctly hearin’ you call me a pain in the ass on set the other day,” he joked, sipping his whiskey.

“That’s because you were being a pain in the ass,” you responded coolly.

“Yeah… Yeah, I was,” he laughed—a genuine sound you were happy to hear given the circumstances—as the two of you left the room and traversed the hallway decorated in Cooper’s accolades back toward the bustling party.

Months had passed since the night of the party, tension inevitably brewing between Cooper and Barb every time he’d double or triple down on the divorce. You’d stayed out of their way, performing the necessary functions asked of you like you had already started to do, and offered an ear when asked of you. Barb never did though. In fact, it felt like she avoided you completely, probably because you were essentially an extension of Cooper by job, even when you did your best to show you held no animosity toward her.

You still didn’t know why Cooper even wanted the divorce. It wouldn’t have been fair to him, her, or Janey if you treated her differently. So you stayed quiet and offered pleasantries she often barely acknowledged. The day the divorce was finalized you had been waiting outside of the courthouse for Cooper, an unpleasant backdrop of paparazzi waiting for them to depart so they could prey on their misery.

Barb was the first to exit, sunglasses covering her eyes, but they didn’t block the passing look she gave you that felt like you had been stabbed in the chest. You’d learned that you were just another ‘casualty’ of the divorce, because not only would Cooper have gotten you regardless, but he also got primary custody of Janey too. So she was probably pissed. Even Cooper didn’t offer much, understandably so, requesting to be taken home immediately and to be left alone for the rest of the day.

All you could do was frown and try not to take it personally… but it was certainly hard not to at times.

Now, you felt your nerves ignite as you turned the engine of the car off in front of Barb’s new house. It was a deep feeling in your chest but one you couldn’t let get the better of you. So, you climbed out of your car, went around the other side, and opened up the back door for Janey whose expression had been sunken every day since the divorce.

You did your best to give her some normalcy when you could, to ease just how bad the divide between Cooper and Barb actually was, but no amount of ice cream, roller rinks, and other well-intentioned distractions could do that. Especially when her parents had both dived deeply into their work as their way to escape the pain.

“You want me to carry your backpack?” you asked, watching as the young girl fidgeted with her fingers.

“I don’t wanna go with, Mommy,” she muttered, practically a whisper. Your expression shifted into a frown but you expected this to happen at some point. Using the door to keep your balance in your heels—opting for a more casual pencil skirt and button-up combo today—you squatted beside her.

“Why not?” you asked. She shifted again, hesitating.

“I dunno, she’s just, never really home so I have to stay with Miss Leah most of the time.”

“But Miss Leah is nice though, isn’t she?”

“I guess,” she said. “But… But I have more fun with you and Daddy.” Your heart dropped a little. “Miss Leah doesn’t take me to the roller rink like you do.”

“It’s not a competition hun,” you said softly, which only made her frown. You held out your hands, palm up, and waited. Despite not being a child of divorce, you’d seen the repercussions of it in your friends growing up, and you could certainly empathize with her. After a few moments, she placed her hands into yours and you gave her a comforting squeeze, a tight-lipped smile on your lips. “Your parents are trying their best. I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, but I promise you it’s true.”

“Why did they get divorced?” she asked, small tears building in her eyes. This wasn’t a conversation you’d expected to have right now but, honestly, you couldn’t blame her… Your hands squeezed hers again.

“Unfortunately, I can’t answer that for them,” you said.

Janey’s mouth opened to say something else but her eyes flicked behind you and it closed immediately. You had a feeling you knew why so you gave her shoulder a little rub before standing, guess confirmed by the sound of a pair of heels behind you.

Barb, who’d left her porch to make her way down the walkway toward you both, eyes on her daughter.

“Janey, baby,” she said, arms open and waiting. Janey’s eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment as she hopped out of the car and embraced her mother. 

“Hi, Mommy,” she responded.

You closed the door behind her, a little terrified to face Barb fully just from the general feelings you were getting, but you did so with hands on your hips and a smile.

“Hello,” you said. Her gaze turned to you, your name leaving her mouth in such a way that you could feel your nerves surge for a moment and a knot twist in your stomach. You cleared your throat. “Uh, Cooper said he’s going to pick her up next Sunday once his shoots are done—”

“Cooper?” she asked, smile twisting in a way that felt dangerous. You furrowed your eyebrows in slight confusion. “No more ‘Mister Howard’?... Interesting.”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Barb,” you tried, cautiously casual as you tried to deflect whatever she was trying to say.

“You can tell, Cooper,” she said and you took a deep breath. “We agreed on Friday.” Janey looked between you two. Your heart pounded. Nothing had happened between you two, where was this coming from? You’d never even entertained the idea of something like that nor had Cooper ever tried. He was your boss, this was his family, and your function was to make their lives as easy as you could.

“Yes, but he’ll be on set every day and I have to be there too, so he was hoping—”

Barb held up her hand. Your jaw clenched.

“Next time he needs to change his mind about our agreed schedule, he can call me himself instead of sending you.”

“He tried, but you didn’t pick up,” you said. Janey looked up to her mother before leaving her grip and making her way inside. Barb’s gaze followed her until she heard the door close and then turned back to you. Before she could say anything else, it was you who held up a hand. “I have nothing but respect for you, Barb. I always have. I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m sure you are,” Barb said, venom in her tone.

“Barb, please—”

“Just let him know I’ll figure it out. I always do,” she said and promptly turned away. You didn’t say anything in return, simply watched her disappear into the house, and you took a long, steadying breath. Your hands were shaking still when you climbed back into the driver’s seat.

The set was abuzz when you arrived, a stack of papers—a new version of the film’s script for Cooper to review—in the crook of one of your arms and a black coffee in your opposite hand. You weaved through all the busy bees, giving a few friendly nods, and headed directly for the trailers.

It was just before midday when you arrived on the lot, less shaken than your initial drive over from Barb’s, but still haunted by her words and expressions. You were completely innocent, never sparing a glance in Cooper’s direction in a way less than professional. He was never uncouth and never made an errant comment in your direction, his eyes were always on Barb. It wounded some part of you to know she thought you would do that to her.

Cooper Howard was your boss. That was that.

Your knuckles rapped at the door, the contents of the cup sloshing.

“Mr. Howard?” you tried over the sounds of all the bustling workers. Your knuckles hit the door again, this time so hard the coffee slipped out of the lid and almost threatened to stain the script gripped opposite of it. “Cooper?”

Still nothing.

An impatient sigh left you and, instead of waiting for his reply, you expertly utilized your fingers to open the door and stepped inside. The trailer was cool enough to combat the heat outside, a welcome reprieve, and it didn’t take you long to find Cooper. Your jaw clenched.

He was sprawled out on the dark leather couch, head propped up on the arm, and half-dressed in his costume for the movie. The spurs of the boot he had up on the other arm dug into the material, pants on with the top button popped, and his shirt completely undone which exposed his chest. It was like he’d made an attempt to get ready but never finished. His signature white cowboy hat was tilted down over his eyes.

“Cooper,” you said, trying to be firm enough to get his attention. His chest moved steadily up and down and when you took a step toward him, the distinct smell of whiskey hit your nose. Then you spotted it, a glass on the floor with his fingers loosely around the edges as though forgotten in his slumber. A tinge of frustration rippled through you and if you were honest with yourself, some disappointment, and it took all of your willpower and respect for Cooper not to just rip him off the couch and onto the floor. “Cooper.” Your voice was louder, tone much firmer, as you gave the boot dangling to the floor a nice kick.

“What the hell—” Cooper’s words slurred a little as he fixed his hat. “Oh, hey sweetheart.” The nickname fell on unappreciative ears and tumbled into the tension building in the space.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, irritation rising in your chest. “Are you drunk right now? When you’re supposed to be on set in 45 minutes?”

“Just had a coupl’a sips of whiskey s’all,” he responded, accent thicker than usual and riddled with sleep. With a controlled but frustrated sigh, you slapped the script onto the nearest surface—a little more gentle with the coffee—and stood next to the couch with your hands on your hips.

“Just a coupl’a sips,” you mocked. Cooper peaked out from under his hat.

“Hey, now, that ain’t nice,” he said as he pointed one of his index fingers at you. You moved the whiskey glass next to the coffee.

“Nice?” You gave an indignant huff, reaching down to grab onto his forearm. “You’re making my job a lot harder than it should be right now.” Cooper’s head lolled lazily, just like the rest of him, but he made what appeared to be an effort when you pulled him off the couch and to his feet. He wobbled, chest hairs tickling your hand as you tried to steady him. “I don’t have to be nice. I have to get you out on that soundstage.”

Cooper chuckled, the smell of liquor wafting over your nostrils, and said, “There she is. My own personal force’a nature.”

You looked up at his face finally, intending to show him just how much destruction you wanted to cause, and felt something unfamiliar pang throughout your body. It sat uncomfortably in your chest.

“Could topple’a building with that damn look,” he muttered.

Your heart thundered in your chest. This was the closest you’d ever been to Cooper for more than the few seconds a hug required—and you were hyper-aware of your hand still on his chest. You didn’t know what to do. You’d never seen him drunk like this, messy, let alone on set. He was always so professional, polite, and just generally kind to most people. You could almost always count on him to be in his right mind.

You pulled your hand away from him, only to feel him place his own over yours to keep it against his chest. Your entire body tensed.

“Cooper,” you warned, eyes holding his. The rich green-brown of his were muted by the shadow of his hat and minimal light in the trailer, but nothing could hide the way they searched your entire face and lingered on your lips. “You’re drunk.”

“Only a couple’a sips—”

“Your demeanor would beg to differ—”

“What’s it to ya, huh? Why do’ya care if I am?” he asked, drunken defensiveness in his tone. That struck you in a way that snapped you out of the haze you were teetering on the edge of. You pulled your hand away from him and took a full step back. A long breath released from your lungs, nostrils flaring. “Cooper Howard needs to be the prize fuckin’ horse all the time, huh?”

“Sugarfoot is the prize horse,” you responded in the same dry tone you’d provided Barb earlier in the day. Cooper swayed in place and chewed on the inner part of his lip while he considered you. Your dismissal wasn’t meant to be hurtful but you’d dealt with enough of the shockwaves of this divorce for one day. 

“Then make the horse say the fuckin’ lines.”

“Maybe we should if you’re going to be drunk in your trailer—” You checked your watch, a gift for your first anniversary of working for him. “—Now 30 minutes before your call time.” Cooper sucked his teeth in response. “What happened to make you do this? Was it the director? Vault-Tec?... Barb?”

“Watch it now,” Cooper warned as he pointed at you again and took a step closer. You stood your ground.

“Or what, Mr. Howard?” you asked with a bit more venom, your frustration starting to boil over. “You're gonna fire the only person aside from your daughter who’s been truly looking out for you? Especially since the divorce?” Your hand moved, smacking his index finger away from you. His expression shifted momentarily, taken aback by the gesture. “I’ve already had to dodge Janey’s unanswerable questions about her parents and deal with Barb’s accusations today. So if you want to make an ass out of yourself on set, you sure as shit can do it on your own.”

You turned to leave. Cooper said your name and reached for you.

“No,” you said sternly with a face contorted in anger. “Sort your shit out and maybe I’ll see you on set tomorrow.” You opened the door but stopped just at the bottom of the steps when you heard your name again, turning ever so slightly to look at him. Cooper’s expression had shifted into one that was difficult to parse. A mixture of sadness and anger if you had to guess.

“Please… Don’t go,” he pleaded. The words hit you in the chest, posture straightening reflexively, and a frown on your lips as you shook your head.

“I won’t be your emotional punching bag,” you responded.

With that, you left the trailer and made the trek back through the set. A few eyes followed after you, confusion evident on their brow, but no one said a word. Except for the director who asked where Cooper was and where you were going.

“He’s still getting ready. Give him an extra 15. As for me, I’m taking the rest of the day off,” you said. The tone of your response must have made him think twice about pushing for more information, especially with the way your heels thudded against the ground with every purposeful step you took across the lot.

The heat was becoming unbearable for a reason that had to be solely influenced by your heightened emotions. In the back of your mind, Barb’s accusations rung loud and clear. Your fingers tingled with the memory of being on his chest, the thin sheen of sweat that had built up in his sleep dampening your skin… you rubbed the pads of each finger together subconsciously. 

Cooper Howard was your boss. That had to be that.

The silence in your home was broken by the television and the soft snores of your golden retriever, Oliver, who’d cuddled up against your legs once you’d settled in for the night. You were half paying attention to the game show you’d landed on, mostly providing background noise as you scribbled notes in a book about screenplay writing.

It was a pastime of yours, a comfort really, something reserved for the quiet hours of your day. Some didn’t understand, like your parents, why you worked for a movie star daily, helped with movies and scripts, and still came home to read books about it all.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to deal with their questions often now that this was considered ‘your’ house. It was the one you’d grown up in and returned to after college. They thought about selling it numerous times, but since it was so close to Cooper’s—and many other Hollywood elite—they thought it better if you occupied it for now. Retirement was one hell of a paycheck for them and their sun tans were evidence of it every time they came back for the holiday of their choosing. Or sometimes… just not at all.

But you were okay with that.

Your eyes started to get heavy, words blurring on the page, and fingers loosening around your pen. You’d have succumbed to it if a sudden knock on your door didn’t startle both you and Oliver, who barked at the sound. The possibilities of guests this late were slim to none. Solicitors? At this hour? Your home didn’t have a gate like the movie stars around you so it sometimes made them feel bold…

Your eyebrows furrowed but you got to your feet as quietly as possible, adjusting your silk sleep shorts and matching camisole, and tiptoed into the entryway. Oliver followed close behind but stopped just behind you to observe. You moved up onto your tiptoes to gaze through the peephole, loose braid swaying against you with every movement. The person beyond it—

With a quick flick of your wrist, you unlocked the door, inhaled deeply, and pulled it open.

“Mr. Howard,” you said evenly through the medium-sized crack in the door. His lips tightened a little at your intentional professionalism. 

Your eyes floated over him enough to see he was dressed down—the sleeves of his half-untucked blue button-up pulled up messily with the top three buttons undone, worn jeans you rarely saw him in, some even older-looking boots worn with dirt, and hair partially disheveled. In one hand he held a fast food bag with the logo of a chain you loved and in the other, a simple bouquet of your favorite flower.

“What can I do for you?” you added. The same flame you’d felt earlier in the day when you found him in the trailer was a fizzle of embers, barely a wisp of the same feeling. So you’d hear him out at the very least.

“I know it’s late,” he started, taking what you could only assume was a steadying breath. “But… I wanted to say I’m sorry for… earlier.” Cooper wiggled the bag a little in his hand. “If you don’t wanna hear my bullshit tonight I get it, I just figured apologizin’ face to face was better than a phone call—”

You pulled the door open more, wide enough to let him in the house, and he held your gaze for a long moment. The weight of it made you shrink a little, given your attire currently, but you stood as firm as you could beside the door waiting for him to enter.

“Alright,” he whispered. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He finally removed his eyes from your face once he’d stepped inside and Oliver, who’d waited so patiently despite the loud thumps of his tail, bolted to greet Cooper. His entire body wiggled with excitement as he sniffed the man’s legs. “Hey there Ollie,” Cooper said in a slightly higher pitch. “Kitchen’s through here right?” he asked, pointing to a room to the left of the staircase. You nodded as you closed the door. “Don’t worry, I got you a small fry too,” he said to Oliver who eagerly followed beside him to the kitchen.

Once he’d moved out of sight, you rushed back into the living room to grab the silk robe that you’d tossed off of you hours ago, fastening it tightly. You felt some of the self-consciousness dissipate and when you finally entered, you found Cooper opening up the bag of food and pulling out what looked to be two burgers and some fries, which he quickly rewarded Oliver, who’d been sitting patiently next to the island where Cooper had set the food.

“You, uh,  got a vase I can put these in for you?” Cooper asked, nodding toward the bouquet. He seemed a bit timid, eyes on you, almost as if he thought you would regret your hospitality at any moment.

“I got it,” you answered and moved past him to open up one of the cupboards. Upon reaching in, the tips of your fingers grazed a clay vase that you knew. You pulled it down, gently placing it on the counter, and the lights of the kitchen reflected off of the carefully placed recycled pieces of colorful glass shards. It was a little project you’d done alongside Janey, who opted for recycled bottle caps for hers, and was an entire day of work—careful work—while babysitting her the year prior.

“Janey still has hers,” he commented as he placed a fry in his mouth. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips at that, always touched that Janey appreciates the little gestures you do for her. “She made some paper flowers for it, different colors for the people she loves in her life… Your favorite color’s in there too.”

You turned to him then and found him chewing on another fry, eyes flicking up to you. Your hand moved to the side of the vase, gently running your fingers against the material.

“That’s… so sweet,” you said softly.

“She’s real attached to you,” he added, just as soft. You believed that sentiment, you loved Janey, but you couldn’t help but feel how weighted that statement felt. Something was hovering behind it, like a shadow that danced on the edges of the light. His gaze stayed on you, expectant in a way, and that heat from earlier started to return. That tingle on your fingers…

Actual tingles. Pain.

“Ow!” you winced, pulling your hand away from the vase. You raised your hand to your line of sight, deep red trickling down your shaky index finger.

“Shit,” the two of you said in unison. Cooper was next to you in an instant, fingers pulling your hand toward him so he could inspect. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, you’d always known him to be a wonderful, attentive, husband and father, so why wouldn’t he be the same for his friends? But you still found yourself blinking in surprise, watching him intently.

“The hazards of artistic innovation,” you tried to joke. He huffed a laugh while still examining the cut.

“Don’t look too bad. You got a med kit somewhere?”

“Uh, bathroom, upstairs on the right.”

“Alright, go ‘head and wash it off, be right back,” he said and disappeared from the kitchen. Oliver followed him but didn’t leave the entryway to the kitchen, opting to wait within the line of sight of his small bag of fries.

You did as you were instructed and took a few steps toward the empty sink. The water flowed from the faucet onto your finger, blood clearing and flowing into the drain. It stung but your mind was elsewhere, occupied by Cooper’s energy tonight. His apology seemed genuine, the flowers and food thoughtful… 

Maybe you were just in your head about what had happened in the trailer, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Cooper was your boss so it was usually you doing things like this for him, Janey, hell, even Barb when they were together. Taking care of them. Maybe that was it… Yeah. That was it.

You finished rinsing the cut just as Cooper came back into the kitchen, placing the supplies he’d grabbed on the counter next to you—some rubbing alcohol, ointment, a bandage, and one of the hand towels from your bathroom. He reached for your hand, holding it gently in the palm of his over the sink. The solution hit your finger and you winced a tiny bit.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s alright,” you reassured.

He took the washcloth next and dabbed thoughtfully, eyes on your finger like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I spent some time with Sugarfoot after the shoot. Tried to, uh, clear my head,” he started. You mumbled an ‘mhm’ as you watched his movements, the ointment sliding from the tube to the cut effortlessly. “It felt… wrong, without you there today.” You hummed, still feeling a little strange about seeing him that way. It wasn’t the Cooper you knew and from this talk, it felt like he knew that too.

“I think I might’a…” He sighed, wrapping your finger in the bandage. “I might’a been takin’ advantage of just how much you do for me every day. Keepin’ me on track, takin’ care of Janey…”

You noticed he was done tending to your wound but his hand didn’t move, yours lying in his palm as his fingers gently flexed around it. Your gaze turned up and caught his eyes searching your face for any objections. You surprisingly had none.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” he said, tone sincere as the words panged in your chest. You couldn’t remember a time when Cooper had done something like this. Minor apologies occurred here and there, of course, but never like this.

“Cooper,” you said. You reflexively turned to look down at your hands, unsure how to react to the intensity of his stare. This was more than the casual breezy times you shared together as his assistant. Especially when you felt his fingers touch your chin to return your gaze to his. It was gentle enough for you to refuse the motion, to pull away, but you found yourself allowing it. That heat was back. It crept up the back of your neck into your cheeks the longer Cooper’s fingers remained on your chin.

“I apologize for my behavior earlier,” he said and dropped his fingers. The places they’d been felt like they’d lost something and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or not. “You’re not my emotional punchin’ bag. You’re one of the most important people in my life and I don’t want my stupid fuckin’ decisions when I’m upset to drive you away.”

You nibbled on the corner of your lip and considered his words. You’d known him long enough to see through his bullshit and this… this was the furthest thing from that. It was a vulnerable moment for him and you could tell not his proudest either.

“You’re not going to miss your call time tomorrow, right?” you asked. You hadn’t realized just how close you’d been, neck craning a bit to look up at him. He chuckled which instinctively made you smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he said. You rolled your eyes as you finally removed your hand from his—which had remained curled around yours almost the whole conversation—and approached the island. Oliver had fallen asleep while you two were conversing but his head perked up the moment he heard you open the food bag.

“Well, Mr. Howard, we should eat this before it gets even colder,” you said.

“Damn, still in the doghouse then, huh?” he asked, stepping up next to you, shoulder brushing against yours.

“For now,” you joked, looking up at him for a moment. “We’ll see how I feel after you make it to that call time.” You held up his burger and he chuckled, taking it from your grasp.

“Bright and early then,” he conceded. You smiled and took a nice, hearty bite out of your apology burger.

“Lookin’ awful hard at that,” Cooper said from the other side of the hot tub. “Somethin’ I need to worry ‘bout?”

You spared a glance away from the script atop your knees—you weren’t in the hot tub with him, instead perched on the wooden stairs that led down from it. Since filming had wrapped for his most recent movie, you weren’t due on set with him today and opted for a more casual outfit; some shorts that had migrated a bit further down from your knees when you sat, a strapless top that tucked into them, and your hair tied up in a scarf. Your free hand fiddled with the chain of your necklace as you tapped a bare foot against the stairs. 

While the luxuries of the Howard household were open for you to utilize at any point, per Cooper’s explicit reminders as of late, it was too warm and you had business to conduct with him and this script.

“Aside from the fact that it’s pure Vault-Tec slop?” you asked, distaste evident in your tone. He let out a breath of laughter as he took a sip from the gin martini you’d prepared for him. Your own martini glass sat on the tray next to the cup of olives, untouched, as you sat bewildered by the script in your hands. Your voice turned almost sing-songy as you lifted the script up to read, “‘Strong enough to keep out the rads and the Reds’...” Your face scrunched into distaste. “Who wrote this? An intern?”

“Someone named Bolt Ass-skins or somethin’, I don’t remember,” he said and sipped more from his martini. You snorted a little in response.

“Well, it does exactly what it needs to, unfortunately,” you sighed and tapped your pen against the papers. “Peddling safety and exclusivity from a make-believe nuclear nightmare…” You stared down at the paper, teeth gently nibbling the inside of your cheek absently. “Because who should be saved but the rich and elite.”

There was a small moment of quiet after that, your mind taking you elsewhere, a place where Vault-Tec’s fear-mongering might be true and you and your family were left in the nuclear dust, lost to time and dispersed to the universe with every gust of wind that passed over your bones. Forgotten.

The water sloshed a bit as Cooper moved toward your side of the tub and you snapped back to the present. Your assistant mode kicked in and, though Cooper looked to be reaching for the olives, you got to them first.

“You’d have one too, you know,” he said casually. Your brow furrowed as you turned your eyes down to him, olive plopping softly in the glass he held out. “You & Ollie—right next to me and Janey… or with us, if you wanted.”

“That’s… That’s kind of you, Cooper, but I could never ask you to do that—”

“I know, but you don’t need to,” he said. The sun caught the green-brown of his eyes, the salt in his pepper hair glistening as he looked up at you. “Hell, I’ll even put some money down for your family if you want them there too.”

“As long as you put them on the other side of the vault,” you joked, which earned a laugh from him and made you chuckle.

“Consider it done,” he said, with a smirk that you rolled your eyes at. You didn’t doubt Cooper’s sincerity about that offer but it was so grandiose, so out of your ballpark of realism, that you couldn’t truly consider it. “What time is it?” he asked suddenly. 

You rolled your wrist enough to see the time on your watch and said, “Just after one.”

“I should go shower real fast so I can get Janey from school,” he said and drank the rest of his martini, and the olive, in one motion. “Maybe later we’ll go grab some ice cream at that place y’all like. Forget about that Vault-Tec stuff for a little while.”

“Hard to forget when you’ve got that photoshoot coming up in a couple of days and they still haven’t given you the dress code,” you said.

“Suit and tie until otherwise notified,” he commented nonchalantly, proud of his rhyme. You watched as he stood, just long enough to see his exposed chest, and turned away when the top of his small cobalt swim shorts—practically a speedo—peaked over the top of the water. You reached behind you for his towel and offered it to him without looking. He made a noise, something like a chuckle.

“Come on, up with ya.” Cooper gave your exposed thigh a little tap, water trickling down your skin, signaling he was headed for the exit of the hot tub. You moved instantly, making your way down the small wooden staircase attached to the adjacent tub, and focused back on the script. He joined your stride back up to the house, still dripping wet and with the towel around his neck now, but you kept your eyes on the words in front of you.

“So, any edits then? Or is the slop good enough?”

“Even if I did, I don’t think Vault-Tec would give a damn about them,” you said. Cooper held the backdoor open for you, the cool air of the house a welcome reprieve from the hot tub’s steam and the sun’s rays. “I’ll give this another once over while you shower. Just for posterity.”

“You’re gon’ have that memorized before I do.”

“I usually do,” you said with a wide smile intended to ooze playful sarcasm. This time he rolled his eyes. “Now go.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, hands up as he walked toward the staircase, Roosevelt in tow. You resisted the temptation to peek up at him, eyes rereading the same line over and over until you heard both of them disappear fully upstairs. An exhale left you, a tinge of heat on your cheeks, and you found yourself slapping the papers onto the nearest surface to get yourself an ice-cold glass of water. It hadn’t been that hot outside, but you felt like you were slowly burning up on the inside… or at least your face did.

You had found a place on the couch to wait for Cooper and reread this script for the millionth time, two full glasses of ice water downed, when the doorbell rang. Cooper hadn’t told you about any guests paying a visit. You placed the script on the coffee table and padded toward the door. A quick peek through the peephole revealed a man in a suit, who looked a tad nervous and carried a medium-sized box in his hand branded with the Vault-Tec logo. You opened the door and put on your friendliest smile.

“Hello, how can I help you?” you asked.

“Oh, uh, hi, I’m… Is Cooper Howard home?” the man asked.

“I’m his assistant, how can I help you?” you repeated, your tone sickeningly sweet in the face of this man. He chuckled nervously.

“His assistant, right, right,” he said like the information had just dawned on him. “I’m sorry to, um, bother him here, at his home. I’m actually an assistant too—Miss Howard’s—and I was told to deliver this to him.” Miss Howard… Your eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of Barb having her own assistant now, but you staved off your curiosity and nodded along.

“Nice to meet you, Mister…?”

“MacLean. Hank MacLean,” he said with a big smile.

“Nice to meet you Hank,” you said, reaching your hand out to shake his. He obliged, despite fumbling with the package for a moment. “Can I ask what this package is for…?”

“It’s Mr. Howard’s suit for the upcoming photoshoot. Custom made for him,” he clarified. Hank offered you the box and you took it with the same smile you’d given him originally. “Between you and I, I’m a big fan of his, and I’d love to meet him at some point.”

You gave your business laugh and nodded your head before saying, “I’m sure you’ll get the chance. I’ll get this to Mr. Howard right away. Nice to meet you, Mr. MacLean.” You slowly closed the door, a bit of surprise on his face.

“Nice to meet you as well! I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other a lot in the future. You know, assistants and all.”

“Looking forward to it,” you said before you fully closed the door and promptly locked it. The smile disappeared from your lips. The Vault-Tec logo felt obnoxious, as was most of what they did, and the box felt like it had a bit of weight to it. Despite your immediate curiosity, you made your way upstairs and approached Cooper’s bedroom.

“Cooper?” you called into the space.

“Still in the shower!” he called back. “Everything alright?”

You moved further into the room and approached the bathroom door, which was cracked. The steam trickled out like a fog, dissipating into the cool air of the rest of the house. Roosevelt was asleep in his dog bed.

“Yeah, you got a package from Vault-Tec!”

“Vault-Tec? What’s in it?” he asked over the running water.

“Dunno, haven’t opened it yet. Barb’s new assistant delivered it though. He seems… nice.”

“New assistant?” Cooper laughed.

“Yeah, he was real keen on meeting you, Mr. Howard,” you said and he responded with an amused noise.

You moved into the room, looking for something sharp to open up this package, and settled on the pocketknife Cooper had sitting out on his dresser next to one of his signature white cowboy hats he’d kept from set. It opened with a click, and you slid it over the packing tape, right through the Vault-Tec logo, and opened the box up. Inside was a suit, but not a classic suit, more similar to a jumpsuit in his signature cobalt and trimmed with yellow. You were intrigued, but also, confused, as you closed the pocketknife and placed it on the sheets. The water in the bathroom cut off.

“Well, it’s a suit but not— OH!” You had turned to shout back to Cooper when your eyes found him emerging from the bathroom and approaching you, with only a towel around his waist. You’d glimpsed a bit of his leg as he walked, peeking from the material, all the way up to his hip. No undergarments in sight. You instantaneously spun around, back toward him, and fire blazed in your cheeks. Picking out ties was one thing, but this… This was new. “I’m so sorry, I can leave.”

“Ain’t much different than seeing me in that hot tub,” he said.

You clenched your teeth, throat bobbing as you contemplated how to best remove yourself from the situation. There was a small part of you, one you didn’t even realize existed, that wished you’d turn around. It yearned for it… Yearned. No. You stifled the feeling with embarrassment, stomping it out the best you could.

“I don’t want to be disrespectful,” you managed.

“Y’ain’t,” he said, so instantly, so certainly, that it made you hyper-aware of your rising heartbeat. You heard movement, both exhilarating and nerve-wracking for a reason you couldn’t place. The hair you’d released from your scarf earlier framed your face, nurturing the heat in your cheeks.

You practically jumped when you heard Cooper’s voice right next to your ear.

“If you’re so concerned about it, why don’t you hold onto this for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice low and breath tickling your ear. The heat from the shower radiated from his bare chest and settled gently against your back, his body inches from yours, you’d realized. Your breath hitched.

Before you could indulge in any further self-examination, you felt a pressure on top of your head, and through your eyelashes, you could make out the brim of Cooper’s cowboy hat. He’d leaned it far enough forward that it blocked anything that wasn’t directly below you.

“There. Good now, darlin’?” he said in the same tone as before. Your body felt as though it wanted to melt, but whether you wanted to melt into Cooper or the floor was the concern you were met with.

“Yes, sir,” you said, professionalism tainted by the breathiness of your response. A sound of acknowledgment left him, some sort of ‘mm’, and your shoulders tensed even more. The sun’s beams had nothing on the heat you felt trickling down your throat and pooling all in your gut.

“At least it’s in my colors,” he said, neutral, from behind you. You heard the shuffling of material like he’d pulled the suit out of the box and promptly dropped it back down without much thought. Then you heard his footsteps move away from you. “Ice cream tonight, right?” he asked.

You turned, finally, and lifted the brim enough to see him walking away, water trailing down his broad shoulders and back.

“Right,” you said.

When he reached the bathroom door he turned his face enough to see you watching him. A smirk crept onto his lips.

“Looks good on you,” he said, words genuine but laced with a bit of smugness like he’d proved something to himself. Or maybe to you. Without much else, he slipped into the bathroom and left you there with that pool of lava in your stomach. Even a gallon of ice cream wouldn’t be able to fix that.

“So, has he said anything about the script? Any notes?” Bud Askins asked you, voice full of that corporate confidence that only a pressed suit and a 401k could exude. Your arms were crossed and your eyes remained on Cooper who stood before the camera. He’d just found his stride with a charming thumbs up that had everyone exhilarated like he’d invented the damn gesture in the first place. Even Barb, who stood a few feet from you, on the opposite side of the camera, was sporting a smile. One that she probably thought no one would see except Cooper; he hadn’t spared a single glance at her. If he wasn’t looking at the camera… he was looking at you.

You caught the corner of your bottom lip with your canine to resist returning his smile.

Bud addressed you again.

“Hm?” You tore your eyes from Cooper to look up at Bud who was all smiles and borderline insufferable puppy dog eyes. His endearing allure was stifled by the knowledge that he was some sort of head honcho at Vault-Tec. “Oh, no notes,” you whispered back with a smile. He nodded back as the photographer shouted something out to Cooper that sounded encouraging.

 You naturally looked at the photographer and caught Barb looking over at you. The two of you locked eyes for what felt longer than it was before she turned away from you, expression slipping to something you couldn’t recognize. A frown tugged at your lips that you didn’t hide fast enough, Cooper’s eyes on you again while he adjusted to a new pose. So quickly you might not have caught it if you didn’t know him as well as you did.

The photos carried on for another ten or so minutes, Bud Askins desperately trying to converse with you about Cooper and his opinions, to which you answered most with ‘I’m not sure’, despite knowing the answers to everything. Once the photographer called a wrap on the shoot, Cooper exhaled and started to head toward you. He shook a few hands along the way, flashing that Hollywood smile at everyone.

“Man–” he started, reaching out to grab your arm. Barb intercepted it, hand gripping his upper arm while simultaneously stepping a bit between the two of you. It was so swift that you had no time to react.

“Cooper, we’ve got some business to discuss before you go,” Barb said. The tone of her voice sounded just as insincere as Bud’s. All corporate with a tinge of bite that was likely reserved specifically for you. You smiled at Cooper.

“I’ve got scripts to review, I’ll just meet you back at your trailer,” you said. Cooper looked between the two of you but understood, giving a small nod. “Barb,” you said respectfully. She said your name but it held nothing. 

Cooper gazed back at you as she led him away, gaze apologetic. While you absolutely could have been part of that conversation as his assistant, there was a sort of guilt eating at you for the other day with the cowboy hat. Guilt that you were almost sure Barb could sniff out and exploit if she wanted to. Despite being fully capable of standing up for yourself, the last thing you wanted to do was cause more problems for Cooper and Janey.

So you walked back to his trailer and settled yourself on the couch you’d found him passed out on weeks ago. A deep exhale left your body, the heaviness of being around Vault-Tec wasn’t the same as being on a movie set. The egos could rival each other of course but you’d take arguing with a director over one of those suits any day.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you finally heard the trailer door swing open. The force of it immediately drew your now widened eyes and you caught Cooper’s crimson-kissed cheeks and scowl as he slammed behind him. He walked past you with a muttered ‘sorry’ and to the room at the back he used to get dressed. He didn’t close that door. You peered to the front door, half expecting Barb to charge in behind him, but nothing.

“Cooper?” you tried loud enough for him to hear. Silence, only the faint sound of him fussing with the suit. Your brows furrowed, concern building as you placed the scripts to the side and moved toward the room he’d disappeared into. From the short hallway you could see Cooper with his back towards you, hands pressed against the vanity and head hung low. “Coop,” you said again, softer. He took in a steadying breath.

“Help me get outta this thing, would’ya?” he replied loud enough for you to hear. “It’s hot as shit.”

“Sure thing.”

Cooper turned to face you, the tinge of red you’d seen color his face was now a light pink. He’d already brought his zipper down to his waist, a thin white undershirt peeking from beneath. Curiosity danced across your mind as he reached out one of his arms to you, your fingers hooking into his sleeve securely. He tugged and wiggled to free himself.

“What’s bothering you, Coop?” you asked. You looked up at him but he didn’t look at you.

“Nothin’,” he attempted. You answered with a deadpan stare.

“Try again.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth while he contemplated. It could’ve been a handful of things with him, but there was only one person here who could get under his skin like this. You just weren’t going to say it.

He hummed an irritated noise, giving up on freeing himself from the suit, and ran his free hand through his hair. His eyes finally settled on your face.

“You got plans tonight?” he asked suddenly.

“Why?”

“Just–” He looked like he’d bitten back some frustration that was threatening to spill over onto you. “Do you want to get outta town with me? Just for a little while?”

The way he looked at you made your heart sink. Cooper and Janey meant the world to you and you hated to see him so rattled—it made you want to do anything in your power to resolve or ease it.

“I don’t need my assistant, I just…” Cooper’s free hand reached up and, for a moment, you thought he’d touch your face. You found yourself unopposed to the idea. Instead, though, you caught his hesitation, another fleeting moment, just before he redirected himself to your upper arm. It was a gentle touch, but one that felt like it meant more than either of you would admit. Grounding. “I just want your company.”

You gave him a slow nod.

“Where’d you want to go?” you asked with a gentle smile that he tried to match.

Not as an assistant, but as a friend… You could do that.

The sun was setting by the time you’d left the city, the Hollywood sign had long since faded into the distance behind you both. You’d been in Cooper’s Kaiser Darrin before, always enamored by the convertible with its sleek pastel yellow design and the quiet cruise it offered wherever it arrived. Typically, the subtle hum of the radio or idle chatter kept any empty air from feeling awkward or strange, but tonight this two-seater never felt more suffocating. 

You couldn’t tell where the nerves were coming from. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him so it couldn’t be coming from that. Years, you’d spent years as Cooper’s assistant and accompanied him to plenty of places both professional and casual, even with Janey. There was no reason you should’ve felt as tense as you did during the drive.

Whether Cooper noticed or not, you had no idea. Since leaving his house—after dropping off Oliver to keep Roosevelt company and pester the dog sitter for fries—he’d been quiet, though his interactions were brief but not mean. Whatever happened at the photoshoot had him tangled up in his mind.

The radio remained off for at least the first hour, sounds of the city filling your ears, including the loud comments people considered whispers as they ogled the movie star temporarily halted by the stop light. You did your best to avoid their stares, big sunglasses and a headscarf were barely a comfort. People who cared about that stuff knew you were his assistant but all it took was one rumor to sweep through and potentially ruin everything. Cooper remained unbothered about all of that too.

When he finally turned on the radio, the sunset was casting all of its hues of tangerine, gold, and violets over the highway. The tinkle of the opening piano keys to ‘Don’t Fence Me In’ played loud enough for you to recognize and suddenly the sunset was no longer your focus, it was Cooper’s voice.

You’d heard him sing a tune before, especially at home dancing with Janey, or even Barb, but you never gave it much thought. Never really listened. He was no Sinatra, but he didn’t need to be. He sang for himself, effort elevating with every word, voice piercing through the wind to reach you. Despite not sparing a glance at you and his casual demeanor—one arm propped on the car door while the other handled the wheel—you could sense an underlying context. Something deeply personal seeping through. You wouldn’t pry, not right now anyway, so instead… you sang too.

Cooper finally spared a glance at you then and you did the same. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips but he hid it with his free hand, both of you returning your attention to the road ahead of you. 

“Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies… Don't fence me in,” you both sang.

The tension you’d felt began to ease, continuing your duet and releasing the pressure that’d built up in your shoulders. You sang for the wind too, let it dance on its wisps to twist and mingle with Cooper’s, released into the evening air.

It took another hour or so before you left the highway and the hills started to have tall trees, until eventually, the tree-lined road led to an imposing gate for a community you couldn’t quite make-out. Your curiosity peaked further as Cooper slowed the car and approached a booth with a security guard already leaning out to greet him.

“Coop!” the guard greeted, a big smile on his face.

“Hey, Henderson,” he answered. The two exchanged a handshake before the guard’s attention turned to you. Immediately you felt a wave of unease wash over you, that paranoia you’d felt earlier in the city with the fans on the street.

“Hello,” you greeted. To your surprise, the guard greeted you by your last name and a friendly nod.

“What brings you both out here?” Henderson asked. There seemed to be a genuine curiosity about him, nothing nefarious, but your worry was gnawing at your psyche again.

“Needed some quiet,” Cooper said. “City’s too loud.”

“Tch, I think that every morning when I have to drive home,” Henderson chuckled. He reached back into the booth to write something down on a clipboard before he pressed a button that began opening the gate.

“Jim still outta town filmin’ that movie?” Cooper asked.

“Sure is,” he responded. “But you know you and yours are always welcome here. Glenda will clean up in the morning like usual.”

“Thanks, Henderson,” Cooper said and, without you even realizing, had pulled a hundred dollar bill out to hand to the man, which he promptly took. “Say hi to the wife and kids for me.”

“Will do,” he said with a salute, bill still between his fingers. “Enjoy your time away from the big city.”

Cooper waved casually and moved the vehicle forward into the darkness, headlights illuminating the paved road and trees around it. Some roads led to obvious houses in the distance, while others remained out of sight, and it only took a couple of minutes before a charming cottage came into view. While it was undoubtedly expensive, it wasn’t too over the top, surprisingly quaint. Two stories, modest windows, rich brown wooden sidings with dark trimmings, and lovely greenery partially illuminated by the front porch light.

The car came to a slow stop just below the porch.

“Where are we?” you finally asked as Cooper turned off the engine.

“Somewhere quiet,” he repeated, voice quieter than you’d anticipated. You didn’t push, instead turning your attention to your seatbelt as he got out of the car. Before you could reach for your door handle Cooper was already sliding your door open and offering his hand to you. “C’mon.” You nodded and placed your hand in his, legs aching from the long car ride when you finally stood. He didn’t hold on for very long, the feeling gone as quickly as it started, so you followed him to the front door.

Cooper caught your apprehensiveness, probably in your body language alone, so while fiddling with a set of keys, he said, “No one’s home. An old actor friend’a mine barely uses it, stays empty when it’s not summer, so he lets me stop by whenever I want.”

“Jim…” You tried to recall the name and the face but there were no bells ringing up in the tower of your mind. Cooper chuckled and finally found the key he’d been searching for, inserting it into the keyhole, and opening the door.

“You know most of the people I work with, but not all of ‘em,” he said. Your unamused expression dissolved rather quickly into a smile as he stepped inside of the home to flick on some lights. You followed behind him, the smell of cleaner settling into your nostrils—Glenda’s doing if you had to guess—and the shine of picture frames, tables, and well-kept knick-knacks, pulling your eye every which way.

It wasn’t until you reached one of the back rooms that you noticed the modest windows at the front were not the same as the back of the home where almost every wall had one. This room in particular had a beautiful stone fireplace with plenty of seating surrounding it and the view from the window was limited to the well-lit backyard, nothing but darkness beyond the hill.

You heard the door close behind you and turned in time to see Cooper approaching. He set a duffel bag on the floor by the fireplace, one you didn’t realize he’d even packed and stood with his hands in the pockets of his grey dress pants. He ran a hand over the front of his sweater, almost like he was nervous.

“Not sure what’s here by way of food, should’a probably thought of that before leaving, but Glenda usually likes to keep the basics anyhow,” he said. “And I do make a mean PB n’ J. Rave reviews.”

You chuckled.

“Janey’s reviews are critical,” you said. “I wouldn’t mind trying that.”

“Consider it done,” he said and turned to head toward where you assumed the kitchen was. He added, “Make yourself comfortable.”

You heard the sound of Cooper exploring cabinets in the kitchen and did some light exploration of the rooms around you. It was a nice home, but not egregious, you could understand why this would be a nice getaway space. All the fixings for comfort but nothing that reminded you of being back in the city. No glitz or glam that took you out of where you were, just happy family portraits, mementos, and a warmth only good memories could fill a room with.

It wasn’t long before you found your way outside again, the backyard as well kept as the rest of the home. There were chairs to sit on and a small fire pit for those lucky nights that actually carried a chill, where you could roast marshmallows and share intimate secrets and laughs with friends. It’d been a while since you’d experienced that, college a few years back if you had to guess, and while they were fun, you didn’t yearn for your college days like so many others. You liked your life right now, even if it felt a little complicated at times.

“Order up,” Cooper’s voice said from behind you. You turned to see him set a plate down on one of the tables accompanied by a glass of water. “If you hate it, don’t say anything.” A chuckle left you as you approached the table, fingers wrapping around the sandwich and eyes locked on Cooper’s face. He was waiting. So you took your time overly examining it, twisting and turning it, and adding little ‘hmm’s for effect. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Just as he was about to say something you finally took a bite… It was good, of course it was. The perfect ratio of ingredients.

“Not bad,” you teased.

“Not bad?”

“I’m a harsher critic than Janey.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he joked.

You huffed a laugh again as he turned back inside, returning a moment later with his own sandwich. You turned to look out at what you’d gathered was a lake, a dock at the bottom of the incline this home was on, a singular lamp post at the end of it. On either side of you there were darkened homes and unlit docks, probably also abandoned outside of the summer, and the rest was the dark lake. It made you feel a bit more at ease, the chance of paparazzi or nosey neighbors dropping drastically, so you let yourself breathe a bit more and wiggled the tension that had built up again in your shoulders. The two of you ate your sandwiches in silence for a few moments, enjoying the light breeze coming off the water and the stillness of it all.

“A shame he took the boat,” Cooper said as he took a large bite.

“I don’t think I’d want to be out there at night anyhow,” you said.

“No?”

You shook your head.

“I’ve never been in or on a lake, they make me uneasy,” you admitted. “I’d take the beach instead any day.”

“How local of you,” he teased, finishing up his last bite.

“Hey,” you said. You tossed the last bit in your mouth and turned to him to point your index finger at him. “I don’t appreciate all the jabs you’re taking at me tonight, sir.” Cooper turned to you and matched your energy. Instead of addressing your comment though, his eyes dropped to your lips and he leaned down a little bit. The unfamiliarity of the motion made you reflexively lean away a bit but he remained.

“You got something—” He reached up his hand before you could try to rectify whatever situation he was indicating and you felt his thumb press against your lip. You stopped, eyes on his face, but he was focused on your mouth. Your heartbeat increased at the simple motion, soft but just enough pressure for you to feel, and when he swiped it along your lip, it felt like minutes had passed. Cooper held up his thumb for you to see the culprit. “Jelly,” he said.

You touched your face self-consciously and half expected him to wipe it on his sweater, so the surprise in your expression was genuine when you watched him put that same thumb up to his mouth. His tongue dragged along it, slow, like a show, watching you. A smirk settled onto his lips when he finished.

“Can’t waste Glenda’s supply,” he said. You had nothing. Cooper looked like he was resisting the urge to laugh as he started down the incline toward the path. He offered his hand to you. “C’mon, I wanna show you somethin’.”

It took you a second to snap back to this moment, mind wandering to incredibly inappropriate places where his tongue was running along—

“Sure. Sure,” you said, placing your hand in his.

Cooper carefully led you to the stairs that brought you to the bottom of the incline as opposed to the slick grass you’d almost slipped on. The dock itself was sturdy, but you were still cautious with every step you made, especially after Cooper turned the light at the end of the dock off. He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time, grip reassuring and helpful, and when you reached the end, he released you—to your disappointment—and pointed up.

“This is it,” he whispered.

You turned your eyes up to the sky and felt the breath leave you for a moment. It was a clear night, the moon beautiful and waning within the blanket of sapphire and surrounded by twinkling stars. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen the sky as clear as this, been able to take in the majesty of it all without the flood of Hollywood lights. It calmed you, made you feel as though you were weightless, so much so that you could feel a well of emotions building within you.

Silence overtook you both again for a while…

Cooper sighed.

“It was Barb,” he managed. Your brow furrowed in confusion. He pulled a cigarette carton and lighter from his pocket, slid a singular one out, and put the pack away again. “She…” He sighed again, finding it difficult to formulate the thought he wanted to say. “She’s got me on this leash with Vault-Tec. She knows it’s all I got going for me right now. If I lose this… There’s a chance she’ll try to take Janey from me completely.” Cooper lit the cigarette and took a long drag before pocketing the lighter too. You turned to him slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Coop,” you said with deep sincerity.

Cooper huffed a laugh, one that held no amusement or warmth, just irritation. He didn’t look at you.

“On top’a that, she keeps throwing you back in my face,” he said. “Like I’m not allowed to move on or be happy in any way with anyone. But ‘specially not you.” His voice had dipped into a whisper but you heard every single word.

Your confusion deepened. What was he saying? You knew Barb was strange when it came to you, had been since the divorce was finalized, but you never thought she would weaponize you against him. Not like this at least. You, of all people… It made you feel awful.

“I shoulda known she’d stoop this low eventually. I knew she was capable of it. If it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else, you’re just the closest to me and…” Cooper spared a look at you then, but it was brief like he couldn’t take more than a few seconds, such a contrast to earlier.

“But we’re not…” you tried, but couldn’t even find the words to finish. “You don’t want me like that.” It was all just Cooper Howard being a charming movie star… right?

“Well that’s just it, ain’t it, sweetheart?” he asked, blowing smoke into the night air. You watched Cooper intently. He sighed, ash tumbling from the cigarette twitching in his fingers. “I dunno what you’ve done, or how, but I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Not for one damn second.” He finally looked you in the eye then. The moonlight did no justice for that beautiful green-brown you knew all too well. Your heart hammered against the cage of your chest as you resisted the urge to fold under the weight of his gaze.

“Coop,” you whispered. There was no string of thought you could find for this moment. You couldn’t say there weren’t signs—ones you may have chosen to blatantly ignore. Truthfully, there was a part of you that wondered if you were just a placeholder until some starlet strolled up to him one day and took him off the market again. A familiar distraction. That platonic piece of his life that would never be anything more than a casual flirt… But you knew each other. He’d never shown interest before these last couple of weeks. When he was with Barb, he had eyes for no one else, especially not you.

And yet.

Here he was now showing you the heart on his sleeve, beneath the stars, in a place where he felt safe enough to do so. For you and only you.

The way he said your name was unlike anything you’d heard from him before. So soft it could have been a breath. It made your heart flutter. He stamped out the last of his cigarette and turned to fully face you. You looked up at him. Cooper took a step forward. There was barely an inch between you.

A cool breeze passed over the bare part of your legs, sending a shiver through you. Cooper reached up then and gently placed his warm palm against your cheek. Even in the moonlight, you could tell he was searching your face for any sign of rejection, ready to pull away at a moment’s notice.

He inched closer to you with every second that passed. One of your hands found his chest, halting him for a moment, but the other glided up his arm until your fingers wrapped around the hand he’d placed on your cheek. There was a brief moment you considered pulling away, to not solidify this potential problem in Cooper’s life, to add fuel to the fire that Barb was already igniting.

“I thought you just wanted a friend,” you said quietly. The tension in the air was palpable. You could practically swim in it.

Cooper took a long moment, a deep inhale through his nostrils.

“Who the fuck was I kiddin’.”

His lips collided with yours, a cocktail of desire and residual nicotine—a concoction so intoxicating that you melted into him instantly. Your hatred of cigarettes was overpowered by the way Cooper’s lips moved against yours. Everything you’d known before this moment felt like a world away, magnetism finally colliding with one another after narrowly avoiding each other’s pull for weeks now.

Cooper’s hands shifted, gliding over your ribs until they settled on the back of your shirt, and stopped.

“This alright?” he asked and pulled away enough to look down into your eyes. “Can I touch you like this?” He was respectful, but you could tell he wanted more. The way he flexed his fingers and tugged on the fabric and hovered just above the waistline of your skirt drove you mad. Feelings you hadn’t acknowledged were cascading and reverberating throughout your body—electric.

No longer surprised, you found yourself saying, “You can touch me however you like.” Cooper hummed at that and pulled you as close to him as he possibly could.

“Those’re some dangerous words…” he breathed, a small kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“I work with a cowboy for a living, I think I’ll be fine,” you replied, both smirking against each other's lips. Cooper’s hands dipped down to your ass, cupping it tightly through your skirt, a gasp-moan escaping you only for him to swallow it. He returned it, a sound deep in his vocal cords, and it spurred him on. You stumbled a little and immediately grabbed his upper arms to steady yourself, a burst of giggles tumbling from your lips.

“Y’alright?” Cooper asked amusement in his voice.

“Never made out on a dock before,” you admitted.

“Mmm,” he breathed, nose against your cheek. He pressed a kiss there as he ran his hands up your arms and intertwined your fingers. “Sit for me.” Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure about the request and feeling a tad defiant at it outside of your previous professional dynamic. Even then he didn’t ‘order’ you around. He knew better, just like now, tacking on a, “Please.”

So you slowly lowered yourself—with Cooper’s aid—onto the well-preserved wood, the slight sway of it less noticeable the moment you sat down fully. Cooper brought himself down next to you, hand instantly on the back of your neck and fingers tangled in the bottom of your hair. He pulled you to him with ease and you grabbed his sweater to ground yourself. It felt like you’d float away if you didn’t.

 You weren’t sure where this was going if this was meant to lead to anything, but you could still feel those nerves bundled in the pit of your stomach. Were you actually comfortable or was this just the rush of being in Cooper’s orbit? That magnetism that could shift an entire room’s attention to him effortlessly?

Cooper pulled at your hip lightly and, after you managed to hike up your skirt, you swung your leg over his lap to straddle him. This time it was his breath that hitched, lips detached and breath heavy. You braced yourself on his shoulders and he immediately found your hips, fingers digging into the skirt like he’d rip it off you if he could.

“Oh, Cooper,” you whispered shakily. Nothing made sense, the world was spinning, and it felt like a tether was pulled taut between your chests.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked. It was a tad raspy, a calculated question that took concentration—like his mind was focused on trying not to ravage you completely.

You glided your hand over his hair, moonlight catching on his greys and twinkling like the stars above.

“I…” you hesitated. “I’m not… Should we do this? I don’t… I don’t want to complicate things more for you.”

“You’re the least complicated thing in my life right now,” he said so definitively that it shut you up entirely. “We can slow down if you want…” Cooper took your hands in his and pressed his lips to them. “Honest, I just wanted to kiss you. Didn’t have much of a plan after that,” he said with a laugh. You could feel him under you, dress pants doing nothing to hide it, but you took a steadying breath.

“Is this—” You took a breath. “Is this just a distraction for you, Coop?”

Cooper said your name, tone laced with a tinge of sadness, and instead of pulling you closer, he grabbed your thigh to help you slide off his lap. You were a bit confused but you obliged. Did you ruin it? Whatever this was? The thought bounced around the walls of your mind as you searched his expression for any sort of negative emotion… There was none. It was soft and understanding with something lying underneath it all.

“I’m not interested in distractions,” he said. “I thought Barb was it for me… I thought I was done after the divorce. But you—” Cooper sucked air through his teeth. “I don’t know how to explain it. You ain’t some sort’a toy.”

“But I’m your assistant… It’s so… Grey.”

“You want me to fire you?” he asked lightheartedly. 

“Cooper,” you sighed. You pushed his shoulder with the hand you weren’t leaning on for balance and he reached up in time to grab your hand before you pulled away, practically enveloping it in his.

“Point I’m tryin’ to make is, if you want me to, we can stop right now. Cold turkey. No skin off my nose,” he said. As well as you knew him, you were pretty sure that wasn’t true. If he felt like you felt to any degree, it would devastate him. “But…” The grip he had on your hand tightened as he scooted closer to you, inches from your face again. “If you want to… figure this out like I do… I’ll do anything to prove I mean what I’m sayin’. Every single day you want me to, until finally you get sick of me.”

You chuckled and ran your thumb across his skin, considering his words. A one-night stand would have been hurtful in the long run but at least it was cut and dry. Feelings didn’t usually come into play or at the very least didn’t matter. This was something you were unprepared for. The way things evolved so naturally, so quickly, was terrifying. One moment your boss is just your boss, nothing more, and the next you felt yourself falling into the deep end.

“I think…” You took in a steadying breath, closing your eyes like it’d help. What might this be? Would it be something you’d regret? You weren’t sure but… “I think I might like that.”

When you opened your eyes again, Cooper’s relieved expression was the first thing you saw and you couldn’t help but smile. He kissed you again, but this time it was slow like nothing in the world mattered but your lips against his. A steady rhythm, like the light waves of the lake against the shore, and a passion you’d never known. You weren’t sure what any of it meant, but at least for now, this was a secret between you, Cooper, and the stars.

The night spent at the lake house was soft, sweet, hands kept in respectful places even when sharing a bed. It was a side you knew Cooper had, but one that was strange for you to experience. You spent the time before bed shyly shuffling around each other, Cooper offering you an extra sweater and some too-big sleep pants that didn’t match. You hadn’t realized you’d be staying overnight somewhere, but by the time you both returned to the house, lost in the quiet and comfort of each other’s embrace, it was well past midnight.

So you both laid there, quiet for the most part, facing one another, and just listening to the sound of your breaths as sleep tugged at your eyelids. Your hand had settled on Cooper's cheek and his hand found purchase on your hip.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked you, eyes closed and voice riddled with sleep.

“You,” you managed. Sleep also tugged at you. “This.” You gently rubbed your fingertips on his cheek and he hummed a ‘mmmm’ in response.

“We can take it as slow as ya like,” he said, accent thicker. It made you smile a little, that rugged cowboy slipping through the Hollywood facade, charming and down to Earth. “I ain’t forcin’ you to do anythin’ you don’t want.”

You leaned forward and pressed a soft, sleepy kiss to his lips.

And slow it went.

The next morning was spent driving back, Cooper’s hand on your leg the entire cruise down the highway. It was nice, simple, and you placed yours over it, liking how it felt—such a simple gesture. It only lasted until you returned to the city, both of you instinctively pulling apart. No one needed to know. Not yet. This was yours to cultivate as you both pleased.

Any business you conducted, like being on set, was professional, as always. Barely a glance out of place and strictly kept what needed to be accomplished—business as usual.

When Janey was around, nothing, the same as before. It made you feel a bit strange, wary of potentially hurting her and making her home life even more complicated. You struggled with that for a bit and you’d probably struggle with it for a long time regardless of the outcome of whatever this was.

You avoided Barb as much as possible. Cooper did everything he could to drop Janey off himself or have Barb, or her assistant, or babysitter, come collect her for her shared time with her Mom. If you had to, you did so and kept any interactions brief to none at all.

But when you finally had time alone, away from all the eyes, just you and Cooper, it was extraordinary. Stolen pecks in the trailer before a scene, soft touches cooking dinner together, long, drawn-out kisses after lifting you onto his work desk, conversation by the pool with fingers intertwined and splashes of water. No matter your previous experience romantically, this was on a completely different level. Despite that nagging part of your mind that wouldn’t quiet about ‘starlets’ and ‘secrecy’ and ‘getting tired of you’, you persisted. 

Cooper was nothing if not reassuring. His sass and snark didn’t let up, but he tried his best to never be mean, even before all this, and doubly so now. An occasional present or two like flowers or something small because he knew how you loathed large gestures. Not once did he pressure you to have sex with him, though the hints were there. A slide of his fingertips just under the hem of your skirt nibbles at the top of your breasts after popping the top few buttons of your blouse, or the way he pressed up against you from behind, an innocent hug now charged as he nibbled your ear and the natural way you arched into him. But never pressure. That decision was on you, and you weren’t sure when you’d be ready for that to change.

You wanted Cooper. There was no doubt about that. It was more so Barb that kept you at bay. No matter how you two spun this story, it would never be good enough for anyone, but especially not her.

It was always going to be the ‘classic’ tale of infidelity with the woman that he spent the most time with, no matter how recent of a development those feelings were. The added pressure of her potentially wanting to take Janey away also weighed on you, and despite how clearly stressed he was because of Barb—especially with his final commercial for Vault-Tec due for filming the following week—you still relished in the quiet, gentle moments on the couch in your embrace, fireplace crackling and dogs snoring at your feet.

You wanted Cooper Howard, but you had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t come without a cost, and you weren’t sure how steep it would truly be.

“CUT! RESET!” called the director from his comfortable chair. A bell rang twice and you watched from the refreshments table as everyone on the crew sprung forward to reset the stage & fix up the actors.

You still couldn’t shake the feeling of being in one of these vaults, a big number four on the door behind Cooper where his first scene was set. It felt… unreal. A big metal fortress underground meant for a nuclear fallout felt so outlandish that if you hadn’t been here yourself, you’d have thought it was just a set built up on a soundstage. An uneasiness tugged at you when they gave you a tour of the living spaces, watching the camera crew set up in one of the rooms and a family—whose two adults were scientists—sat in makeup chairs until it was time for their scene.

Cooper was your only grounding force. During the tour he’d gently touch your back for a brief moment, pretending to just pass by you or urge you in front of him. He only lingered a little longer once when he heard you take in a shaky breath while Bud Askins and company rambled about how amazing this place was. It didn’t help that Barb was here as well to oversee the shoot. She barely acknowledged you and focused entirely on Cooper like you were a set dressing. You tried not to think about her too much though or else your shaky breaths might turn into a full on breakdown.

It was just a shoot in a location you weren’t familiar with. Everything was safe. Everything would be fine.

So when the director called for a reset, you quickly approached Cooper with a cup of black coffee for him to grab as people fussed with his hair and suit. A grateful expression crossed his face as he took a sip.

“Thank you so much,” he said, Hollywood charm still turned up to the max. While you were used to how he was on set, you couldn’t help realizing now just how much of a mask he wore for his work. Not that he wasn’t always authentically himself, but he did carry himself in a way that you didn’t see when you were alone.

“Need anything else before the next take?” you asked.

“Not anythin’ I can have right now,” he responded with a tinge of flirtation in his tone. You tensed a little, the women who were fussing over him didn’t even bat an eyelash at the comment. It was just you. He knew you were a little anxious before and was likely just trying to lighten the mood, but with him looking so dashing in his gray suit and his ex-wife was standing just at the edge of the room, eyes flicking over while she conversed with her colleagues, it was difficult to relax.

Cooper finished his coffee—the women dabbing his face and reapplying touch-ups—and you took it from him. Your fingers grazed his as you did so, a small gesture to let him know you were still there with him despite the circumstances.

“I’ll make sure to set up a reservation for you at your favorite restaurant,” you managed with a smile that he returned instantly.

“You know me so well.”

“It’s my job to,” you responded, gazing up through your eyelashes before you turned around fully to leave the shot. For the briefest of moments when you turned, you thought you caught his gaze moving downwards to your ass, but he’d returned to a recording-ready stance the moment you began to walk away.

“Alright, next take!” the director called. Everyone scattered out of the way of the cameras. “Quiet on set!”

You moved just out of frame, Cooper’s empty coffee cup in your hand, and watched him work his magic. The lights went out and once the cameras were rolling again, a singular spotlight lit on Cooper who had a fresh cigarette in his hands.

“Oh. Hello there. Yup, it’s me, Cooper Howard, star of stage and screen.”

Recording continued and, while the vault still unnerved you, you did your best to focus on Cooper. You watched between each take and tended to anything Cooper might have needed while keeping your space. The takes flew by despite how many there were and by the time you reached ‘Sycamore Street’, specifically room number 429, which was printed on a pristine mailbox, you could tell Cooper was starting to feel a bit drained by it all. So when they called for a cut, family of scientists at the table next to Cooper, you approached him with some water and a smile.

“Almost outta here, tiger,” you said to him as he took the cup of water and chugged it. He breathed out a sigh and handed it back to you.

“Kinda wish it was whiskey.”

“I’m sure they’ve got some around here somewhere if you really want,” you said.

“You’re the best,” he returned, a charming smirk on his lips. You couldn’t help but feel yours brighten at the sight and as you were about to turn and walk away from him, a voice chimed in that made your blood run cold.

“Are you done being distracted by your plaything? I’d like to get everyone out of here on time,” said Barb from the doorway, arms crossed. Silence bellowed into the room the likes you’d never experienced. Not even a breath. You felt as though someone had punched you in the chest as a deep-seated mortification rippled through your entire being.

“What was that?” Cooper asked. While his voice was a whisper, you could hear the lethality dripping from every syllable. Even his calm, cool, and collected movie star mask slipped a bit, brow furrowed and jaw locked.

“Cooper,” you warned, also in a whisper. “It’s fine, I’ll just—”

“No.” The firmness of his voice took you aback, but it wasn’t directed at you, he was locked on Barb. “Say it again.”

This man was going to burn down everything in this very moment with a camera crew and innocent bystanders to witness it. Barb adjusted her stance to match his challenging energy. One look around the room and you felt like you wanted to simply disintegrate.

“I said—” Barb tried.

“Enough!” you declared firmly. Once again you were in the middle of them and their drama, their loathing, everything. It didn’t matter though. You stepped in front of Cooper fully, not even looking at him but at Barb with a forced smile on your lips and said, “I’ll go. No problem. I think my work is done for the day anyhow.” 

Cooper said your name but you held up a hand. This was awful enough as it was, you didn’t want to give Barb any more fuel and destroy what he had going for himself today. You took a step forward and felt the graze of Cooper’s hand as he reached out for your wrist, which you promptly pulled away. Your hands were shaking at all the eyes on you but they parted as you approached the door Barb was posted by. She watched you approach and, for a moment, you considered just walking by without a word… but you heard her huff an amused sound, you decided not this time. You stopped right next to her in the doorframe, stood as tall as you could, and stared straight into her eyes.

“Barb, I want you to know that I have always had a lot of respect for you,” you started softly. “I don’t know what happened between you and Cooper, and quite frankly, at this point, I don’t care.” Barb smirked a little, like she was about to say something. “It’s your business. What I do care about is you dragging me into it and trying to make my life hell when all I wanted to do was help.” You took a step forward. “I’m not the source of your problems, Barbara. You are. So keep my goddamn name out of your mouth.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. Barb’s face was professionally cold but you knew there was anger simmering beneath her exterior. You’d embarrassed her, just as she embarrassed you, in front of all of her colleagues whose opinions she seemed to hold above everyone else’s if she thought this stunt would be cute. Jaw clenched, you turned away from her and made your way through the crowd of her coworkers. You didn’t know if Cooper was going to be upset at you, if you’d just blown up his life, or if you even had a job, all you knew was that you needed to get away from whatever the hell was back there.

So you explored further into the vault with no goal aside from getting away.

COOPER

To say Cooper was upset would be an understatement. Even with years of practice, he found it more difficult than anything to put himself back into the scene when everyone finally unfroze from their goddamn shock. He’d stared down Barb, who didn’t do the same, and instead exited the room once you’d left. If you hadn’t stopped him, he would have probably destroyed any sort of tenuous work agreement that was left between him and Barb… but he had a contract to finish.

So he did.

He shoved down all of his radiating anger and put on that showbiz smile everyone knew him for. The crew eased almost immediately once he’d done so and said, “Shall we?”

The rest of the shoot went by without a hitch and once his scenes were wrapped, he gave out handshakes and compliments until he’d finally made it out of the room. In the hallways were all of the men who’d been watching, eyes cautiously avoiding him after the fiasco with Barb, who was chatting with someone at the other end of the hall. Cooper made a b-line for her but stopped just short by—

“Mr. Howard, great work today,” the man said and reached out his hand.

“Oh, thanks. Thanks, man,” Cooper responded.

“Bud Askins. I oversee our Southern California operations—”

“Hey, sorry, could you just hold on for one second?” Cooper asked. The man blinked but nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he answered, a bit taken aback.

Cooper’s attention immediately moved back to Barb, who hadn’t bothered looking at him despite likely hearing his approach, and he stepped between her and the person she’d been conversing with.

“‘Scuse us,” Cooper said to the man. It was firm enough that he simply nodded and moved away from the both of them, but Bud Askins still hovered nearby. Barb’s shoulders straightened once he’d left and she barely managed to look up at him. There was disdain there, something that would have hurt him to see not too long ago, but now? Now, he was pissed.

“I thought I’d been disgusted by you enough to last me a lifetime, but you just keep pilin’ on don’t you?” Cooper said. He did nothing to regulate his voice and knew that her nosey little pack of rats here in the halls would be listening.

“Coop—”

“No. Enough of this bullshit,” he said, rage hovering beneath his words. Barb’s jaw tightened, stance combative.

“You brought her to set,” she said with an empty chuckle.

“She’s my fucking assistant,” he bit back. Barb looked at him incredulously as he took another step forward. “And if she were anything else, it still wouldn’t be your business. You’re not my wife. You made that choice for us both when you chose Vault-Tec and this future—” Cooper gestured at the vault around them. “Over your family.” The room quieted again. Despite the tears welling up in the corner of Barb’s eyes, he didn’t feel sympathy. No remorse. He was too angry for any of that. “This commercial is the last of our business together, Barbara. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got someone I need to find.”

Cooper moved past Barb and further into the vault. The weight of everyone’s gazes fell on his back. He shook out his arms like it’d help release all the pain, anger, and exhaustion from his body, help him navigate this mess, but truly he just wanted to find you… Wherever you’d gone.

YOU

It was surprising just how quiet everything was in this room, unnerving if you were being totally honest. The teals and whites and pastel yellows and colorful abstract paintings gave it all a home-y feel but it couldn’t have been anything further from it. You were hyper-aware of the underlying lead, the bones of this vault, and it all just felt so… cold. Just like Vault-Tec.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in this room, examining every little thing until your nerves finally calmed from your very public confrontation with Barb. You didn’t even know if you could face Cooper. He had to have been upset with you and your behavior, it wasn’t the time or place to confront Barb like that, and you were sure you’d sealed your fate with everyone, including him, when you opened your mouth to her.

So you sat at the shiny white dining room table, upon the brand new yellow chairs, and sobbed into your hands. Your tears dropped onto the surface, the faintest of sounds in this secluded space, and it spurred you on. Everything in your life was about to be turned upside down. Not only were you probably going to lose one of the best men you’d ever known, but your name was likely going to be the talk of the town if Barb had anything to say about it. 

The part of you that wanted to be understanding and sympathetic, wanted to excuse her actions as someone acting out of grief for her lost marriage, kept gnawing at you and imparting guilt onto your conscience. Even if you knew she was wrong for that, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her. You just felt… bad for her. Even though you’d meant every word you’d said and still felt that residual flickering anger in your chest.

Now Cooper was going to lose everything because of you…

The sound of the door opening sent a jolt through you as you immediately got to your feet, fingers wiping away the tear streaks along your cheeks.

“Color me surprised when the janitor told me you were still hangin’ around down here,” Cooper’s voice rang from the doorway. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or even more tense than before, jaw clenched.

“Cooper,” you breathed, a sad sound. You cleared your throat and adjusted your dress with shaky hands. Cooper had taken a few steps forward, as though he were testing the waters, if you wanted him to be close or not. “Sorry, I just… started walking and didn’t know where to go so I just… stopped in here to collect myself.”

“I see,” he said and inched closer, hands in his pockets. “What you think?” Cooper’s gaze shifted upwards to indicate he meant the vault. You knew he was trying to ease into a conversation with you about what happened, which gave you a bit of hope since he didn’t come in here screaming and shouting about how unprofessional that was or how everything was screwed up now. It was a relief, no matter how small.

“Cold,” you admitted. “Living behind lead walls when you’ve seen the sky is a tragedy.” Your arms folded over your chest, protective, nervous.

“That’s one way of puttin’ it,” he whispered back.

“Did I screw everything up, Cooper?” you asked suddenly, voice cracking a bit with the emotions that bubbled with every word.

“Oh, hey,” Cooper closed the distance, hands cupping your face so you’d look him in the eye. “No. My business with Barb is done, whether she likes it or not. I don’t give a damn about what she said.”

“But what about, Janey? And your contracts—”

“I’ll manage,” he insisted. “Like I always do.”

“I don’t want to be a distraction for you,” you said and tried to pull your head away, but to no avail. Cooper’s gaze intensified slightly as he pulled you back to look at him. You swallowed hard at the motion.

“I told you already, this ain’t a game for me,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to lose you because of stupid shit my ex-wife said. I can’t… You’re one of the most important people in my life.” You didn’t know what you had expected from Cooper, but it certainly wasn’t this. There was no waver in his speech, no indication that these were falsities, nothing, simply pure truths. “Until you’re sick of me,” he repeated, the phrase plucked from your memory of the lake house.

“Coop—”

There was no arguing, not with the way he kissed you. Intentional, powerful, deep, it was all present in the way he moved against you, the way one of his hands shifted to the nape of your neck and the other pressed against your lower back so that you were flushed with his own body. Your breaths floated into the quiet of the room, lost in the way you both touched and held each other, the temperature rising by the minute.

“Wait, what about—” You tried to gesture to the door that was still wide open, and, without even looking, Cooper backed you both up until his back hit the override button. The door dropped down instantly and he continued devouring your lips. Everything was spinning. “Cooper,” you gasped. His lips traveled down from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck where he bit down greedily. It earned him a moan that you couldn’t help, a blush immediately pooling on your cheeks.

“Keep making sounds like that and I might lose what little control I got left, sweetheart,” he said, all tongue and teeth against your collarbone.

“Should we? Here?” you asked breathlessly. Cooper picked his head up to look at you then, eyes glazed over and a pink tinge over his own cheeks.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said and hovered his mouth over yours. “I’d do just ‘bout anything you asked. Even here. Especially here.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Barb had sufficiently pissed you both off enough that you were willing to desecrate a future residence for a family you didn’t know. Any other day you’d have been the responsible one, insisted that it was inappropriate, but today, a more defiant side seemed to be in control, one Barb had conjured earlier. Even with all the guilt and sympathy you felt, your feelings for Cooper superseded them all and that flickering anger within you had settled into a spitefulness you would have never typically acted on. Until now.

Fuck being his assistant.

Fuck being just his friend.

In this moment, you wanted to be his. Entirely his.

Whatever that meant.

“What’re we waiting for then?” you asked as you gazed up through your eyelashes at him. His breath stuttered, eyes searching yours for any sign of second thoughts, but quickly cut short by the way your fingers found his belt and began undoing it.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice.”

Cooper walked you both back to the bed on the opposite side of the room, just as pristine as the rest of the unit, until you fell back onto it. You watched him as he slid off his jacket, setting it on one of the dining chairs, and undoing his cufflinks. While he rolled up his sleeves, you wiggled off your underwear, giving them a small tug when they got stuck on your heels—which were a little too difficult to take off at the moment. Cooper let out an exhale at the sight, just watching you work. So you slowed down a bit, grabbed the hem of your dress, and dragged it down your thighs.

“Goddamn,” he said with a whistle. Your heartbeat was wild, your breath uneven, and everything about you craved him. He looked so goddamn delicious in his white button-up, loose tie, and grey dress pants that were doing nothing to hide his erection. Cooper approached again but stopped just at the edge of the bed to look at you, the mess you were becoming.

“What?” you asked. Self-consciousness had started to creep in, despite knowing you didn’t need to be. Cooper gestured to you like he couldn’t believe you were there, dress hiked up and eyes expectant.

“Just… Damn,” he said. “What a sight.”

Your cheeks heated up again.

“Well, don’t leave a girl waiting,” you said. He laughed at that.

Cooper dipped down, kissing your propped-up knees, down your thighs, and nudging himself between them. Your head lolled back, heat radiating through your body. The shakiness of your hands had lessened but not gone as you reached up to undo his pants. Cooper shifted back to your neck then, grunting when you finally freed him, tugging his boxers down over his bulge.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking up at you in your eyes again. “Still sure?”

You answered by capturing his lips with yours and guiding him down to your entrance. Without hesitation, he pushed himself in and your gasp turned into a moan as he moved into you, inch by inch. While he wasn’t some egregious size, it’d been a while for you so it took a moment to acclimate, gripping his shoulders tightly until you felt his pelvis against the back of your thighs. You both stayed there for a second, drinking in each other’s presence and the sensation of him inside of you.

Cooper took a deep inhale before he pulled back a couple of inches and slammed back into you. The breath you’d taken was cut off, a beautiful sensation of pleasure trickling through your lower body and dancing upwards, setting your nerves alight. You nodded at him to continue and so he did. Sweat beaded by his brow while pleasure contorted his face.

He thrust back into you a bit harder this time. A moan tumbled from your kiss-swollen lips as you two got lost in one another, grasping at every piece of each other you could get.

Any time before this felt like ages ago, like this was where you were both meant to be and any doubts or reasons against it were out of the window that was still open for anyone to see you. As much as you still cared about being discovered like this, you were too far gone, lost in Cooper’s embrace. Vault-Tec was despicable, Barb was acting horribly… Neither of you deserved that shit.

With a bit of effort, you guided Cooper onto his back, belt jingling against the floor and bed creaking at the movement. He was just as gone as you were with your disheveled hair tumbling over your shoulders and dressed jumbled up to your hips where Cooper’s thumbs pressed into. You settled yourself over him, eyes locking, and he placed his hand on your cheek, caressing it.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he managed.

You smiled as you slid yourself back down onto him. This time, it was him who moaned, a drawn-out, deep-in-his-throat type of sound that you’d never heard from him before. The grip he had on you tightened like he was holding onto the reins of a horse, attempting to be in some sort of control, but when you moved your hips, it was more like he was desperately trying to hold on.

Curses and gasps and moans filled the room, a language all your own. It felt so good that it made you delirious. One of Cooper’s hands slid up to grab your breast, kneading it through the material of your dress and bra, desperate for a new handhold. For a small moment, you could understand the appeal of this pieced-together life. This small slice of life perfectly catered for survival, the preservation of humanity through an act like this, all of it. You could understand the appeal for those who already coveted the white picket fence lifestyle. You didn’t know if this was something that could work for you, but for now, it served its purpose.

You continued to ride him and absorb the sounds that escaped him—all for you.

“Shit,” you whined just as the pressure building within you released, clenching around Cooper who groaned at the feeling.

“Y-You gotta… I’m…” he couldn’t form words but you knew. You removed yourself from him and laid beside him as he pumped one, two, three times, and released all over his hand. His chest was heaving just as much as yours. “Holy… shit…” Cooper used his free hand to rub his brow.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

There was a quiet few seconds between the two of you that was broken by Cooper’s chuckle.

“Just so you know, this ain’t how I thought this would happen,” he said.

“You and me both,” you said with a chuckle. You reached toward the bedside table to grab a tissue, an attempt to help, and he obliged, taking it from you to clean up the mess he’d made.

“I got an idea for next time.” Cooper got up and brought his pants back up, getting himself together again.

“Next time?” you asked in a playful tone, eyebrow raised.

“Sick of me already?” he asked. While he also matched your playfulness, there was something about it that sounded a tad insecure. Unusual for the Cooper Howard. You smiled at him and took the hand he offered to help you up.

“I don’t think I ever could be,” you said. He returned your smile, a sheepish boyish little thing, and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

The moment you stepped downstairs of the Howard residence, the scent of cigarettes washed over you and the steady sound of idle chatter filled your ears. While the man whose arm you were on would garner attention naturally, it was the togetherness of your body language that drew it this time. Almost every attendee greeted the two of you, even those there to rub elbows for business, niceties and compliments abound. Even the Vault-Tec individuals that had been on set that day played nice. If Barb was there, she didn’t make it known and avoided the both of you for the entire night.

Despite being nervous about the decision to be public tonight, you found it rather easy to do. Cooper did most of the greeting and talking, refusing to stop touching you in some way unless it was for a good reason. It was sweet and you were thankful for the amount of, at least surface-level, respect that was offered to you by everyone. Of course, there was plenty of side-eye and blatantly ignoring you, but Cooper made it a point to introduce you to everyone who wanted to say hello to him unless you knew them.

At some point in the night, Sebastian approached the two of you—a kiss on the cheek for you and a firm pat on the back for Cooper. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw your arm looped with Cooper’s, hand resting on his bicep.

“So, finally promoted from assistant to lover—”

“Manager,” the both of you corrected. Sebastian chuckled at you both.

“She’s the only person I really listen to anyhow,” Cooper said, sipping his drink in his hand.

“Aside from Janey,” you corrected.

“Of course,” Cooper said and, to your surprise, placed a kiss on your cheek. You did your best to ignore the nosey side-eyes and smiled at Sebastian.

“Well, congratulations on your successful run with Vault-Tec, and endless happiness to you both,” Sebastian said. He and Cooper clinked their glasses before you all went back to mingling.

The wrap party continued without a hitch, which you were incredibly thankful for, and aside from the small bits of uncomfortableness, you both made it to the end of the night. Once the last guest was out of the door, the two of you retired to his bedroom.

A shared warm shower later—both in temperature and in the way Cooper pinned you against the wall with his own body to run kisses along your shoulders and upper back—you two tumbled into his bed. Your naked bodies slowly writhing against one another, Cooper enjoying you in any way he could, tongue against your clit, fingers deep inside of you, kisses along your stomach… You came undone so many times you almost forgot what century you were in.

So when Sett had finally passed by the desk, you thought you might have gotten lucky since his head was turned, but at the last second, he’d locked eyes with you. A surge of emotions passed through your body like an electric shock. It was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling, and part of you was trying desperately not to care, but you could have sworn you saw a hint of sadness mixed with surprise before his security team pulled him away. The fangirls pushed against the security at the front of the gym, shouting and waving their posters and other memorabilia they wanted him to sign. You rolled your eyes and returned to the task you’d been doing before the chaos of your ex’s entrance.

You’d done everything in your power to push through the slew of emotions you felt weighing on your chest—you were pretty sure you’d cleaned a single machine at least three times in a row while in your emotional daze—and didn’t spot him once after his initial entrance. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not and by the time you made it to the end of your shift at midnight, you were ready to blow off some steam.

The gloves you donned were thick and absorbed each punch that collided with the punching bag. One, two. One, two, three. One. One, two. You timed the hits with your breaths as a guitar solo pulsed in your earphones and sweat dripped down your forehead.

It had been a year since you’d last had contact with Sett, or, since you cut off your communication with him. The decision wasn’t easy but it was what you felt was best for you and your mental at the time. You remember how he pleaded, holding your hands in his, absolutely dwarfing them, eyes big and tearful, but your pain was too much, the paranoia was too much.

The magazine that sparked the argument in the first place sat between you. On the cover was a story about him, the upcoming star, and Ahri, from KDA, and their potential romance brewing. This was in addition to the already circulating rumor amongst fans about him and his bandmate, Aphelios. He denied it all, doing everything he could to convince you, but between them, the fans, and the comments they made about you, it was just too much. You couldn’t take it and you couldn’t bear the idea of forcing him to deal with your emotions on top of his big break. So you cut off.

The punch you landed was a little rough, bending your wrist more than intended, and you felt the sobering pain radiate through your hand. You practically growled at the feeling and shook it out in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension you felt already building in your tendons. The room you were in was empty, it was rare to see it full at this time of night, and you were thankful for it. 

That bubble of frustration you’d felt in your chest pushed out and you sent all of it through your next punch. The impact sent the punching bag flying… but not as far as you thought it might go. You blinked and noticed a pair of hands holding on to either side. A head peered around the object—red hair with two ears poking out of the top of the strands, a long scar across his nose, and familiar green-blue eyes.

You could make out the words “Hey” and your name and you contemplated leaving in your headphones before he gently tapped his ears. A request. Your jaw clenched, taking a long moment to consider him before you pulled out your headphones and pocketed them.

“Why are you still here?” you asked, a bit cold. His sheepish smile turned downward ever so slightly and his ears flattened on his head. There was a small bloom of sadness in your chest seeing it.

“Just, you know, working out,” he answered.

“I hoped you would’ve been gone by now.”

His expression dropped completely at that point.

“You did?”

Your jaw clenched. Everything in you wanted to not be in this situation, to see his sad expressions, to feel so damn bad about being cold to him, but you didn’t know what else to do. Inviting the heartache of leaving him back into your life, even for a moment, wasn’t something wanted. Flashes of his tear-filled eyes watching you as you left with your bags of stuff crossed your mind and it made you start moving.

You moved past him and into the rows of punching bags in this part of the gym. From behind you, he said your name and pleaded for your attention, but you wanted out. You almost made it to the bench your stuff was on when you felt his large hand wrap around your forearm. It wasn’t a rough touch, but it was firm enough to pull your eyes back to him.

“What did I do to make you hate me so much?” he asked, confusion and pain in his words. You knew tugging yourself free would be useless so you stood your ground and stared him down. His touch was like molten lava seeping into your skin. You didn’t hate him, you hated the people that came with his fame and the lack of protection to shield you from them.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Because being in the same vicinity as you is painful.”

Sett paused and his brows furrowed.

“You were the one that broke up with me,” he said, words laced with the hurt you imagined he was also feeling. You stared at each other for a long moment. Nothing that came to mind could quell the tension nor the steady increase of your heartbeat. It all just fell flat.

“Let me go,” you said, tugging at your arm, the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes despite all your attempts to stop them.

He huffed in disbelief.

“I haven’t seen you in a year. Not since you just, decided for the both of us that this wasn’t going to work. I’ve never known you to be so… So cruel,” he said. Sett’s eyes were as devastating as his words. It felt like a knife digging into your chest, threatening to carve your heart out.

“Sett, please,” you tried and turned your eyes down to where he held you.

“No, talk to me, please.”

“I have nothing,” you said. “I told you why I was leaving.”

“No, you gave me bullshit excuses and scenarios that didn’t exist,” he pushed… and he was right. You knew he was even back then when he sat across from you on the couch clasping your hands in his and tears streaming down his cheeks, just trying to understand.

“They weren’t excuses, Sett. I was so proud of you—s-still am, but…” You looked up at him and flared your nostrils with a sigh. There was no avoiding this. “Neither of us could have known how quickly fame would come. How possessive Heartsteel’s fans would be. How… brutal they’d be to me. How brutal it would be for me to watch rumors about affairs swirl. I couldn’t do it. I wanted you so bad, I wanted us, but I knew I couldn’t have you and… and…”

The tears had begun to fall. You cursed under your breath and wiped your free hand against your cheek, tears settling on the material boxing glove you still wore. Sett stepped forward and pressed his thumb over the new tear that had already begun its descent down your cheek. You recoiled a little but in response, he caught your chin and tilted up so you could look at him.

“You always had me,” he whispered. “Still do.”

Everything in you that wanted to bolt, to hide from the shame and sadness and anger seeing him made you feel, stilled. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat at his touch, at his attention, and you swallowed hard under his intense examination. The blue-green of his eyes felt so familiar and safe that it made the knot in your chest twist and expand.

“Sett… I don’t think we could even if we—”

“Why not?” he pushed. “I don’t care what any of them think. I never have. You didn’t even give me the chance to fight for us. For you… You just left.”

“I was scared. I didn’t want my heart broken by you… So I broke it for myself. I thought it’d be easier and it was but… Now…”

His ears twitched, a beam of hopefulness crossing his expression.

“Now? What about now?” he asked.

You didn’t know. A part of you felt so hopeful, so ready to try again just from his magnetic pull alone. How safe he made you feel. That hadn’t changed. You opened your mouth to say something but the sound of the door opening startled you both. Sett’s grip loosened enough for you to pull your arm away, both of you looking toward the interruption. A man in a suit you recognized as one of his security guards had begun approaching.

“There you are, sir—”

“Jackson, not now—No wait!” Sett called your name.

You’d already managed to get one of your gloves off so you could grab your bag and head toward the private bathrooms. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with his hand on your arm and now was your chance to pull yourself out of his orbit before you did something stupid.

You only managed to get to the door before you were stopped again by something yanking you to a stop, but this time it was the handle of your gym bag. You twisted around, ready to fight someone, but instead was met with a quick blur of Sett’s figure before his lips crashed into yours.

It was bold, something you hadn’t anticipated, and while you wanted to pull away… you felt him punching at the icy wall you’d built for yourself after everything. Every breath, every motion, everything felt like he was chipping at it piece by piece, until, well… It shattered.

Your free hand opened the door to the private bathroom and you dragged him into it. You were thankful that the cameras didn’t touch this part of the hallway, which only spurred on this potential mistake.

The two of you stumbled into the space—it was typically reserved for gym employees and special guests who wanted to avoid the more public locker rooms. It was spacious enough to house the usual bathroom amenities plus a bench for you to utilize as needed and the standing shower was nestled into the corner, blocked by the door whenever it was open.

Sett closed the door and locked it once you were both inside before his large hands clasped onto the back of your thighs to pull you into the air effortlessly. The bag you’d both been holding onto tumbled to the floor, kicked by the shuffle of his feet. Your back met the wall across from the door, inhaling deeply when his lips left yours to nip at your neck.

“Sett,” you tried, breathless.

“I’ve missed you—” His lips pressed urgently against your pulse. “So much.”

“Sett… We can’t… I can’t…”

Your mind was whirling at the feel of him, the heat he elicited from your body. His lips slowed to an agonizing pace but he heeded your words, head picking up to look directly into your eyes, surprised to find them not fully enveloped in lust… It was the adoration, the haze of love, that made your heart stutter. You could cry.

“I can stop,” he whispered. Sett’s gaze dropped to your lips. “I just…” You waited, drawing in a breath so deep that the orange-scented cleaner you were familiar with tingled in your nose.

All of your emotions and warning bells were as loud and overwhelming as an extreme weather siren. You shouldn’t do this. Any progress you’d made—either of you had made—was already shattered, leaving you vulnerable. But you still found yourself asking, “What?” It was just as soft as his whisper, timid, afraid.

Sett took in a similarly deep breath, except a hum danced within his throat and rumbled through his chest like a growl. 

“I don’t want to,” he said with a small, bashful laugh. One of his fangs pulled at his lip as he turned his eyes back up to yours. “I want to keep touching you… But only if you want me to. I can also leave. Just—Just tell me—” You placed one of your index fingers on his lips and he promptly stopped talking. 

You didn’t know what to do. Everything in you knew this was likely temporary, and the moment he left this room, things would go right back to the way they were, except this time with brand new wounds on your heart to cater to. But here he was, looking at you with his eyes, ears flat against his head, waiting for you to make your call, and probably just as scared as you. A sigh left you.

“Go ahead,” you said. Sett’s ears twitched, expression lightening. “Touch me.”

You got the feeling he’d waited for you out of courtesy, for you to potentially change your mind after that statement, but seized your lips with his after barely a second. His eagerness stole the breath from you, resulting in a chuckle that he inhaled and returned. He moved you toward the bench and effortlessly placed you down on it, lips never leaving yours.

The rush of approval had him on a mission that you guessed involved the shedding and ripping of clothes—but you were wrong. Instead, one of the hands that had been holding you reached down, slid past your waistband and started to work. A surprised gasp left your lips. He pulled away to gaze down at your face as it writhed in pleasure. The way his fingers moved against your clit was so deliciously familiar and mindful with every circle. 

You instinctively reached one of your hands down toward his growing bulge to provide some mutual relief, another familiar motion, but was stopped by Sett’s free hand. You brow furrowed and he leaned down to place a soft kiss upon it whilst guiding the hand he’d stopped on his neck. 

For a fraction of a second, you wondered if the world knew about this Sett, this loving, calm, goofy, loyal man you’d always known. Not just fist fights and bad boy leaning tendencies.

You selfishly hoped they never would.

“No, just you this time,” he said. You clocked the ‘this time’ but it was stifled the moment you felt one of his fingers ease into you. Your back arched.

Any protests you had left with the rest of your reservations about all of this. You nodded, warmth pooling in your cheeks now, and rolled your eyes back when the finger he’d slipped inside of you touched that spot he knew very well. Your body twitched, your other hand grabbing as much of his bicep as you could for balance, and let him work.

Sett’s mouth trailed kisses anywhere he felt like it as his fingers moved. Little whispers of your name left him occasionally but you could barely hear it over the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears. You wished you weren’t so close to coming already, you wished he didn’t know you in and out in every way imaginable, yet here you were about to topple over the edge of bliss at the hands of a man you still loved—no matter how much you wanted to deny it.

“Sett,” you gasped.

“I know,” he assured, the hand on your hip the only thing truly grounding you to this plane of existence. 

The tightness in your stomach finally released, a moan tumbling from your lips as stars danced behind your eyelids. Sett helped you ride through your orgasm with targeted praise, soft touches, and lips. Everything about his patience and opt for celibacy just added to your surprise about everything. He helped you to a sitting position and rubbed your back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I…” You blew hot air out into the room. “Shit.” Sett laughed and brought one of your hands up to his lips.

“Yeah,” he said knowingly. You turned to catch his gaze, a smile breaking out on his lips that you couldn’t help but return. “Can I… give you a ride home?”

Reality started to set in after the high and you could feel the hardening of your heart begin again. You bit your lip in contemplation. His expression started to soften again, almost as though he were ready to be hurt by your rejection once more.

“Alright,” you said. The creeping freeze of your heart halted enough for you to add, “Maybe we can grab late-night ramen and talk…?”

“I’d like that,” he answered.

“Do not text your Mom about this,” you added with a deadpan look that made him laugh. He got to his feet and gently tapped his knuckles against your chin.

You tensed a little at her tone and how her eyes watched your face behind the yellow tint of her glasses. A gentle breeze moved through the Summer air of the forest and the steady trickle of a nearby river permeated the tense silence between you.

“Well, it still hurt.”

“Didn’t think you’d complain about that,” she replied. A small blush crept along your cheeks but you refused to yield to her incessant teasing. Nothing ever came of it, just shoulder pushes and eye rolls, yet she persisted as if she enjoyed the game of it all despite her cool demeanor.

It was hard to get a read on her sometimes despite how much you wanted to, so you did your best to temper your expectations since these “private lessons” started months ago. You’d known each other for a year or so before, and when you expressed interest in learning some self-defense, Mizu was the first to offer. She had her own dojo and though you offered to pay her, she refused. So here you were.

“Back in your stance,” she instructed and sunk easily into the one she preferred.

“Can we move on from this today?” You didn’t mean to sound so petulant but it was warm and you had messed up this particular set up more times than you wanted to admit. The sting of Mizu’s ‘corrections’ were starting to catch up with you, and while you kind of loved the sensation, the warm air was making you testy.

“Back in your stance,” Mizu repeated.

You sighed deeply.

“3, 2, 1… Go.”

The strikes of the wooden swords echoed through the trees, a steady rhythm that temporarily disrupted the peaceful silence its creatures typically knew. You could feel Mizu pushing you, blocking attacks at the last second, feet dragging through the moss and grass as you tried to find a better position. Mizu didn’t let up.

You moved, focused on Mizu’s strikes, and felt your foot suddenly slip on the river’s edge, sending you crashing unceremoniously into the waist-deep water with a screech. It was too fast for Mizu to grab you despite reaching for you and calling your name.

“SHIT,” you shouted after you broke the surface of the river.

Mizu’s eyes were wide, grimacing, but it looked like she was fighting a laugh. You glared at her and rose to your feet with as much grace as possible. Mizu bit her lip to suppress a bubble of laughter before she extended a hand for you to grab.

“Well, this is a good reminder for another lesson,” she said as you took her hand. “Be aware of your surroundings.”

Your jaw clenched and, instead of allowing her to assist you back onto the grass, you narrowed your eyes, sank your fit into the river's sediment, and tugged. Surprise crossed Mizu’s face as she took in your smirk and tried not to fall in but, this time, you’d been the one to catch her unawares.

Mizu hit the water roughly and caused an enormous splash that had you caught in the crossfire, a wave of the cool liquid hitting your side; it was worth it.

“You… little…” Mizu said. The laughter you’d been trying to fight off yourself finally erupted, earning your teacher a glare.

“This is your lesson,” you said while catching your breath. “Never underestimate your opponent.”

Mizu didn’t say anything, blue eyes behind her shades locked onto your face. You weren’t sure what to make of it, feeling a heat rising in your cheeks under her gaze.

“What?” you asked, convinced she was actually upset with you. Then, to your dismay, she started to move toward you in the water, and, instinctively, you moved back. She continued her advance and just as your hand touched the bank, she closed the distance and pressed her body completely against yours. Your hands moved up her shoulders for balance. The blush you’d been building up fully bloomed, only inches separating your faces and nothing between your bodies. “Mizu?” You were a little breathless. What was happening?

She kept quiet and moved one hand to grab your wrist, pinning it to the edge of the riverbank softly. The mud painted abstract images along your skin, the grass tickled, and the water soaked deeper into your clothes with every second that ticked by. You could feel her breath on your face.

“Mizu,” you said again but softer.

Nothing again. You felt her other hand touch your hip and slowly ascend, flirting with the skin under your shirt, the side of your chest, all the way up to the base of your neck. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but you leaned back a little to allow her more access… and she took it. Her calloused fingers spread, pressing her thumb and middle finger gently into the muscles on either side.

Mizu searched your face for any protest. You provided none.

Her grip tightened around your throat, enough for you to gasp, but in no way harmful. With such a hold on you, she tilted your head to the side.

“You.” She pressed her lips to your cheek. “Are such.” Your head leaned to the side for her to place her lips on the other one. “A pain.” You tested the waters, trying to move the hand she had a grip on, only to feel her reinforce it, pressing it harder into the mud. She straightened your face to see you fully, eyes flicking between your eyes and lips. “In the ass.”

You just smiled in response. So did she.

And then she kissed you.

It was deep, slow, and rhythmic, somewhat matching the flow of the river’s path. You sighed, a small moan leaving your lips and receiving the same in return. Nothing about this day had indicated this was how it was gonna go. Nothing at all. It was everything you didn’t know you had wanted and the feeling of her fingers tightening around your throat, digging into the skin in the most delicious of ways, drove you crazy.

She allowed your hand freedom, both of which found their way around her neck as she released her grip on yours—to your mild disappointment. Instead, she grabbed under your thighs and lifted, earning a surprised sound from you, and perched you on the riverbank.

“This okay?” she asked, voice husky, her eyes peering up at you now, a clear sight over her glasses that were covered in streaks of water. You nodded. Her fingers found the top of your soaked-through sweats and gave a tug. “This?” You nodded again and lifted your hips. She hooked her fingers over the top of them, also catching your underwear, and pulled them down to your ankles, which she lifted over her head so she could be between your thighs.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Are you going to listen if I ask you to lay back? Or are you going to be a brat about that too?” she asked and positioned your thighs over her shoulders. You looked down at her, unable to find the will to sass her in this moment, and did as she asked. “Good pet.”

A feeling fluttered in your stomach at that.

Without much effort, she lifted your legs, and dove between them, devouring you so deliciously that you gasped. Her arms nestled in the creases of your pelvis and her fingers dug into the skin of your thighs so rough they might bruise. Every stroke of her tongue over you felt hungry, greedy. Water droplets slid down your sensitive skin, a cool sensation that did nothing to quell the heat radiating off of you. Your fingers dug into the grass and threatened to pull each blade up from the root.

“Shit,” you gasped. The pleasure you felt building up was intoxicating and maddening. Any gripe you had with training today faded with every single second Mizu spent between your thighs. The sound of your voice only egged her on. Had you both been hiding this desire from each other for this long? A part of you regretted it, wondered if maybe you could have gotten to this place sooner, but you didn’t get the chance to finish that thought.

Your orgasm cascaded through you, a moan so loud you accidentally startled some birds in a nearby tree. Mizu didn’t let up though, holding onto you as though you were going to float away and you held onto one of her arms like she was an anchor to this plane of existence. She tasted every bit of you, tongue simply a tool to swallow everything. She peppered soft kisses on you, before ducking back down into the river, and appearing outside the cage of your legs. You felt her hands pull at your heavy, river-soaked sweats, and tugged them up, hips lifting very briefly, until you were decent again.

The evening sunbeams danced through the treetops. You heard the splash and dripping of water as Mizu finally pulled themselves out of the river and took a seat next to you. You sat there for a moment, still coming down from your orgasm, and felt the gentle reassurance of Mizu’s hand on your knee, thumb rubbing it.

“So,” Mizu said. You looked down at her, eyes on you as she cleaned her glasses. “The practice swords are gone and we’re both soaked. Probably, best we call it for the day.” A pang of disappointment hit your chest and she must have noticed it in your face, because continued, “But… I’ve got time tonight for some extra lessons. And some dry clothes you can use.”

You gasp.

“Lara,” you whine between swipes of your lips.

She responds by pushing you into the desk you always claimed, the files you’d be looking into, and baubles you liked to adorn the surface of it with, disrupted. You reach back with one hand to brace yourself and accidentally smack your little desk lamp off, the shatter of the bulb against the floor stuttering your movements.

“Shit,” you breathe.

“I’ll buy you another one,” she says and splayes her hand on your jaw to guide your gaze back to her. Your free hand tangles into the bottom of her hair, fingers pushing up into the loose bits that weren't tied in a ponytail. You felt the button of your shorts pop, zipper nudged down as her fingers press against the fabric of your underwear.

The peace of mind you needed was from this feeling. From Lara.

You’d been dancing around each other for months with flirty smiles and accidental brushes of your skin against one another. It had built up, all that suffocating tension, until the night before when your co-workers had somehow coerced the notorious homebody, Lara Croft, into going to a local bar. You weren’t sure if you wanted to attend yourself but they insisted so you decided one drink would do.

Four drinks later, you were taking Lara’s hand and pulling her to the dance floor, the live band’s choice of music feeling practically targeted; rhythm and booze. You weren’t sure if Lara had had any drinks herself, but she had a light tinge of pink on her cheeks. Her eyes were locked with yours, the usual shyness between the two of you gone the moment you placed your arms on her shoulders and she pulled you toward her by your belt loops.

The dance you shared was the definition of intimacy with a little bit of fire tacked onto it, writhing against each other effortlessly. The kiss was unplanned. Just like this one. But it was you who’d initiated it the first time and you who quickly pulled away when you felt her freeze. Embarrassment trickled over your cheeks in the form of a blush and before you could even think to stop yourself, intoxicated or not, you were apologizing and leaving the bar.

 That’s why you were working after hours.

That’s why you were surprised to see Lara walking over to you, that same pink tinge on her cheeks, trying effortlessly to avoid turning her gaze downwards when she spoke.

“You’re not supposed to be here this late.” There was no anger or authority in her voice, in fact, it was barely a whisper.

“Neither are you,” you managed.

Then she was on you, practically knocking you into the fossil you’d been examining. The mask you wore? Torn from your neck and tossed somewhere else in the lab. It was a whirlwind of stumbling and redirecting your momentum from precious artifacts before you ended up against your desk, but worth every second.

Lara’s fingers press against your clit, fabric rubbing gently and coaxing a moan out of you, which she devours. This was a different sort of Lara, one you’d have never expected with the way she presented herself to the world. Well-spoken but soft in practically everything she did… But those calloused fingers that were now touching you, running themselves up and down your folds, made you think twice about the woman before you.

Your legs spread naturally, even without her knees nudging them apart, and you lean most of your weight back onto the desk. Papers join the broken glass on the floor and your miscellaneous items topple over one another.

Everything was spinning. Lara’s lips were hot as they trailed kisses down your neck, teeth and breath against the sensitive skin there. She pushes down your tank top and your loose-fitting sports bra until she can hungrily pull one of your nipples into her mouth. Instinctively, the hand you had in her hair twists and grips her ponytail enough to tug it roughly.

She moans at that, a guttural sound that lets you know that she enjoyed the sting of the motion and that knowledge on its own sends a hot sensation from your lower body up to your already burning cheeks. Lara’s tongue runs over the sensitive skin she’d previously claimed all while her fingers go to work inside of you.

All of this was so much, but this was everything you’d secretly wanted the moment you saw her. You just hadn’t imagined she might have felt the same way.

The museum’s silence felt even louder now that your gasps, groans, and moans filled the space. You’d never have even thought to do this, not in public and certainly not in your workplace, but this was just… so good. And who was going to stop you? Your boss? Well…

Lara’s teeth bit down just hard enough on your nipple to pull you out of your thoughts and make you hyper-aware that you were going to combust at any moment.

“Lara, please,” you cry. Your name escapes her as a mumble against your skin.

Her thumb continues the circles against your clit while her other digits find purchase inside of you, nudging against the exact spot you need. She knew because every time she rubbed it your breath hitched. Jumping each others’ bones felt like a dream not just a few days ago, dropping your gaze from her like she could read your thoughts, and at this point, you were convinced she might have been able to all along.

You tumble over the edge, a moan louder than you intended tumbling from your mouth as your body convulses with every extra touch Lara applies. It’s a quiet comedown, slow, and her lips are back to that softness you would have initially expected from her. She pulls her hands away from your body, propping them on the desk on either side of you, and you take a moment to catch your breath.

“That was… unexpected,” you breathe, a small laugh escaping you.

“Sorry,” she mutters. You manage to pick your head up to finally look at her face, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. A smile grows on your lips in response.

“No need to be sorry.”

“Well, not entirely true.” She nods to the floor on the side of your desk. “I did break your desk lamp.”

“Oh.” Your gaze turns downward. “True… It was pretty expensive,” you exaggerate, face scrunching a bit when you turn back to her.

“How can I repay you?” she asks, lips hovering close to yours once more.

“Mmm,” you mumble, looking between her and the lamp. “I think dinner will suffice.”

“Deal,” she responds, that bit of shyness returning to her demeanor. “I’ll go grab a dustpan.”

Matt tugged you further down the countertop by your thighs, legs resting comfortably on his shoulders. You squirmed a little as his tongue swirled around your clit and your back lifted off the surface every so slightly. His fingers massaged your thighs softly, exactly where you knew there would be bruises, and ran them up and down your skin occasionally.

“Mmm,” you hummed, lulled by the motion of his tongue. Slow, intentional drags, like a personal prayer along your folds.

Your old, worn t-shirt had been pulled up past your breasts—where this endeavor started after you’d hopped up onto the island to watch him cook—and your underwear was nowhere to be found. You’d been wearing some, but Matt had tossed them somewhere without much thought. You wouldn’t be surprised if maybe they had landed in the sink.

Sleep still tugged at your eyes, a haze over your entire being, lazily picking up your arm to nestle your fingers in Matt’s hair. He smiled against you, teeth nibbling gently against the sensitive nub. You were sore, also like you’d predicted, but he was doing everything to make you feel comfortable and appreciated and adored. Every time he buried himself between your legs he devoured you like a four-course meal, lapping up everything he could before your body would inevitably become too sensitive for it to be enjoyable.

A scent touched your nose, the start of something getting a bit too cooked, and before you could say anything, Matt was pulling away from you. He gently placed your feet on the edge of the counter and kissed your knee.

“Stay there,” he whispered, an early morning husk coating his voice. With ease, he flipped the pancake to the other side, batter barely spilling, before he turned back to you and parted your folds again. Your breath hitched for a second, the pace of his tongue a little more vigorous than before, and you reached back to grip the edge of the countertop.

You didn’t say anything, the haze of sleep, sex, and pancakes filling your head. He groaned like he was eating his favorite food and it made your jaw clench. Another impeccable sight to see for any of your nosey neighbors. You hadn’t received a complaint yet but every day you wondered if you’d find a note on one of your doors telling you to keep it down. Time would tell.

Matt’s pace quickened the moment he felt the telltale sign you were close to your orgasm—muscles contracting and stiffening with every stroke of his tongue over you. You fidgeted a little but he held you in place no matter how much you writhed against his grip. It only took another minute before you let out a cry, body shaking, folds leaking with his spit and your cum. The pressure you felt in your head fizzled, a tingling sensation traveling over your skin as Matt pressed a sweet kiss to your sensitive clit. Your orgasm dangled in the air.

Matt moved away from you to place the pancake on the stack he’d already been making and brought the pan to the sink beside you. Your head lolled to the side a bit to look at him, gorgeous in the morning rays, chestnut locks tousled from your fingers. He smiled a little, feeling your gaze.

You watched him take a clean hand towel from the drawer you liked to keep them in, soak it with the warm water, and position himself between your legs again. Slowly, and with care, he dragged the material from your clit down to your entrance. He was always thorough and thoughtful with his aftercare.

He walked past you to toss the material into the laundry—he had also leaned over to pick up something you assumed was your underwear to add to the pile as well. When he returned to you, you still hadn’t moved from where you laid on the kitchen island. Your breath had steadied but you couldn’t bring yourself to remove yourself from the bliss. Matt had stood in front of you, vision flipped, his hands on either side of you.

“What a week,” you said, a little breathless still. He chuckled a bit and leaned down to press his lips to yours in an upside-down kiss. The taste of yourself on his lips permeated the kiss despite knowing he’d licked them clean like he always did. Your hand touched his cheek affectionately and scratched at the five o’clock shadow that had started to appear.

“What a week indeed,” he muttered. Matt pulled away and walked toward the plate of pancakes he’d masterfully made between eating you out. “How many pancakes you want?” 

You didn’t want any of it to end. The smiles, the laughter, the fun, the joy, the earth-shattering orgasms…

It wasn’t overt or obnoxious, but you knew the more this man’s eyes kept darting down to your tits in your form-fitting dress and the closer he kept leaning, the more Matt fidgeted with his cane, adjusted his tie, clenched his jaw. You didn’t do anything on your end save for a nod here and a ‘mmhm’ there, not a fan of playing with your partners’ trust, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t think this tiny bit of potential jealousy was hot as hell.

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?” the man asked.

From the corner of your eye, you caught motion, a hand, and to your absolute dismay, it made contact with the skin of your upper arm. That had caught Matt’s attention too. You reached up with your free hand and pinched his thumb between your fingers, pulling it away from you. He looked confused when you locked eyes with him.

“This is the only time I’m going to politely ask you not to touch me,” you said, smile big and eyelashes fluttering.

By the time the man took back his hand, you felt Matt’s cane tap your leg and he was beside you. Your eyes didn’t leave the man just yet, who looked as though the organ running the show was short-circuiting. As if he couldn’t fathom you not only rejecting his advances but that someone he considered beneath him was approaching you.

“Hello, darling,” Matt said with a kiss on your cheek. You continued to smile at the man, leaning into your partner as you did so. “Having a good time?”

“I am,” you reassured. Finally, once you were content drinking in the satisfaction of disappointing the other man, you turned to face him and adjusted his tie a little.

“Making new friends?” The last word was pointed, loud enough for the other party to hear over the casual talks and classical music.

“Mmm, you could say that,” you said and pulled Matt down by his blazer for a quick kiss. He licked his lips when you pulled away. “Mind escorting me to the bathroom?”

“Absolutely,” he said and offered you a hand to assist you off of the fancy leather stool you’d been perched on. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” you tossed over your shoulder when you passed by the man. The smirk on your lips remained when you caught your final glimpse of him, absolutely flabbergasted as he turned back to face the bar.

Matt’s hand remained in yours, dipping through the crowd with you and using his cane to keep up appearances for himself. A few people spared glances your way, some nice and others not, but you paid them no mind. This party was full of people who considered themselves better than everyone, a fleeting economic status, and as good as the food and the booze were, you’d be happier at Josie’s. Matt nestled up against your back as you made an awful pool play and sipped from the only fruity drink Josie knew how to make; one made special for you because you fixed her cash register one time. Well, multiple times now.

Once you were free of the sea of nepo babies and rich grandpas who were fascinated by Nelson & Murdock’s recent case, you turned down a hallway toward one of the more private bathrooms.

“Tell me something, Matt Murdock,” you said and turned to face him. There didn’t seem to be anyone coming this way, most attendees using the other restroom on the opposite side of the building. It was an observation you’d made when Porsche-guy was talking about stocks and realized Matt was distracted by the two of you.

“Tell you what?” He’d taken a step forward and said your full name, tone borderlining flirtation but not quite there.

“Were you… jealous?” The smile you donned was not one of malice, it was born from the fire you felt building in your abdomen, and you peered up through your eyelashes. Matt scoffed a little.

“Jealous?”

“Mmmhm.”

He considered you for a moment, what your body language was saying to him specifically. Another step forward. Your heartbeat quickened and he noticed immediately, that little smirk building until it was a full-on smile.

“And what if I was?”

You took a step forward. He’d placed his cane between the two of you and you moved just close enough for him to feel your stomach graze his hands. His fingers chased after you instinctively.

“I’d say I hadn’t expected that from you,” you said, hand touching one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “And that maybe it made me a little… tiny bit… horny.”

“Is that so?” he asked in a much lower tone.

“Yes,” you confirmed. One of your hands found the hem of your dress, pulling it up ever so slightly. Matt let out an amused sound, but you could tell he was on the same page. “I also happened to choose not to wear underwear tonight.”

Matt’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

“I thought I sensed something different,” he said. “Figured it was my imagination.”

You nibbled on your lip, careful not to ruin your lipstick, as Matt stepped past you to open the door of the men’s restroom. He tilted his head down a bit and listened. None of the partygoers had come or gone this way the entire time you’d been over in this area. It felt like your own pocket of peace, away from the bustle of partygoers circle jerking one another and bragging about their yachts.

Matt nodded toward the door he’d been holding open and, with one safety glance toward the other end of the hall, you slid into the room. Before the door had even fully closed, Matt had closed up his cane, pocketed it, and pressed himself right up against your back. You could already feel him against your ass, one of his hands gliding across your stomach and down to your thigh where he was already scrunching up your dress.

You didn’t argue whatsoever and allowed him to lead you toward the sinks where he unceremoniously bent you over the marble countertop. You didn’t consider yourself an exhibitionist, at least not in this regard, but the idea that someone—maybe even that obnoxious Porsche guy—could come in and see you two like this… It was exhilarating. Daring and devilish. Matt was rubbing off on you.

The large set of mirrors in front of you allowed you a good view of Matt poised just behind you. The fabric of your dress slid up over your ass with his help and you spread your legs enough to present yourself to him, heels loud in the emptiness of the room. A deep, appreciative sigh left him, followed by the sound of his belt being undone and the zipper being dragged down.

Matt’s hands found your hips, guiding you to him, and allowing him to slide himself up and down your folds to gather all the moisture you were producing. A moan left your lips. He positioned himself at your entrance, a couple of centimeters inside of you, as he reached forward and wrapped his hand around your throat. His palm was warm and he pressed just hard enough for you to feel it, to bring you up onto your palms, to position his mouth next to your ear.

“All mine,” he breathed.

“Damn right,” you said, a little strained by your positioning.

Matt pushed himself into you and you gasped, his fingers tightening a bit more just how he knew you liked it. His hips snapped into you, pelvis colliding with your ass every time he buried himself within you. The marble countertop stung your thighs with every contact they made with the material—that was absolutely going to bruise.

For the first time all week, well, since you two had become frequently active, you felt the soreness in multiple parts of your body but mostly where he was pounding into you now. You’d ice everything when you got home, maybe ask for a massage if he was willing…

Matt hit the exact spot you needed and you gasped, a whiney moan leaving you. He’d waited intentionally knowing him but the surprise snapped you back to reality instantly.

“So noisy, angel,” he cooed. “You trying to make a point to your friend out there? Hoping he sees us?”

“G-God, I hope so,” you said without even thinking. Matt laughed.

The bathroom echoed both of your efforts, heavy breaths and gasps and moans, marble cool on your tits when Matt finally released you and opted to put his hands on your hips. His grip was tight, digging into the thick flesh of your hip creases. More bruises. It made you smile, sex drunk, and happy as hell to be marked up by your partner in only the places he could access. The sting from the marble became more prominent on your thighs, your tits started to spill out of the v of your dress, the wetness of your folds overflowed—

Matt stopped.

You gazed up at him in the mirror, your cheeks red, eyes hazed, and watched him listen for a second. Then he pulled out of you. Confusion danced across your expression as Matt pulled you up with one hand and placed the other on his slacks.

“Matt—”

He shushed you and guided you quickly into one of the stalls, spinning you so that your back was against the door. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Up,” he whispered, tapping your leg before he placed his arm around your waist. You did as you were told, wrapping your legs around his waist, back against the, also, black marble door frame of the stall. Matt slotted himself perfectly back into you without warning, a deep sigh leaving your lips, and his pants falling to the ground. Just as you were about to ask him a question, the door to the bathroom swung open. Your eyes widened.

Matt mouthed ‘my client’ to you, barely able to make out the words, but thankful that you did. Your arms wrapped around his neck and steadied your breathing so that it remained quiet.

“So fucking clumsy,” the new addition said. The water to one of the sinks turned on and you could hear him aggressively grab some paper towels. If you had to guess, he’d spilled a drink or something on himself and tried to utilize the less popular bathrooms to avoid further embarrassment.

Matt’s cock twitched inside you and it made the legs you’d wrapped around him twitch. You leaned your head back, impatience beginning to get the better of you. As much as you enjoyed a good cock warming, your heart rate was elevated and you preferred to resume getting demolished by this sinfully delicious man.

So, you opted to touch yourself in this little downtime.

Matt’s client continued to clean himself up, completely oblivious to the occupied stall, and the way your hand slid between the two of you to rub circles around your clit. Matt pressed his forehead to yours, lips lazily grazing yours to capture your hitched breaths. The hand he’d poised on the door for balance clenched into a fist the longer he was inside of you without being able to do anything. His hips shifted a little to provide some relief you’d assumed and feeling him so impatient only pulled your orgasm further along.

It felt like ages before you heard the door open again and the moment Matt felt able to do so, he placed both his hands on your ass and resumed where you’d left off. A few seconds into his thrusts, your orgasm surged through you, a little more substance than you’d intended spilling out and over his cock. The new tension from your walls made him grunt, a borderline growl, but he persisted until he was pulling out of you.

Your heels collided with the floor a little rougher than either of you probably intended and you did your best to steady yourself while he hovered over the toilet. One, two, three, strokes was all it took before you heard his cum collide with the water in the toilet and he let out a moan.

“I think my vagina is going to need some rest after this week,” you breathed and fixed your dress. Matt chuckled.

You exited the stall to examine yourself in the mirror, pleased to see that Matt expertly avoided making anything look too out of place. The slight red marks on your neck were easily hidden by your hair and you got your dress back into a state of ‘decency’ before Matt appeared from the stall, toilet flushing for him. He’d tucked everything back into its rightful place and, after you both washed your hands, you reached up to adjust his tie again.

“Foggy’s probably wondering where I am,” Matt said, running his hand through his hair.

“I think Foggy knows where you are at this point.”

Matt nodded, unable to combat that sentiment, and followed behind you toward the door. He gave your ass a small pat, precise and a little loud, just as you opened it and you gave him a playfully ‘shocked’ look. He pulled the cane from his pocket again to extend it and the smile on his lips grew.

The weight of the trash bags you’d accumulated weighed heavily on your fingers as you made your way out of the back door. Thankfully, the dumpster was close by and you quickly shuffled your way over to toss the black bags inside. The air was chilly like it had been for weeks, touching the part of your legs not covered by your pleated shirt. Matt’s deep red sweater that you’d borrowed—one of the only pieces of his wardrobe that wasn’t a suit—kept you warm until you were done with your task. The heel of your knee-high boots echoed a bit in the alley, quickly opening the door behind you and sliding into the backroom of your shop.

“You should be more careful with—”

Before you could even register the man’s voice from behind you, your hand swung. It was a full-force backhand, something completely fueled by the fear that coursed through you, that promptly missed its target. The confusion by the lack of contact was quickly replaced by a fleeting moment of realization that Matt—well, Daredevil—was before you… Just as your momentum sent you hurling toward a nearby steel cabinet.

Matt was fast enough to grab your wrist, his other hand stabilizing your body, but wasn’t able to stop your knuckles from still making contact with the material. A small sting of pain shot through your hand and traveled up your arm.

“SHIT!” you cried, pulling your hand back and out of Matt’s grip to shake it out. “Ow.”

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” Matt’s typically sturdy demeanor melted into one of concern and consolation. His hands turned you to him, sliding down your arms to your hand so he could investigate himself. You let him, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, still shocked.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said. The tone of his voice was such a contrast to how imposing his suit made him, all soft and focused on your wellbeing. “Kinda backfired… I’m sorry. Come here, please.”

You allowed him to lead you to a fairly empty work table, pushing some stuff to the side before he promptly grabbed your hips to guide you up onto it. He moved toward the ice maker, grabbed some paper towels, and placed some of the ice chunks within it. When he came back he gently retrieved the injured hand you’d been holding and placed it in his palm so the ice pack could settle nicely on top of your knuckles.

“I appreciate the thought but, uh, maybe next time just call?” you said with a small laugh. The tension in Matt’s shoulders visibly released at the sound.

“Yeah, well, the good news is that you probably would have rung someone’s bell pretty good if you’d connected,” he assured, his knuckles gently touching your chin.

“I guess having superhuman reflexes worked in your favor then.”

“Definitely,” he said with a smile and took his helmet off, setting it on the workstation next to you. It was natural the way he settled between your legs, hands on either side of your thighs, and face close to yours.

“Is anything broken?” you asked softly.

“Not from what I could tell, just some bruising I think, but I can check again if you want,” he said.

“No, no, I trust you.”

“Can I make it up to you? For, the whole, you know, scaring you thing.”

You looked over his face, heat radiating from him. You’d been so distracted by the pain in your hand that you hadn’t been truly paying attention to his proximity and the way his head was leaning toward yours. Man was he a sight to see in his Daredevil getup. Tactical, practical, sexy, you name it. Seeing him in it would never get old, you were sure of that.

“What’d you have in mind?” you asked, surroundings completely lost on you.

You caught the tug of a smirk on his lips before they connected with yours, soft, delicious, and with a purpose you weren’t truly aware of. It wasn’t hard to lean into it, careful to not disturb the ice pack nestled on the back of your hand, and you hummed a little out of contentedness.

It felt as though this kiss was apology enough, but it was not the only thing Matt had had in mind. He pulled you to the edge of the metal table, slyly releasing his hands from his gloves and allowing them to plop onto the surface you’d previously been occupying. The scent of coffee filled your nostrils as you took a deep breath, a reaction to his fingers finding your folds and pressing against your clit.

“Matt,” you breathed.

He didn’t answer. Instead, the material separating him from you was tugged to the side and he dragged his middle finger from your entrance upwards—all the while his lips were still devouring your little gasps and whimpers.

It wasn’t hard for Matt to get you going, like he had a mental handbook he’d made for himself. The way he swirled his fingers around your clit and the way he so salaciously inserted one, two fingers inside of you without so much as a doubt. He alternated between his palm rubbing against you on the outside and eventually getting far enough inside to touch exactly where you needed to. It was like magic, something you’d never experienced before. One of the two was going to make you cum or, if you were lucky, both.

None of that mattered to you though, just being in Matt’s embrace was enough. You were going to be sore in more ways than one by the end of this week, you could feel it. Just like you could feel the way his fingers so expertly rubbed the most important parts of you.

“Shit,” you whined, good arm draping over his shoulder. Your hand found his hair, your comfortable position, and before long you said a mental ‘fuck it’ and allowed your other hand to join. The ice pack tumbled onto the workstation noisily but neither of you were concerned by it.

Objectively, you shouldn’t be fucking in the back room of your coffee shop, it probably violated a ridiculous amount of health codes. But here you were. The cameras weren’t the only thing that would need a wipe after this.

Matt kissed your neck softly, teeth nibbling ever so slightly as he focused on what his hands were doing. Like every other time you found yourselves pleasuring one another, time seemed to fade. Ten minutes, twenty, an hour, you didn’t know nor did you care. If eternity meant you could be in Matt’s hands, you’d drift away today.

All of the tension built within you released all at once, muscles flexing around his fingers, and your cry caught in the weave of his kevlar. Matt’s free hand rubbed your back, the other, unfortunately, leaving you. It was a few minutes of silence, blissed out from the surprise of it all, before you spoke again.

“I thought your apology was just going to be the kiss,” you said a bit breathlessly.

“That’d be like getting flowers after a fight.” Matt wiped his hand on a used towel. “Passable, but you could always do more.”

“Apology accepted. No notes.”

The both of you shared a laugh, pulling back enough to touch his nose with yours.

“Good,” he said and placed a quick kiss on your lips.

“Can I ask you for a favor, please?”

“Of course.” Matt nuzzled your nose a bit, a common thing that almost always made you feel good. Cute. Sweet.

“Since I’ve only got one usable hand, I’m going to need some help finishing up here,” you said and made a little show of your hand, pain simmering down to a sting. “ Especially disinfecting.”

Matt smiled, reapplied the ice to your hand, and patted your thighs affectionately.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, a little breathless.

“Stop.”

The command made a long groan leave your lips, but you obeyed. The vibrations left you, pulling away the device enough to strain the fabric of your underwear and close enough to return to your clit the moment he said so.

“How do you feel?”

“Frustrated,” you said through your deep breaths. Matt chuckled loud enough for you to hear. “I know you’re on patrol but are you sure you can’t… stop by?”

“Determined to distract me from both my jobs, huh?” he commented. You could hear the smile in his words, cheeky, not biting.

“You’re the one on the phone with me.”

“I can hang up.”

You sighed. The silent victory was almost worse than seeing him victorious in person. Those smile lines you liked to trace, the small kisses on your forehead when he knew you were pouting in response, the hand on the back of your neck to bring you closer despite playfully pulling away… He was so frustrating to fight against but he placated you in only ways he knew how. So sweet and devilish in everything he did.

“Can I continue?” you practically whispered. The vibrations just above your clit built an anticipation in your lower body, tense and yearning for contact. You practically dripped into the material of your underwear, entrance twitching in anticipation as it wished for Matt’s anything to fill it.

“Turn it down to the lowest,” he said with some effort. At first, you thought he might have been rubbing one out alongside of you in his suit in an alley or on a rooftop—a delicious image of him stroking himself entered your mind. Your hips shifted. Instead, though, you heard the sound of gravel, wind, and you realized he was running. “Whatever you hear, don’t stop unless I say so.”

Again, you obeyed.

The toy returned to your clit easily and you slotted it between the vibrating prongs. You started slow again, ears trained on the sounds from the phone, sliding the vibrator up and down methodically.

The sound of someone shouting in surprise almost broke your trance, soon followed by the cacophony of fighting sounds. Bodies slamming into things, glass shattering, gunfire, punches, and everything in between; it was all a tiny bit muffled like he’d placed the phone into his pocket. You were concerned but the steady sound of Matt’s breaths, calculated, helped ease your growing nerves that were threatening to ruin your orgasm. He was capable, but every time you heard a grunt when something collided with some part of him, you couldn’t help but feel more worry.

So instead you tried to focus on what he looked like in that suit. A red flash in the night as he took down anyone in his way. You’d never seen him in action and, though you weren’t sure you ever wanted to if it meant you were in danger, you couldn’t help but find the entire idea attractive as fuck.

You parted with the vibrator, tossing it to the side, and slid your hand back into your underwear. Matt wasn’t there but your mind did its best to replace your touch with his. A moan left you the moment your index and middle finger slid on either side of your clit and a ‘fuck’ left your lips.

“More.”

Matt’s voice surprised you, the smallest lull in the chaos on his end, but your back arched a little in response. Your fingers swirled around your clit, your slick liquid aiding the motion, and your mind imagined Matt’s hand instead. Your sounds became more frequent and louder, head turning toward the speaker so he could hear you.

More fighting from Matt’s end.

More moans from you.

The heat within you was outdoing the chill in your apartment. The cool temps of late Autumn in Hell’s Kitchen paled in comparison to your internal heat with every second your hand spent between your legs. 

You hadn’t even noticed that the action on Matt’s end had died down until he, out of breath, uttered: “Go ahead.”

Even if you hadn’t been as close as you were, that would’ve sent you over the edge on its own. Your orgasm shook you in a way you hadn’t been prepared for. The sound of your moan reverberated off the walls, back arched, and legs tensed to the point of discomfort. You were breathless, mind full of Matt, wishing he was there to take advantage of the situation. You were ready for him. You craved more.

And it was like he read your mind.

“I also brought refills for the coffee machine,” you added. “My special mix, of course.”

“God,” he breathed. “I swear if you ever break up—” Foggy points the coffee cup at each of you. “She gets your office, Matt.”

You heard his chuckle from said office and you did the same.

“Fair trade, I’d say,” Matt added.

“Mmhm,” Foggy said, taking a big sip from the coffee cup. “I’m out! You two behave! Karen fixed the fax machine once this month, she’ll be mad if she has to do it again!” Foggy called, voice trailing down the hallway, and you hit the door with your hip. It closed softly.

“Karen gone too?” you asked. The heels of your boots were loud against the floor, placing Karen’s coffee on the reception desk before turning back toward Matt’s office.

“Yeah, she’s doing some research at the paper for one of our cases,” he answered.

When you entered with the final two drinks, your eyes scanned the desk. It was covered in transcripts in braille, likely more important than you could ever know, and he had a single headphone in that was connected to the laptop beside him.

“How long has she been gone?” you asked. It was an innocent enough question, you thought. 

Despite Matt having walked you to work early this morning, a shared kiss outside the door of your unlit coffee shop, you missed him. It felt like a juvenile feeling, high school or college, an eight-hour workday away from the man that captured your mind, body, and at times you thought, your soul.

You offered Matt’s coffee cup to him and he took it easily, no facade for those who were normally in the office. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and opened his legs a bit. You resisted the urge to sit on his thigh, instead propping yourself up onto the desk in front of him.

“Not long, maybe thirty minutes?” he said. The coffee cup tilted as he brought it up to his lips for a taste, slow, knowing your eyes were on him. Your legs crossed as a reaction, thighs pressed tightly under the longer skirt you’d picked from your closet this morning. “Why do you ask?”

“Curious,” you responded, a little quicker than intended. He hummed, taking another sip from his cup before he balanced it on the knee opposite of you.

“ Why ?” he pressed, voice a little more stern. Your jaw clenched, heartbeat quickening, and you mentally cursed knowing he’d be able to tell. Almost as if on cue, a smirk crossed his lips. “Use your words, angel.”

A sigh left your lips.

“I dunno, I thought maybe we could, you know—” Matt’s hand slipped under the material of your skirt easily, fingertips running along your skin and yielding goosebumps. They wrapped around your ankle, gently coaxing your legs to separate.

“Words,” he reiterated.

“We could... fool around?” you asked, a little breathless. The coffee you’d brought for yourself sat unattended beside you.

“I don’t think I can today,” he said. Matt’s fingers, however, said otherwise as they pressed into the fabric of your underwear, a satin, no-edges pair that allowed him to tug at the fabric protecting the heat of your entrance. Your breath caught a little.

“Matt, please,” you gasped.

“Not right now, but later…” His finger ran from the bottom of your covered folds to the top, lingering on your clit. You couldn’t help the small defiant, frustrated sound that left your throat and, just as he pressed into the sensitive nub, he pulled away. Your body practically lurched from the desk in search of his touch.

“Matt—”

“No,” he said, bringing the coffee to his lips nonchalantly. No meant no, you just couldn’t help but feel a little letdown. It was your doing. “Don’t make that face.”

“It’s just a little unfair to work me up…”you muttered.

“Unfair?” he asked, a bit of surprise and sass in his tone. “Did I not take care of you this morning, angel? In the bath last night?”

A flush of red flowed into your cheeks, embarrassed that your need for him was driving your tongue. You should've walked away—kissed him and invited him to your bed later that night. That would have been the better option, instead here you were a horny little demon for your horned lover.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you tried, but Matt shook his head.

“No, no,” he said and returned the coffee cup to his knee. “You want to cum right?”

You swallowed a little hard at his tone. It wasn’t mean but it was a different level of stern that you hadn’t heard from him until now. Matt was the more dominant of the two of you, but he was soft in the way he went about handling you. Every time his hand wrapped around your neck or he moved you around or restrained you, it was done with careful pressure and thought. You’d let him do practically anything to you.

You nodded hesitantly.

“Words,” he repeated, head tilted up to you. The red of his glasses was lighter, sun peeking into the open blinds of his office and hitting them at the perfect angle.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

“Yes, what?” he practically whispered, a seductive undertone.

“Yes, daddy, Daredevil,” you whispered back, a little playful. He chuckled, but his smile was a bit more cocky. Matt lifted his empty hand and used his index finger to request you closer. You obliged, boots touching the ground as you inched toward him.

“You’re being a bit of a brat today aren’t you?” he asked. You bit your lip a little and watched his fingers find the material of your skirt again to lift it up, up, up. He pulled you by the fabric, legs separating naturally until his thigh was underneath you. “Sit.”

Slowly, eyes on his face the entire time, you lowered yourself onto his thigh, thick and muscular like many other parts of him. The material of your underwear pressed to your core once you were fully pressed against his dark slacks.

He leaned in, lips inches from yours, and said, “This is all you’re going to get right now. Take your orgasm, but I’m not gonna help you this time.”

With that, he leaned back, the hand that had been on your skirt going to his side and the other bringing the coffee back to his lips. You were stunned, unable to find the words for how taken aback you were… but also how incredibly turned on you felt. Your eyes narrowed for a second, a knowing smirk on his lips, and it just made you warmer, wetter, between your legs.

You said nothing and, instead, placed one hand on the opposite thigh and the other on his shoulder to balance yourself. Matt allowed it and leaned back as much as he could to watch while he nurtured his coffee.

Your eyes were on his face as you started a rhythm. You’d never done this before so it was a difficult task to accomplish at first, a little awkward in your movements, until you hit your clit by accident. Then, you repeated it. A slow drag, back to front, front to back, and pressing your clit into his thigh every time.

A soft breath left your lips, a whimper, and your pace gradually quickened. Your senses were on fire. The cologne you were starting to get used to felt like flames in your nostrils, the silence in the office—a place anyone could walk into at any time—and the sun through the blinds heated your already-warmed skin.

Matt hummed again, a delicious sound, when he saw your movements stutter. Surprisingly, you were already close to your destination, but the pain in your legs was hard to ignore. You stopped for a moment, resting on his thigh. If it had been hours, you wouldn’t have known, lost in the moments of riding him. Matt didn’t say anything as he watched you. If anyone were to know if you’d cum or not, it would be Matt Murdock, so, he waited. 

It took you a minute to muster the energy to continue and, by the time you found your rhythm again, Matt had finished his coffee. He placed the empty cup on his desk and surprised you by bobbing his leg up into your core. The motion made you moan loudly.

“Quiet, angel,” Matt warned, voice still low. “You know the rules. This is still a business.”

Oh, you knew the rules. You were pretty sure you’d both broken them at the same time you broke the fax machine. It was hard to not remember you both loudly gasping each other’s name when your breasts were pressed against the machine and he was practically flush against your ass every time he thrust into you.

You leaned forward, chin hooked over his shoulder, and let out a long sigh that evolved into a soft moan. Matt shifted a little underneath you—his erection was pressed into the material of his slacks and hitting your thigh with every forward thrust you made. Everything in you wanted to ride him properly, but you didn’t want to press him further today.

So you continued.

Matt’s, now free, hands graced your hips but he didn’t do anything to aid you, just like he’d said. It was enough to keep you going though. After an undetermined amount of time, the build-up you felt in your core finally erupted, and the orgasm you’d been chasing flowed through you. The sound you let out was a bit louder than intended but you pushed your mouth into his button-up in an attempt to stifle it.

“Atta girl,” Matt said, voice back to being fond. His hands rubbed your back to bring you down to Earth as gently as possible. There was a long pause during your comedown but eventually you did and leaned back again to look at him. The smirk he’d donned at the start of this ordeal was replaced by that soft smile you adored. He reached up, fixed a couple of loose strands of your hair, and gave your hip a small pat. “Feel better?”

“Mmmhm,” you managed.

“Good,” he said and placed a kiss on the arm you’d put back onto his shoulder. “Oh, by the way, what are you doing Saturday?”

“Uh, nothing as of right now?”

“Want to be my plus one to a fancy party one of our clients is throwing?” he asked.

“Do I have to wear a fancy dress?”

“A dinner dress, if you’re comfortable, or a suit, doesn’t matter to me.”

“I suppose,” you said, wrapping your arms fully around his neck.

“You suppose?” he asked. There was a tiny lilt in his voice. “Already being bratty again?”

“Mmmm,” you grumbled.

“If you’re good for the rest of the day, nice and patient, I’ll bring back the good takeout tonight—” He pressed his lips to yours for a kiss, luscious on your lips. “From that place you like—” Another kiss. “And do that thing with my tongue… And hands—”

Matt paused. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Karen and Foggy.”

“What?”

“They’re about to open the door.”

You got to your feet immediately, straightening out the fabric of your outfit the best you could. Matt adjusted himself as well, his bulge very apparent in his pants, and a prominent dark spot on his thigh where you’d been sitting. The slick feeling you had in your underwear seeped into the fabric and you wondered if anyone would truly notice…

Before you could formulate any solutions, Matt reached up and grabbed the coffee you still hadn’t touched. Just as the door opened Matt tilted the cup until the contents landed on his leg and let out an exclamation that startled you. Your hands went up to your mouth in surprise and a snort-like chuckle left you.

“Damn it,” he said loud enough for his associates to hear.

“You okay, Matt?” Karen asked, expression concerned.

“Ah, yeah, just a bit clumsy,” he laughed. God, you could get on your knees right now. Matt turned to you, name leaving his lips in a slightly pitiful way as he played into this ‘helpless’ klutz routine. “Mind getting me some paper towels, please?”

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this for him in the last month—hell you hadn’t even known how to do it right that time without his directions—but you found your pokes more purposeful. 

Ninja sword was the flavor of the night apparently, cut clean through his suit and hit his shoulder. Seeing him hurt twisted up your insides every time. He knew. In fact, he protested coming to you with his wounds in the beginning but your protests to the contrary were just a bit more convincing. You could trust each other and that was that.

“Your hands are steadier,” he whispered. A smile crept to the corners of your lips, appreciating the praise.

“I forget you can always tell.”

“Tell what?”

“How I’m feeling,” you said. “Even when I’m putting on a brave face.”

Matt breathed out another bubble of laughter, turning his head a bit so you could see his smile. In a way, it was comforting to know that he could tell what you were feeling most, if not all, of the time. Communicating feelings with a partner was always a struggle and, while obviously not perfect, this entire relationship was amongst the easier ones you’d dealt with. Horns and all.

“Alright,” you said, finishing up the stitches. “Done.”

Matt groaned in relief and straightened up his posture, winding his shoulders a little bit to release some of the pressure that had built up. You tucked the materials you’d been using back into the First Aid kit, gathering those with blood to be disposed of, and placed the kit back next to your bed. It was useless to place it anywhere else nowadays.

Your apartment was dark when you crossed the living room and into your open kitchen. The little bit of moonlight you were privy to and the light from your bedroom lit the way toward the trash can where you dumped all of the blood-covered items and such. With a quick scrub of your hands, you grabbed a glass of water for Matt and made your way back to the bedroom.

Matt was still at the edge of the bed when you returned. The top of his briefs peeked out of the top pants, which had been undone for a bit now, and when you approached an endearing smile crossed his lips. Even through your worry and want to care for him, the attraction you felt for this man was winning out again. You approached, stopping just in front of him, and offered the glass to him.

“Thank you,” he said, fingers grazing yours as he obliged and took a long sip. You couldn’t help but watch the way a loose drop trickled down his five o’clock shadow, down his throat, and settled on his collarbone.

“Anytime,” you said, voice soft and fond, hand on the crook of his neck now, playing with the hair at the base. Matt’s hand found the back of your thigh, the roughness of his skin pressing into yours, urging you closer. You obliged and he placed the glass down on the nightstand before his other hand found a parallel position on your other thigh. “Can I do anything else for you, Mister Daredevil?”

He chuckled at the nickname, your playful tone, and his hands slid up until they were settled just under your shorts. You stepped closer to him, knee rubbing semi-unintentionally against his bulge—finding him growing harder and harder by the second. Seemed he was feeling the same as you. He placed his chin at the top of your stomach, head angled upwards, and you couldn’t help but give his cheek an affectionate scratch.

“I think I just need to relax,” he muttered. Your hand moved from his cheek and up through his hair, tugging it ever so slightly. You were rewarded with a content little moan that you felt through your old tee shirt against your stomach where his neck had settled.

“I can help with that,” you assured.

“Can you?” he asked, intrigue prominent in his words. “You don’t have to.” You felt the sincerity in that statement, you knew it to be true, but it just made you want to do it more. Your head bent down so that your lips hovered just above his, skin touching for the briefest of seconds.

“But I want to,” you breathed and closed the space between you. It was sensual and deep. This time you both released a groan, Matt’s fingers digging even rougher into your thighs. You pulled away, a little reluctantly, and noticed how he chased after your lips, eyes fluttering open.

You lowered yourself until his hands moved to his knees and you were on yours. One of Matt’s eyebrows raised but he didn’t oppose.

“So this is what you meant,” he said softly.

“What’d you think I meant?”

“I dunno, maybe a bath?” he teased.

“Maybe after,” you said with a smile. “Now, relax.”

And he did just that. Matt leaned back, hands on the sheets behind him, and allowed you access to him. You grabbed the waistband of his pants, tactical material rigid as you tugged it down with his briefs, lifting himself a bit like you had the day prior. Before long he was free, erection before your eyes and waiting for the attention you were promising.

You maneuvered yourself to the perfect place between his legs, elbows resting on his muscular thighs, and took him in your hands. Matt’s breath hitched for a moment, invested in every movement you made.

You leaned forward, gathering the saliva building in your mouth and letting it fall onto the tip. You placed both hands around his shaft to work the liquid around it, his whimpers getting caught in his throat. When you were satisfied, you gently wrapped your lips around his tip, tongue teasing the underside.

Matt moaned—a drawn-out sound that spurned you on. He was a vocal lover, one of your favorite things about him, and it always made you feel confident in the way you took care of him. Despite the frustrations of being the partner of a part-time vigilante, watching him come undone by your tongue felt good —proud to stoke the fire of Hell’s Kitchen’s personal devil in your mouth. Revitalized.

You found your rhythm, a steady motion of your hands, mouth, tongue, breaths… and Matt was coming undone. His hand found your head but didn’t push, using it as an anchor to the world if you had to guess, fingers intertwined with your hair. Moans rolled off his tongue and settled in the air of your apartment. It wasn’t the loudest either of you had been but it wasn’t the quietest either.

“Louder,” you managed before sliding your mouth over the head of his cock again. He huffed, a sound he probably meant as a laugh, that transformed into a loud drawn-out moan that cascaded over your body. It made you shiver. He was getting close.

“Angel,” he rasped, pet name tumbling off his tongue.

“Mmhmm,” you answered, mouth not leaving him. Your tongue swirled and worked its way around the tip, shaft, and underside. There was a small stutter from him, an indication, and you readied yourself.

The tension in Matt’s body released all at once, coating your tongue and filling up your mouth. He fell back onto the bed when you released him, breaths heavy and staggered. You got to your feet, mouth full, and made your way to the bathroom.

You spat the viscous liquid into the running water of the sink, took a few swigs from the tap to rinse, and grabbed a nearby towel. The water streamed onto the material, warm, and you wrung it out a little before exiting.

“Well…” he said. “I’m much more relaxed now.” You chuckled and approached him with the towel. He gently took it from you.

“Good,” you said and laid down next to him. A few moments passed, quiet yet intimate, your fingers running along the bare skin of his arm just for some contact. You turned your head to him and examined his features, eyes closed, small beads of sweat on his forehead.

“You said that 10 minutes ago,” he replied, a cheeky smile apparent despite the back and forth of your kisses, biting, tasting. Your makeup was going to need a touch-up, your hair a redo, and the clock was running down before your shift technically started. Thankfully, owning your own business had its perks—like making your own schedule and allowing tardiness when the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen or his lawful counterpart, Matthew Murdock, wanted to be between your legs.

“Foggy’s not gonna be happy you’re late,” you muster. Matt’s hands found your hips, gripping them a bit roughly, thumbs digging into the dough of them. It was hard enough that it might bruise but you loved that.

“It’s only 20 minutes.” The words were mumbled as he wrapped his forearm around your lower back, and a squeak left you as he pulled your lower body toward him. Your head softly plopped onto the couch, a smirk on his lips when your eyes fell on his face.

“If you hadn’t been out on patrol so late last night we could’ve done this more—” He gave you a firm pull by your hips, a gasp escaping your lips, and positioned your back in a hedonistic arc on the sofa’s arm. 

“I’ll make it up to you when I get the chance,” he said and you knew he was good for it. If the last month or so of exclusively seeing each other proved anything is that the company and the sex were mutually spectacular. Even if Matt’s “job” sometimes got in the way or had him falling into your apartment at odd hours of the evening—which wasn’t unlike the first time you both met and he mistook your apartment for his. There was a lot of confusion and blood that night as you patched him up, but it led to this so you couldn’t complain.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you tease. In that moment you felt him pull you up—to which you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn’t long before his condom-covered cock pushed past your entrance, still gentle but with a purpose. A moan escaped your lips and your back arched, pulling up off the arm ever so slightly.

The sun was just high enough to pass the buildings next door and its rays illuminated you both through your half-drawn curtains. What a picture you two must have been. Your pleated skirt practically folded back against your exposed stomach, red sweater bunched up under your breasts, and Matt, still suited up, tie thrown across his shoulder, and buried inside of you. What a show for anyone nosey enough to look.

Matt’s grip on your thighs didn’t falter, even when you reached up to grab his wrists, nails digging a bit into his arm as you held on, pleasure already building up in you. You were never worried about Matt’s aim, as far as you had experienced, he never missed and this time was certainly no different.

“Shit,” he said, the momentum of his hips picking up with each thrust. As much you both wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and play hooky together, Matt had a pretty important case to figure out and you had coffee to serve. He also had nothing to prove to you—the first night you’d spent together confirmed that multiple rounds were not an issue and neither was pleasing you.

You came first, a convulsive sort of feeling, and Matt followed soon after like he always did. It wouldn’t surprise you at this point if he timed it somehow… He gently put you down, a bit breathless, and grabbed the back of the couch with one hand for support.

“You’re gonna be late,” you say, also breathless.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling himself out of you and stumbling back a little when your legs dropped from his back. You readjusted yourself on the seat and picked your underwear up from where they’d fallen onto the floor. Matt moved to your bathroom with the condom he was already tying off and you followed behind, a little slower, the heels of your boots hard against the floor.

Matt was fixing his suit when you entered, underwear twirling on your index finger—a pair of red lace, your favorites. Also, Matt’s. He smiled at your approach and set his tie in place before he turned to face you. Without a word, you took your underwear and slid it into one of the front pockets of his pants.

“Bring those back to me later, would you?” you asked, getting close enough for him to feel your breath on his lips.

“Mmm,” he hummed and leaned down to place a similar kiss that got you into this situation in the first place. “I’ll think about it.”

Matt turned to leave the bathroom and you gave him a small pat on his ass, warranting a chuckle.