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scribes-of-valar · 1 day ago

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𝘉𝘰𝘺'𝘴 𝘢 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘳

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I don't know what has creeped into my brain, but I've started rewatching the show and I literally wrote this in a day.

✬ summary ✬ Finally taking the plunge and ruining your friendship with Clark, you go on your first date but the next day he's acting like a whole new man. Not a good one. You don't know if your relationship can recover from his cruel behavior, but he's not going to give up so easily.

For the nth time, you stand before your mirror and find yourself dissatisfied. No outfit is right, each one is too little, too much, too slutty, not slutty enough. You haven’t even started on shoes yet, you would be in the grave before you were ready for this date. Throwing yourself down on your desk chair, you start tugging the stockings down your legs.

You’re not sure why you thought tights would work during the peak of a Kansas summer, but you’re clearly not thinking much at all today. Head propped in your hand, you slump against the edge of your desk, fingers running idly over the scattered makeup on the surface. Even that hasn't gone right, your normal safeties failing you when you need them most.

Maybe this was all a sign from the universe. You and Clark have been friends since you could walk, what if this stupid date was going to ruin everything between you?

Sighing, you reach for the only framed picture in your room. It’s silly, something Martha took when you were both too busy playing to see her. You and Clark, freshly five, sit around your old purple play table, the both of you covered in glitter and rocking some of the biggest tutus you’ve ever seen. You’re yelling at him in the picture, probably telling him to put his pinky up when he drinks his tea, and he’s just grinning at you.

It’s funny how that smile never changed. Something warm unfurls and blooms in your chest the longer you look at the picture. It’s Clark, he doesn’t care what you wear or if you’ve put on makeup or not. You both loved each other long before that was ever a problem, and it’s not going to start being one now.

Sucking in a deep breath you put on the first outfit you’d picked out, a simple white sundress. You rarely get to wear it, anyway. Might as well test it out now. You check the mirror one last time just as someone knocks on your bedroom door.

Clark calls out your name on the other side, sounding hesitant. “Sorry, um,” he chuckles and you can picture the way he must be nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I got here a little early.”

You dart away from the mirror, kicking all the clothes under your bed. You slide the makeup into your desk drawer to be dealt with later. For now, you just need to make sure that he doesn’t see what a hot mess your room is.

Sucking in a deep breath, you tug the hem of your dress down and shake off your worries. This is Clark. Your Clarkie, the boy you’ve tormented since you were a toddler. There’s nothing to worry about.

“You’re always early, Clark,” you tell him with a soft smile as you open the door.

His eyes widen slightly as he looks down at you. You did purposefully pick a dress that would emphasize certain aspects of yours. The pink flush on his cheeks is entirely worth it. Your eyes are drawn to the bunch of flowers in his hand and you grin. “Are those for me?” You gush, opening your door wider for him to step inside.

“Yeah,” he holds them out to you, blue eyes stuck on yours. “I thought you might like them.” You bring them closer to your face, taking in the faint scent of the roses.

“I love them, thank you,” you find yourself unable to stop smiling as you drop the roses in a glass of water by your bed. After building up your hopes and anxieties for a week because of this date, you're struggling to calm yourself down.

Turning, you find him already looking at you with a soft smile that calms your racing heart just a bit. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while,” he tells you, taking a step closer to you. His hands find your own, pulling you into him. “Not just the date,” he amends, smile stretching wider. “Asking you out. I think our friends were getting sick of listening to me talk about you all the time.”

You laugh, “I think they were getting sick of both of us. I feel so oblivious that it took me so long to realize you felt the same way.”

He huffs, though his tone remains good-natured, “How do you think I feel?”

“Well,” you lace your fingers with his and step closer, “we’re doing it now, that’s what matters.” He ducks down and you feel your breath stutter, but he only leaves a brief kiss on your cheek, pulling back with a sheepish expression. A gentleman through and through.

You’d never thought that knowing Clark for as well and as long as you have could be a bad thing. But now, sitting in The Talon and awkwardly dipping your fries in ketchup just to have something to do, you’re starting to realize it is. Being with each other nearly every day leaves you wanting for conversation. You both are already so caught up on what’s going on in each other’s lives that you’re struggling not to just bring up the weather.

Clark groans and you startle, the noise breaking through the thick silence between you. He leans back in the booth, head resting on the edge and you find your eyes drawn to the strong muscles of his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

Clearing your throat you glance away from him and push your plate away. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” Clark mutters, more to himself than you, but you hear him anyway.

“It’s, well,” you pause, struggling for the words. Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, you shake your head. “I just don’t know what to do when we’re like this,” he peeks an eye open and you gesture between the two of you.

His lips quirk up and he straightens once more. “I feel like I should be able to talk to you, same as always. But I don't know what to say, I don’t want to risk messing this up.” He trails off, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly. The same dreaded panic you’ve been feeling all week is thick in his voice.

“Clark,” you utter his name lowly, reaching your hand out across the table. He’s slow to meet your eyes. “I feel the same way. We’re being stupid because I know that nothing you could say is going to change how I feel about you.” You narrow your eyes, taking on a teasing tone, “And you better feel the same way,” you scold.

He huffs out a laugh, larger hand enveloping yours entirely and squeezing gently, “You know I do.”

You shrug, “Then we’re just being stupid, again,” you add, rolling your eyes.

His eyes light up with mischief, a smile spreading as he stands from his seat. You jump back slightly, surprised by the sudden movement. “I’ve got an idea, come on,” he holds his hand out and you take it once more.

You let out a surprised laugh as he takes off, dragging you out of the Talon behind him. “Where are we going?”

He pauses for a moment, looking over his shoulder at you. It awes you, just how handsome he is. “It’s a surprise,” he winks and tugs you closer.

“Your surprise is… the school?” You frown, taking Clark’s hand as he helps you down from the truck.

“No,” he defends, shooting you a sarcastic look as he closes the door behind you. “We’re sneaking onto the field, like we used to. Maybe a little jog down memory lane will help,” he gives you a cheesy smile and you feel like you might melt.

The sun hangs low on the horizon, its fading golden hues painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. The light catches in Clark’s hair, casting a warm halo around him. Sometimes he seems so overwhelmingly perfect that you wonder if you’ll ever be enough for him. Even when you were beginning to give up hope, he comes up with something so sweet, so thoughtful, that all you want to do is kiss him.

Swallowing down the urge, you place your hand in his and let him lead you around the side of the school. “You know, we only used to do this to mess with the football players,” you tease. “Hard to do when you’re on the team, Clarkie.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Hey, we can still tear the seams on their jerseys- just not mine.” He throws you a grin, and it sends a rush of warmth through your chest.

The familiar path behind the school is darker now, but your steps fall in sync like muscle memory. The fence around the field looms ahead, a little more daunting than normal. It’s harder to climb in your dress, but Clark gives you a boost. One so strong you nearly fly over.

Landing with a huff, you turn to glare at him as he pulls himself over with ease. “Too much torque in the thrust, Clark,” you grumble, brushing off your hands.

He chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulders as you both step onto the field. “Come on, we should get down there before the sun’s gone.”

Dew from the grass seeps its way into the thin fabric of your shoes as you walk toward the center of the field. The bleachers stand empty, the goalposts stretch high into the deepening sky, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a breath.

Clark shrugs off his jacket, laying it out on the grass and motioning for you to sit. You hesitate for a moment, but then you look down at the white fabric of your dress and decide you’re okay with sacrificing Clark’s jacket.

Clark lowers himself beside you, leaning back on his palms as he gazes up at the sky. The last streaks of sunlight fade, and one by one, the stars blink to life above you. You’ve always thought the sky above Smallville was different than anywhere else. As if the stars were reaching out to you. Considering your track record with meteors, it doesn’t seem that far off.

For a while, neither of you speak. The quiet is comfortable, not at all like the stilted silence you’d felt in the diner. You’re content just being here with him, under the vast, endless sky.

Clark is the first to break the peace. He shifts beside you, drawing in a slow breath as he disrupts the silence. “I’ve,” he hesitates on the word, “cared about you for a long time,” he admits, voice low and steady. “Longer than I ever told you.”

You glance over at him and find his gaze fixed on the stars. His jaw is tense, like he’s bracing himself for you to tell him this was all one big mistake and you’re better off as friends. A smile pulls at your lips at the ridiculous thought and you reach toward the small space between you both. Placing your hand over his, he finally looks at you.

“I know things are,” he pauses, “a little weird between us right now.” He looks at your hand and flips his palm so he can lace your fingers together. “But I don’t want to lose what we have. If you’re willing to make it work, I am too.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment all you can do is stare at him. At the boy who’s always been there, the boy who, despite everything, still makes your heart race. Your smile spreads, “Of course I’m willing,” you whisper.

His breath hitches, and then he grins, the same grin that will never fail to make you lightheaded with infatuation.

Clark was meant to be here an hour ago. You’d made plans to go to a screening of some old movies at the theater. Sitting on the steps of your front porch, head propped in your hand, you look out at the farmlands around you. He only lives a few minutes away from you, you can’t fathom why he would be so late.

You’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s not the type of guy to just leave you hanging. But there’s something humiliating about sitting out here all on your own. The wind has already fussed and ruined the hairstyle you’d so meticulously worked on. You’d already missed half of one of the movies. And the sun is beginning to set.

Part of you is begging to just go inside and give up, but you're more stubborn half won't give in. Clark isn't like this, he wouldn't do something like this without good reason.

A rumble sounds down the highway and your head perks up, crestfallen look replaced with something more hopeful. Getting to your feet, you grimace at the pins and needles tingling down your legs. Walking down the steps and getting a good look at the approaching motorcycle, your stomach plummets.

Not Clark, then, though it’s odd to see someone beside you or the Kent’s driving on this stretch of road. Your hand tightens around the hem of your tank top as the motorcycle begins to slow as it approaches your house. Heart picking up, you take a step back toward the safety of the porch.

Maybe they just need directions or maybe…

Your brain breaks for a moment as the rider pulls into your driveway.

Maybe they’re Clark.

Your jaw drops as he shoots you a smarmy grin, getting off his father’s bike and striding toward you with a swagger you’re unused to. “Hiya, sweetheart." You take a step back from him, brows furrowed.

“Clark,” you spit his name out in shock, eyes darting between him and the bike. Knowing that he’s not dying somewhere in a ditch, your anger at being left waiting surges forth. “You’re an hour late because you were busy stealing your dad’s bike?” You demand, trying to ignore just how good he looks leaning against the post of your porch in that ridiculous leather jacket.

“Sure,” he chuckles and rolls his eyes, brushing past you and heading back to the bike. “That’s why,” he snaps, like you’re slow. He straddles the bike and nods you forward. “You coming or not?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you glance between him and the front door of your house. Again, giving him the benefit of the doubt, you choose to get on the back of the bike. Maybe this is all just one big act that he’s putting on to surprise you with something at the theater.

He turns the key and you frown, “Helmet?” You ask weakly. He doesn’t respond, just laughs and peels out of your driveway. You squeal, grabbing on tight to his waist and burying your face in his back.

This isn’t an act, and this definitely isn’t Clark. But whoever he is, you just got on the back of his motorcycle like an idiot.

With every turn and rev of the bike, you prepare to feel the pavement beneath your palms. Still, as reckless and nauseating as his driving is, he manages to get you here in one piece. Though, where here is, you’re not sure.

Clark swings off the bike effortlessly, grinning over his shoulder at a group of girls walking into the building behind him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, about the way your hands still tremble from the ride. You’d been too busy clutching onto him for dear life to pay any attention to where you were going and you’re starting to regret it.

The building is nothing more than dirtied brick, the faded neon sign above the door advertising beer and live music. The bass thumps from inside, vibrating the gravel beneath your feet. From within, you hear jeering shouts, the telltale sounds of a crowd on the verge of chaos.

“Clark,” despite his odd behavior, you still find yourself stepping toward him and holding tight to his hand. The sheltered life of Smallville hasn’t exactly prepared you for backwoods, seedy bars. “Where are we?” You peer up at him and the glint in his eyes makes your stomach clench with trepidation.

“Oh,” he laughs, tugging you toward the entrance, “you’re gonna like this,” he swears. Despite the way you dig your heels into the dirt, he keeps pulling, giving you no choice but to follow him into the bar.

The air changes as you step inside, it’s worse than you thought it would be. Thick with heat and smoke, it pulses with the heavy bass of a song you don’t recognize. Multicolored lights flash across the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The scent of spilled beer, sweat, and something sticky clings to the air.

Your fingers tighten around Clark’s arm as he moves forward, practically wrapping yourself around him. He weaves through the crowd like he belongs here. If you let go now, you know he wouldn’t stop, he’d just keep going, leaving you all alone in a place you want no part of.

Clark drags you to the edge of the bar and slips a crumpled twenty across the counter. Wordlessly, and without checking for IDs, the bartender slides over two beers. Clark grabs one and to your utter shock, tilts it back, downing one long gulp.

“You gonna stand there watching me,” he challenges, “or are you finally going to let loose and have some fun?”

“No, Clark, I’m not drinking. And neither should you! You’re driving us back,” you snap, eyes darting around the seedy crowd.

Settling the half-empty bottle on the counter, he smirks, “Relax. We’re here to have a good time,” his tone almost sounds like a threat. Have a good time or else…

His gaze flickers toward the dance floor and your heart sinks at the mischief in his expression. “And I know exactly how to help you loosen up.”

Again, he gives you no time to protest or even form an opinion before he grabs you and pulls you toward the center of the dance floor. You feel like a leashed dog, no choice but to obey.

The music shifts into something darker, slower, a sultry beat thrumming through the air. It charges the atmosphere of the dancers and the crowd sways, bodies pressed tightly together as they move with the rhythm.

“Clark,” you glance around at the writhing bodies and swallow thickly. “I don’t-”

“Just one dance,” he cuts you off smoothly, voice low and coaxing. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as his hands find your waist. His grip is tight but not uncomfortable as he helps move your hips into the rhythm of the song. “Trust me.”

You hesitate, but it’s easier than you thought to simply fall into the slow, lazy grind of the dance. Your body moves in sync with his, despite the apprehension tightening through you. There’s something wrong with him, that’s clear enough. This isn’t the Clark you know, this is some bold, almost predatory version of him.

One of his hands drifts up from your waist, dragging the hem of your thin tank top up slightly as his fingers brush against the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his grip tightens, tilting your head back. You press your hands against his chest, eyes rounding in confusion.

“Clark,” you whisper his name, breathless from the proximity. “What are you-”

He cuts you off, voice rough and breath warm against your lips, “Finally taking what I want.” His head dips down, lips capturing your own. It’s not the soft, gentle first kiss you’d always imagine you would share with him. This is hard, demanding.

He’s claiming you, marking his territory as he slips his hand lower on your waist. He pulls you flush against him, hips pressing against yours. A heat slowly spreads in you, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling that this isn’t Clark.

You push against his chest and you know he lets you go, the situation still under his control. He backs off with an irritated look, eyes narrowed down at you.

Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps as you stare up at him. “What the hell, Clark?”

“What’s your problem?” He snaps, hand flexing around your neck before dropping to his side.

“You,” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “You’re not yourself, Clark.”

His jaw tenses, fists clenching by his side as he takes a step back from you. “Why? Because I’m finally doing what I want?” His voice is sharp, it bites at the fraying edges of your patience. The music around you picks up pace and somebody slams into you from behind.

With a pained gasp, you stumble forward, rubbing the sore spot where their elbow had slammed into your ribs. Clark watches it all with a bored look. Gone is the gentle, considerate boy you’ve known your whole life. This boy before you is reckless and selfish, you don’t want anything to do with him.

His attention flickers past you and you turn to follow his gaze. A pretty blonde sways in the middle of the dance floor, hips moving gracefully as her laughter rings above the music. Without a word or a second glance, he steps around you, striding toward her with the same effortless confidence he just used on you.

Frozen by disbelief and anger, you watch as he slides a hand around her waist, murmuring something in her ear that makes her giggle. The crowd shifts again, blocking your view of the two. It’s for the better as you suck in sharp breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay.

A lump clogs your throat and you rush toward the back of the bar, hoping there might be a bathroom to hide in. You just need a second away from the sweat and noise of the dancers. You stumble through a stained door and slam it closed behind you, wiping desperately at the tears rolling down your cheeks.

After splashing cold water over your face and simply standing in there for a few minutes, you finally feel stable enough to go back outside. You’re just going to ask Clark to take you home and then you hope you never have to see him again.

But when you return to the dance floor, heart still pounding its way up your throat, you can’t find Clark. You can’t even find the blonde. He’s acting like a jackass, but there’s no way he would just leave you.

Right?

You rush outside, your stomach dropping like a stone when you see the parking lot. The motorcycle is gone.

He left you behind.

“Thank you,” your gaze stays trained on your hands, not ready to look at Lex. You feel his stare boring into the side of your head before he turns back to the road.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you called me instead of trying to get home on your own.” He pauses, hand tightening on the steering wheel as he takes in a deep breath. “But what were you doing in a place like that?”

You slump in the passenger seat, rubbing a tired hand over your face. All you want to do is go home and wash this night away. You’re hesitant to tell him the truth, knowing he might give Clark hell for leaving you there. A part of you is still primed to protect him, but the other part, the one that was just left behind, can’t care.

“Clark,” you tell him and his head whips around so fast you’re surprised you don't hear it snap. “He was acting weird tonight. Took me there and then left with another girl.”

“Are you serious?” He demands, sounding angry on your behalf. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy for anger. “Clark wouldn’t do that.”

You suck in a deep breath and finally look at him, “The one I know wouldn’t,” you offer vaguely, ignoring his confused expression. “Honestly, I just want to get home and never talk to him again.”

Lex chuckles a little, “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me,” you snap, glaring out the window. You’re debating calling Clark’s dad and telling him that Clark took the bike. If not just for petty revenge. Just the thought of it makes you feel tired.

“I’m sure,” Lex starts, already sounding like he doesn’t believe himself, “he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for what he did.” You roll your eyes, giving him a deadpan look. His hand lifts slightly off the wheel in surrender. “There’s no excuse,” he amends.

“No, there’s not.” The car rolls to a stop and you look out the window, surprised to already be at your house. The porch light is off, your parents must already be asleep. “I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell Lex, offering him a weak but grateful smile.

He waves you off, “Forget it, I’m glad I could help. If you ever need anything else…” He trails off, leaving the offer open-ended.

You nod, opening the passenger door and stepping out. You’re just about to close it when something occurs to you. Clark always gives you a ride to school, you’re not going to have a way to get there after tonight.

“Oh,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation.

“What’s wrong?” Lex looks concerned and you offer him an apologetic grimace.

“I actually do need something,” you tell him, sheepish and pleading.

Clark wakes up with a fog clouding his mind, a dull pounding behind his eyes. Vague flashes of memory flicker through the haze. The sound of your upset voice, the thrum of music, and the feeling of your body pressed against his. It makes his cheeks flush with warmth, but none of it connects for him. Everything’s one frustrating blur.

But he can figure that out later, his gaze drifts toward the clock on his nightstand and his eyes widen. He leaps off the bed, nearly tripping as he gets wrapped up in his sheets. He was meant to pick you up ten minutes ago.

Clark throws on the first clothes he finds, raking a hand through his messy hair as he bolts down the stairs. His backpack is nearly left by the door as he rushes out. If he could, he’d run you to school. It would be so much faster, so much easier. But that would require explaining why he could do that, and he doesn’t think you’d appreciate him springing the truth of his abilities on you this early in the morning.

You’re not exactly a morning person.

He speeds down the road, the truck’s tires kicking up dust as he pulls into your driveway. Throwing the truck in park he doesn’t even bother cutting the engine before leaping out. Two steps at a time, he bounds up your front porch and knocks firmly on the door.

His foot taps against the wood of the porch as he checks the watch on his wrist. If you hurry, you might both be able to make it to first period on time. After a minute of silence he knocks again, but he’s greeted with the same silence.

He steps back, brows knitted together, and his gaze flickers toward the front window. He ignores the feeling of being a complete creeper as he peers through the glass. The house looks unnaturally still, none of your usual morning mess as you rush to get ready on time. The lights are off and he can’t hear anything inside.

Your parents are usually gone before you even wake up. He can’t think of anyone else who would give you a ride. Or why you would even have anyone else drive you. A strange unease coils in his stomach and another brief memory flashes through his mind. It’s not much, just a pretty blonde smiling up at him.

Jaw tightening, Clark turns back to his truck, climbing inside and heading straight for school. He’s sure everything’s fine. You probably had Chloe or Lana pick you up. Still, even with him being ten minutes late, he’s not sure how they would have gotten to your house before him.

Pulling into the parking lot he frowns, greeted first thing in the morning by Lex’s ridiculously overpriced sports car. It’s parked right in front of the entrance and he wonders what business Lex would have at the high school.

The passenger door opens and you step out, your bag slung over one shoulder. You turn to Lex, smiling as you give him a sweet wave. Clark watches it all with his shoulders tensed as something sharp and hot twists in Clark’s chest.

He watches as Lex pulls out of the parking lot, jaw clenched in irritation. He throws the truck into park and gets out, heading toward the front doors. Inside, the hallways seem more crowded than usual but he still manages to make you out almost instantly.

You’re at your locker, pulling out books as if nothing��s wrong. As if you didn’t get a ride with Lex Luthor and ditch him for seemingly no reason at all.

Clark makes a beeline for you, tightening his grip on his backpack as he stops beside your locker. “Hey,” he calls, forcing a smile. “Did I miss something? I thought I was picking you up this morning.”

You don’t even bother looking at him, eyes stubbornly pointed forward. “Guess I made other plans.”

The coldness in your voice stops him in his tracks. His stomach drops, smile faltering as you continue to pretend there’s anything more for you to grab from your locker. “Okay…” He exhales slowly. “Did something happen?”

You slam your locker shut and he jumps. Whipping around to face him, your eyes are dark with anger as you glare up at him. “Really?” You snap and his eyes widen in surprise. “This is what you’re doing, pretending you don’t remember?”

Clark blinks, thrown off by the heat in your voice. “I-”

“Forget it,” you cut him off. You shake your head, looking tired. “Just leave me alone, Clark. Seems to be something you’re good at, anyway.” You whip around, storming off down the hall and leaving him reeling. He wants to go after you but you’re already slipping into your English class and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to talk to you in there.

He hovers in the hallway, stunned. What the hell happened last night?

His mind races, grasping at the fleeting memories. There was a bar, he’s not even sure how he found that place. He was dancing with you and then kissing you. His eyes widen at that, grimacing at the blurred memory of your rough first kiss. He’d been hoping for something a little sweeter than some backwoods bar.

He remembers you being angry at him but that’s it. There are holes and gaps that he can’t remember no matter how hard he tries. There’s only one thing that could explain the reckless behavior, the memory gaps, and the way he felt like someone else.

Red kryptonite.

His heart sinks and his head falls into his hands. He hurt you and probably scared you. You don’t even want to look at him now. Straightening up, he runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of a way to fix all of this.

He’s not sure he can, not when he can’t even remember what he’s done to you.

Admittedly, ambushing you outside of class probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. But he needed to make sure you couldn’t run from him. You walk out the door, books clutched to your chest, and head down.

Clark falls into step beside you and you briefly glance up, rolling your eyes when you realize it’s him. You pick up your pace, clearly trying to put space between the both of you. “Wait,” he calls, stepping in front of you. “One chance to explain, please.”

You stop in the middle of the hall, uncaring to the students parting around you. “Clark-”

“I don’t remember everything,” he admits, voice low and desperate as he pushes through your objection. “But I know something happened. And I need to fix this.”

Exhaling sharply, you can’t seem to meet his eye. “There’s nothing to fix.”

That can’t be true. He won’t let that be true. “Please,” he presses. “Just… one chance.”

For a moment, you hesitate, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you take a step back from him. “Fine,” you relent, sounding wholly reluctant. “We’ll talk after school.”

Relief floods through him and he finally manages a real smile for the first time all morning. “Okay,” he utters, trying not to sound surprised. “Great, I’ll drive you home, and-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Lex is giving me a ride,” he opens his mouth to protest and you shoot him a sharp look. His jaw snaps closed and he sighs. “I’ll meet you at your house later,” you tell him, leaving no room for argument.

His stomach twists as you turn and walk away. Lex, he scoffs and shakes his head. When did the two of you get close? One bad night and you’re already done with him?

The thought should fill him with anger, but it only makes his worry grow. Whatever he had done last night must have been truly awful. He hates that there’s a chance he won’t be able to fix this. But what makes it worse is knowing that it’s all his fault.

Clark’s in his room when he hears you pull up to the house. He doesn’t waste any time as he heads down the stairs. “What happened to ‘I never want to see him again?’” Clark has no shame as he listens to your conversation. He doesn’t appreciate how comfortable Lex sounds teasing you.

“Yeah, well,” your voice loses its muffled edge as you open the passenger door. “I deserve an explanation.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Lex tells you as Clark opens his front door. Rolling his eyes, Clark jogs down the steps of his porch, heading toward you both. You turn over your shoulder, smile falling as you nod your head in greeting.

Clark’s waited forever to finally tell you how he really feels about you. Years of pining all led to that one moment where you told him that you feel the same way. He’d finally gotten a chance with you, to be with you like he always wanted. He’s not going to let last night ruin everything.

“Thanks, Lex,” you mutter, closing the passenger door and marching toward Clark. Lex lingers for a moment and Clark sends him a stiff smile and wave. Lex returns it with a smirk before driving off.

“So,” arms crossed across your chest, you glance up at him with barely veiled apprehension. “Are we going inside?”

Clark glances back at his house and shakes his head. He holds his hand out to you and you give him a wary glare. “Please,” he asks, and after a moment you place your hand in his. He smiles and leads you to the barn.

Call it nostalgia, call it desperation but whatever compelled you to actually hear Clark out can go bite it. He abandoned you at a club in a town you hadn’t even heard of. To go be with another girl, no less. You shouldn’t have even stopped to listen to him in the hallway. It’s a lack of self-respect, really.

But there was something in his eyes that compelled you to stay. Last night, he’d been a stranger wearing Clark’s face. This morning, you saw the earnest sincerity you always do when you look into those pretty blue eyes of his. Giving in was an inevitability.

Walking the familiar path to the barn you’re struck with a feeling almost like grief. Whatever could have bloomed between you and Clark feels like sand falling through your fingers. Unless he’s about to open those doors and reveal an evil twin, you’re not sure you could ever forgive him.

Clark glances over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He throws the doors of the barn open and you roll your eyes at the dramatics. You slip past him and head inside, stopping short once you see what he’s done.

Fairy lights dangle above the loft, illuminating what looks like a poorly built blanket fort. Christmas lights he clearly stole from his mom are hung haphazardly from the rafters. You can see the effort he put into making the barn feel special, even if the execution is lacking.

It’s the nostalgia of it all that makes you smile. Summer’s spent camping out in the barn, hidden away under blanket forts, and trying to scare each other with your bad ghost stories. It’s a time capsule of your childhood. And you know what he’s trying to do, how he’s trying to soften the hard edges of your resentment. You hate that it’s beginning to work.

Clark heads up to the loft first, glancing over his shoulder and motioning for you to follow. You sigh, face blank as you work to keep up the cool exterior you feel slowly melting away. He offers his hand as you reach the top, and after a beat of hesitation, you reluctantly take it.

Clark pulls you forward and keeps your hand in his as he leads you to sit down across from him. Sinking back into the plush pillows and blankets you prop your head in your hand, watching him with a bored expression. Sucking in a deep breath, he rubs his hands along the surface of his jeans, avoiding your eyes for a moment.

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be in some bar.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before finally meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want our first anything to be there. I wanted it to be somewhere like this, somewhere that actually meant something to us.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. Then he leans closer, reaching across the space between you, his fingers curling around yours again. The warmth of his palm is comforting, even if you don’t let him see that. “I don’t want to lose my best friend. I don’t want to lose you, you have to believe me. What happened last night, it wasn’t me.”

Your expression hardens and you yank your hand from his, putting distance between you. Clark’s face flickers with hurt, but you ignore it. “Why should I believe anything you say, Clark? What happened last night was an eye-opener. Clearly, we’re better off just being friends.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, looking like you’ve just punched him in the gut. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs.

“Don’t I?”

Clark drops his head into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders curl inward, and for a long while, he doesn’t speak. The silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken words.

Maybe it would be better for you to just leave. Some space might do both of you good, and help you come to terms with the truth of it all.

This was never going to work.

Clark exhales slowly, then straightens, blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that catches you off guard. “Alright,” he nods, some internal battle going on that you’re not privy to. “Stand by the window.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What?”

“Do it,” he tells you, tone firm, and you find yourself struggling for a reason not to listen. Finally, with a reluctant huff, you get up and go stand by the window.

The golden fields stretch before you bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The wheat sways gently in the evening breeze. Utterly boring and un-fascinating.

You roll your eyes, “Clark, I swear-”

A distant whistle cuts through the air. You whip around, expecting to see Clark behind you and instead find the loft empty. Your stomach tightens and you turn back to the window. A flicker of movement catches your attention, “What the…”

You press against the window, squinting at the field below. That’s when you see him. A very small Clark waves from the middle of the wheat, far too distant for how quickly he got there. Your breath catches and you find yourself waving back without thinking.

There’s no possible way he crossed all that in under thirty seconds.

But he’s not satisfied with just an impressive show of speed. Clark disappears and then reappears right below the barn window. Only, he’s not alone.

Above his head, with terrifying ease, he’s holding a goddamn tractor. Your heart slams against your ribs. “Clark!” You shout, terrified this little stunt of his is going to end with him sandwiched into the dirt. He sets it down casually, as if it weighs nothing.

A gust of wind pushes your hair forward and you turn sharply. Clark stands behind you now, cheeks flushed, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What the hell was that?” You demand, eyes darting between him and the tractor outside.

“It’s what I wanted to tell you. What I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he concedes, his smile faltering slightly, his voice tinged with something vulnerable.

Still stunned, you sink onto the couch as he begins to explain. About the crash landing. About his powers. How he’s different.

Your best friend- your almost-boyfriend, is an alien.

Of all the things racing through your mind, only one question comes to mind. “Why have you never told me?” You don’t ask him if he was from Jupiter or Mars, or if he’s got a secret eye hidden somewhere. You just want to know why he didn’t think he could trust you.

Clark hesitates. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you’d see me as some freak.”

You snort, “You’re an idiot is what you are.”

His head snaps up, blinking at you in surprise. “Clark, why would I ever care about what planet you’re from?” You shake your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you shift forward, kneeling in front of him. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly. Then, hesitantly, you reach up, cupping his cheek. A smile spreads across your face as he leans into the touch. “I care about you, not about what rocket you crash-landed in.”

“More of a pod,” he corrects and you shoot him a sharp look that makes him laugh. He sobers quickly, smile fading, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for last night.”

“Well,” you muse, tilting your head. “It wasn’t really you, right? It was that krypto- karo-”

“Kryptonite,” he grins a little at the way you stumble over the word. “And, yes, it was. I would never purposefully hurt you, but it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s actually the only acceptable excuse,” you tell him, rolling your eyes playfully. “That or evil twin.” Clark’s eyes widen slightly and you narrow yours. “Do you actually have an evil twin?” You shake your head, “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later.”

You glance up at the twinkling lights strung above, the warm glow making the loft feel impossibly soft, impossibly safe. “Clark?” You ask and he hums, already looking at you when you glance back at him. “We can always try that first kiss again.”

His smile, soft and sweet, mirrors your own. As you lean in, his arms circle your waist, pulling you gently into him. Your fingers thread through the soft tresses of his hair as his lips brush against yours, soft, lingering, right.

This. This is what you knew it would feel like. This is home and safety, everything good in your life. You smile against Clark’s lips knowing that no matter what evil twins or toxic rocks come at you, you’ll face it together.

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daydreamabout · 3 days ago

Text

Unspoken Comfort [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: Tim shows up at Y/N's place after she called in sick because of a breakup.

The morning had been quiet, almost eerily so. Y/N had woken up with a heavy heart, the realization of what had happened the night before still fresh in her mind. She’d spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering if she had done the right thing. And when the sun finally came up, it didn’t bring any sense of clarity. She had broken up with Alex—her boyfriend of the past year—after months of growing apart. The decision had been hard, emotionally draining. In the end, she knew it was the right choice. She couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

Still, the pain lingered. Her chest felt tight, her body felt heavy, and the last thing she wanted to do was go into work and pretend like everything was fine. She couldn't focus on the job, not today. She needed time to heal, to think, to process. So, she did what she always did —texted Tim.

“Hey, I called in sick today. Broke up with Alex last night. Need some space.”

In the evening the doorbell rang, and for a moment, Y/N didn’t move. She knew who it was. She’d been dreading this moment all day, but here it was. The knock, the familiar voice calling her name, like it always did. But today was different. She’d been lying on the couch in her worn-out pajamas, staring at the TV screen as if it might offer some solace. Her mind was heavy, heart aching from the mess her life felt like—another failed attempt at something she’d wanted so badly, a relationship that had crumbled like the walls she’d tried so hard to build around herself.

Tim wasn’t supposed to be here. She hadn’t asked for him to show up after his shift. Y/N dragged herself to the door and opened it slowly, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She barely looked at him, just stood there, holding the door halfway open, as if trying to keep some kind of distance between them.

"Hey," Tim’s voice was softer than usual, but he didn’t push. He didn’t ask her how she was, didn’t make any comment about how messy she looked. Instead, he simply nodded toward the apartment, his eyes searching her face with a mixture of concern.

Without a word, Y/N stepped back and let him in, her movements slow, as if the weight of everything pressing on her made it hard to move. She didn’t offer him a drink or a seat—she didn’t even tell him she was fine, though she knew he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

Tim set his jacket on the back of the chair and moved toward the couch where she was curled up again. His steps were quiet, almost reverent, as though he was treading carefully around the fragile silence that filled the room.

“The shift was kind of boring without you,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the couch, not too close but close enough to be there if she needed him. Y/N didn’t respond at first. She just let out a long, tired breath, her body sinking further into the couch cushions as if she wanted to disappear into them. Tim then didn’t speak for a while. He just sat there, the silence between them stretching on, the only sound coming from the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the faint noise of a sports game playing in the background.

After a few moments, Tim shifted slightly. He looked at her, and then without asking, he made the decision. Gently, he reached out, touching her shoulder, just the slightest pressure. Her breath hitched slightly, and for a second, she just lay there. Then, almost like her body finally surrendered, she rolled over, curling up against him. She didn’t say anything, but the subtle way she leaned into him, the way her body melted into his, told him everything.

He didn’t hesitate. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her in, careful not to disturb her too much, as if she were fragile. She was warm, soft, and it felt so natural, as if they had been doing this for years. The weight of her head against his chest, the way she fit perfectly against him, was something that felt comforting and safe. He leaned back slightly, making himself comfortable on the couch while she just… existed with him. They didn’t speak for a long while, but he didn’t mind. He was there, in the quiet, offering what little comfort he could. Her breathing started to slow as she settled deeper into his embrace, exhaustion taking over as she let herself be held. The sports game on the TV continued to play in the background—something mundane, something mindless that didn’t require either of them to engage. It was the perfect distraction, the kind of noise that didn’t demand attention but was just enough to fill the silence between them. It was familiar, grounding, in a way that made everything feel just a little less heavy.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, her voice so quiet that it could have been mistaken for a dream. She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her as he exhaled, her words hanging in the air for a moment. Tim pressed his cheek against the top of her head, the soft strands of her hair brushing against his face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “I’m here for as long as you want me to.”

She didn’t say anything more. There was nothing else to say. Just the steady rhythm of their breathing, the sound of the game on TV, and the feeling of warmth that surrounded them both in that small space.

#eric winter #netflix #the rookie #the rookie imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford imagines #tim bradford oneshot #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim #the rookie imagines #the rookie fanfiction #the rookie fanfic #unspoken comfort #daydreamabout

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abyssalwavezz · 2 days ago

Note

ok since caleb is back i NEEDDDD to see him and zayne interact and they have like a rivalry since they’re all childhood friends in case infold doesn’t give it to me idk how it would work tho but i trust you

Fire and Ice

Author's note: I really almost went a very dark romance direction with this, but it would've needed to be multiple parts and Caleb would've been like a villain, so I did my best to condense it into a single chapter uwu plus, this is my first LADS fic, so I am really getting a feel for the characterization and what kind of storylines I want to write after so long of not writing fics.

Contains: College AU! Zayne x MC/YN x Caleb love triangle (except MC doesn't really like Caleb back) where Zayne ultimately wins over MC teehee, shameless cameos of the other boys because I can, and several time skips because yeah <3

Warnings: cursing I guess? and Caleb being kind of a creep lol but we all know he is one canonically anyway, and also this wasn't proofread because who has time for that

Word Count: 3,743

Class started at 9:00 today just like it did every other day. Today though, you were late. And of course, it was an exam day.

You jumped out of bed as soon as you realized it was 8:41. Could you get ready and make it across campus in 20 minutes?

Only one way to find out.

Had you looked at your phone, you would've realized that a certain someone had been trying to message you. But he was unable to since your phone was on DND. You were too busy throwing on clothes and making yourself look presentable to think about anything else, anyway.

Once you had an outfit on and had somewhat cleaned yourself up, you glanced at the clock on the wall.

8:53...shit.

On a good day, it took about 10 minutes to walk to this class. Today, you would have to run there in 7. If only you hadn't skipped running the mile for gym...

You grabbed your bag, keys, and phone (that you still hadn't looked at) before running out the door.

However, something very sturdy and tall stopped you halfway down the hallway.

"Oof," you grunted as you came into contact with this tall, sturdy thing.

Turns out, it was a person. The person who had been trying to text you all morning.

"Caleb! What the hell?"

You looked up at him in frustration.

"I'm trying to get to class! The one you should be in too? We have an exam!"

Caleb, who still hadn't actually spoken, only laughed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He clicked a few things on the screen before turning it towards you.

It showed an email from your professor to your class, letting you all know that he was sick and that both class and the exam was cancelled.

It took you a few seconds to decide if you were happy or upset about the situation. Ultimately, you decided you were happy.

"If your phone hadn't been on 'Ignore Caleb Mode,' this could've been avoided," he chuckled out, putting his own phone back in his pocket.

You finally got yours out and noticed that you had, in fact, missed three texts and four calls from Caleb.

The most recent one though, wasn't from Caleb. It was from Zayne. Just reading his name on your phone made your heart skip a beat.

"You wanna go get breakfast or something?" Caleb asked, snapping you away from your Zayne-themed thoughts.

Your eyes met his excited ones, but it only took him a second to realize what your answer would be.

"Come onnnn," he groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "Your next class isn't until 12 and mine is at 12:30. You got some big plans or something?"

You hesitated. You weren't sure how much you should tell Caleb. He could be a bit funny about things sometimes.

"I...I told Zayne I would meet him for coffee after our class. Which has now been cancelled, so he texted me asking if I wanted to meet him earlier instead."

Caleb grew silent, whatever was left of his initial hopeful expression now nonexistent.

"Oh...I see. Forgot he was in our class too."

"Caleb, come on. How about I have dinner with you to make up for it? Whatever happened with you two anyway? We all used to be great friends."

He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking at the floor halfheartedly.

"Don't worry about it. Go have fun, I won't get in the way."

With that, Caleb walked away.

You sighed as you swirled the last bit of your now cold coffee around the bottom of the mug.

"And so then he just walked away," you said quietly, still not sure what you did to deserve that from Caleb.

You looked up at the dark-haired man in front of you.

Zayne hadn't said much yet, he was just listening to you go on and on. But this really wasn't out of the ordinary for you two.

"Never mind that! Tell me about your day so far Zayne. I have really been yapping since we sat down."

Zayne lifted the corner of his mouth in a small smile, breathing slightly through his nose before raising his mug to his lips for a drink, and then setting it back down.

"I wouldn't call it yapping. I enjoy listening to you speak, and it sounds like you had an eventful day right from the start."

Your face burned slightly from Zayne's words, and you prayed he didn't notice.

"But my day before now really only consisted of some early morning studying, if you really wanted to know."

You chuckled a bit and raised your eyebrow playfully at Zayne.

"Future Dr. Zayne needs to study? We should all feel a little better about ourselves then!"

Zayne shook his head at your comment, in the way he always does when he thinks something is funny but doesn't want to show it and give you the satisfaction.

"Everyone would benefit from studying. Some of us...more than others," he said so only you could hear, glancing at the farthest corner of the cafe.

You followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at.

At the table in the corner was the well-known quiet kid, Xavier. His head was down on the top of the table in its usual position, and even from where you were sitting you could hear his signature snores.

What was really funny though, was not Xavier, but something else.

There were three people sitting across from him at another table with their phones out, taking pictures of him sleeping. Their stifled laughs and giggles were infectious, and you realized it was the class clown group of Sylus and his two sidekicks, Luke and Kieran. They truly were always getting into trouble or causing it.

You snorted and quickly covered your mouth and nose with both hands, hoping no one heard it. But of course Zayne did, and even he had to laugh quietly.

After the moment passed and it got quiet again, you decided to ask Zayne the real question that had been on your mind. The same one you asked Caleb a couple of hours ago.

"So... what did happen between you two? There must have been something."

Zayne stared into his dry coffee mug, pushing his glasses up slightly with the tip of his index finger.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, (Y/N)."

"You know what I'm talking about. Caleb? The three of us used to have so much fun together as kids. Then when we started college together, everything got so tense a few weeks into the first semester."

"There are some things that you don't know, and it would be better if it remained that way. At least...for now."

You knew not to push Zayne. And you did trust him, so you decided to leave it alone for the moment.

Hopefully you would get to the bottom of it, sooner or later.

The two of you had stayed at the cafe much longer than you meant to. So you decided to go through the to-go lunch line before Zayne walked you to your next class.

You wondered if Zayne knew how you felt at times like these. Of course he was smart, but was he able to tell how you truly felt about him? What would he think? What would he say, if he knew? There's no way he would feel the same, so would he at least still want to be your friend?

Stupid.

Once Zayne had gotten his food as well, he turned towards you but stopped before he moved any closer.

"(Y/N), don't move."

You clicked your tongue in fake annoyance and put your hands on your hips, putting all your weight onto one side as you glared at Zayne.

"Why? Is there a big spider on me or something?"

"Yes."

"What?"

You immediately froze, your bag of food falling to the ground with a slight plop noise. Then you screamed and flailed your hands around, trying to brush off whatever spawn of Satan was on you.

In the commotion, you lost your balance, and fell backwards, colliding with another person. Whoever it was broke your fall, at least.

"Ouch, my hand!" the person whined underneath you.

As quickly as you could, you got up onto your feet and saw a big brown spider on the floor, scurrying away from the scene.

Huh, so Zayne really was telling the truth.

Snapping back to reality, you bent down with your hand outstretched to help the purple haired boy up.

"I am so sorry. It's Rafayel, right? Is your hand okay?"

Rafayel groaned and rubbed his right hand with his left before making eye contact with you.

"No thanks to you. I need my hands for painting, you know."

Rafayel bent over to pick up his bookbag that had fallen down, and then shot you another look.

"But I suppose that spider was a fearsome creature. You're forgiven."

Before you could apologize again, he turned on his heel and marched away.

Blinking rapidly, you stood up straight and scanned the cafeteria. As you made eye contact with people, they looked away away in a hurry. All except Zayne, who stood holding your forgotten bag of food.

"Shut up, Zayne."

"But I didn't say anything."

Classes were now over for the day, and you thought it was strange that you hadn't seen Caleb anymore. Usually, he was waiting outside your classrooms whenever he could, almost like he had your schedule memorized and watched you from a distance somehow. To be honest, you wouldn't put it past him. He had always been super protective of you, which you appreciated. But sometimes, it could be a bit much. Especially as you have gotten older, and are starting to feel differently and do more things on your own.

Did Caleb...like you? Is that why he has been like that? Or was he just being the best friend he could be for you?

Nah, no way he liked you. You guys were just really good friends, and had been for years. That was enough for you.

Zayne, on the other hand, often had your emotions and thoughts in a knot. You couldn't put your finger on when exactly, but you had fallen for him as more than just a friend, and you thought about him often.

Would his lips be as cold as his hands usually were?

You shook your head, trying to shake the thought itself from your brain. No sense in getting too deep. Zayne was here for school and to become a doctor. And he could have anyone he wanted, so why on Earth would that person be you?

You decided to take a walk before it got too dark. After all, it would be nice to be by yourself for a bit since the day had been so chaotic so far.

Glancing out the window of your room, you tried to plan the route you would walk. But when you did, you noticed someone duck behind the bushes nearby.

What the hell?

Now curious about who was watching you in your own room, you decided to go around the back of your dorm building to try and catch whoever it was.

Once you were outside, you crouched a bit and tried to come around the corner of the building as quietly as possible. You took each step with a sense of purpose, willing the person to still be there. The bushes were now only a few steps away.

In a flash, you lunged, separating the bushes with your hands to find out who the creep was. But there was no one there.

Defeated, you plopped down onto the grass, trying to decide if you even wanted to go for a walk anymore.

"Whatcha doing down there on the ground?" a familiar voice behind you asked.

"Caleb!"

You stood up excitedly and clasped your hands together.

Caleb bent down to your eye-level and smiled, his usual sparkle back in his gaze.

"Were you lookin' for something?"

You shook your head, looking back over at the disheveled bush.

"No, it was really weird. I thought someone was watching me from the bushes right there. It's right underneath my window. I was gonna punch them in the mouth!"

Caleb coughed.

"Yeah, that is really weird. Anyway, wanna grab dinner soon? You offered, after all."

"Oh, sure! It's gonna get dark soon anyway, so no time for a walk after all."

You walked with Caleb to the cafeteria in silence. Usually the two of you would be talking about random things, whether that be you trying to decide on a major or Caleb's newest model airplane he built. But today, it was nothing. And you didn't really like that.

"Caleb, do you care about me?"

Your sudden question startled him, the silence around you quickly dissipating. But he didn't miss a beat.

"Well, of course I do. It's about time you noticed! But why are you asking?"

"Because I feel like you're hiding something from me. And so is Zayne, and it really bothers me. Today was especially bothersome."

Caleb sighed, opening the door to the cafeteria for you.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes! I miss the two of you getting along. We had some great times."

Caleb grabbed two empty lunch trays and handed you one. You mumbled a quick thanks as you watched his conflicted facial expression manifest.

"We just had a fight, okay? That's all. Sometimes that happens and people aren't friends anymore."

You weren't satisfied. You knew there was more to it after the way he reacted earlier when you told him you were meeting Zayne for coffee.

"You're still leaving something out."

"What, you wanna know what we fought about?"

"Yes! Maybe I can help."

Caleb shook his head, reaching for a serving spoon to get some rice.

"Hmm, I don't think so, (Y/N). Not this time. This isn't like when we argued over the last Popsicle in Grandma's freezer."

"Oh, come on. I'm not a little girl anymore. You don't have to hide things from me."

He gripped the next serving spoon tightly, causing the food on it to wobble slightly.

"I know you aren't a little girl anymore, and that's part of the problem. You don't need me as much anymore."

"Caleb," you groaned, "You know I still want you around, no matter what. I love you, you know?"

Caleb's head seemed to be on a swivel, as fast as he turned towards you.

"You do?"

"Well yeah! You're my best friend."

Caleb's face fell slowly, starting with his eyebrows and ending with his lips.

"Yeah, best friends love each other, I guess..."

You followed him out of line to the closest table where he flopped onto one of the seats.

"I don't understand, Caleb. You don't want me to love you?"

"He does, but not in the way you are referring to, (Y/N)," a male voice said from behind where you were sitting. A voice you knew very well.

"Zayne?" you gasped. "How did you know I was here?"

You turned away from Caleb to look at him fully. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and the expression on his face was completely unreadable.

"This is usually the time you eat dinner, and I was hoping I would find you here. I did some thinking after our conversation earlier and wanted to talk to you."

A sudden loud noise caused you to jump. Looking towards the sound, you saw Caleb's tight fist against the table, surrounded by stray grains of rice.

"You've got a lot of nerve comin' up to our table right now, Zayne."

"I suppose I have just as much nerve as someone who enjoys stalking women due to their own insecurities."

Caleb stood up from the table, attracting the eyes of other students sitting down for dinner.

"Um, guys. Maybe we should all go talk outside?"

You felt something cold against your hand, and then another on your cheek.

They were snowflakes from Zayne's Evol, melting against the heat of your flushed skin.

You quickly glanced at Zayne, who was completely focused on Caleb. He hadn't even realized that he was causing them to appear in his emotional state.

A few of them stuck to your eyelashes, but you quickly blinked them away, risking a look at Caleb.

He was just as focused on Zayne, his jaw set in place and his hands now gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles.

"I think that's a great idea," Caleb spat, still not breaking eye contact with Zayne.

Without another word, he stomped towards the door, bumping Zayne's shoulder on the way by.

Though you hadn't moved, you felt out of breath as you finally met Zayne's eyes.

He was stoic, the anger he felt inside radiating off of him like a heatwave.

"Sorry about the snow," he said quietly.

You shook your head.

"What is going on? This is the first time the two of you have interacted in a long time, and it's already going to shit."

"He wants you all to himself, (Y/N). And that is just something I cannot abide."

"He what? Zayne, what-."

Before you could finish, he left to walk outside as well, taking the remaining snowflakes with him.

You ignored the onlookers and the mess left on your table before following after them.

Once you had them in your sights, you realized Caleb was getting in Zayne's face, challenging him to make a move.

Your walk turned into a run so you could catch up to them in the clearing that they were in behind the cafeteria. It seemed that they were in the middle of a new argument.

"...doesn't know what she wants. How would you know, nerd?"

"You aren't right for her, and you act strangely when it comes to her. What would any sane person think?"

Caleb was getting loud, but Zayne was speaking in his usual measured tone.

"What is going on?"

The boys froze, seeing that you had followed them outside. Caleb started to back away, and Zayne cleared his throat, moving to push up his glasses before realizing they weren't there.

"Explain yourselves. Now."

They didn't start talking right away. Instead, they took a step farther away from each other and stood silently.

"I mean it. You two are acting so damn weird. I don't deserve this."

Zayne sighed.

"She's right, Caleb."

Caleb crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I know."

Zayne started speaking first.

"When we first came here, Caleb and I had a conversation. About you."

You didn't say anything, in fear of causing them to change their minds about telling you.

"(Y/N), I was going to let you know that...that I felt a different way about you now than you might've expected. And I told Zayne about it, thinking he would support me."

"Except I found out about the...peculiar ways he chooses to look out for you and protect you. And I let him know that I strongly disapprove of his intentions."

Caleb glared at Zayne once more, and you shushed him when you saw that he was opening his mouth to fuss at Zayne.

"You follow me around to classes and stuff right? I figured. And I'm now guessing that was you in the bushes earlier?"

Zayne raised an eyebrow.

"I don't need you to watch over me like a hawk, Caleb. I am a grown up, a grown woman. And I can take care of myself."

His head lowered slightly, a hand meeting his neck to rub it awkwardly.

"I know it comes from an honest place in your heart, but I need you to stop. And..."

You hesitantly reached out to touch his arm.

"I'm sorry, but you're like my brother. I love you...in that way. Do you still want to be around me?"

Caleb sighed, laying a hand over top of yours.

"You can't get rid of me that easily. I will always be around. In whatever way you want, pipsqueak." Caleb flashed you a sad smile.

You let out a nervous chuckle, glad to see that he took it at least somewhat well. Never in your life would you have expected Caleb to have a crush on you. But you knew you didn't want to lose him, no matter what.

"Zayne..." Caleb said, turning away from you and letting his hand fall away, "I'm sorry, man."

"It's alright. I look forward to moving past this with you."

Caleb nodded without speaking, and then he walked away. You decided you wouldn't call out for him since he seemed like he needed some time alone.

That just left you with Zayne and the awkward space between you.

"Zayne..." you began.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something now?"

A glimmer of hope could be felt, deep within the pit of your stomach. You couldn't stop thinking about something Zayne had said a few moments ago, and though this might not be the best time, you figured it was as good a time as any. If Caleb could do it, so could you.

"Anything. And for what it's worth, I am sorry too. Our behavior was inexcusable."

"What exactly did you mean earlier? When you said he wanted me all to himself? I thought you were upset with him because he chose to look out for me in unique ways."

The edges of Zayne's ears turned red, and he placed a hand against his chin, refusing to look directly at you.

"Were you...jealous, too?"

Zayne remained still and quiet, not sure what to say next.

"Because I really like you. I have for a long time. And no, I know what you're thinking...I am not just saying that because of what happened tonight. Actually it kind of inspired me to tell you."

Something suddenly caused your eye to water. You rubbed it hurriedly, then pulled your hand away to see a trail of moisture run down your thumb. But not long passed before you figured out what it was, a white speck falling in front of your field of vision giving it away as it landed on your outstretched hand.

"I wouldn't call it jealousy but..."

You shivered slightly as the snowflakes turned into a small flurry.

"I knew he wasn't right for you. And...one can have hopes."

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #zayne x reader #caleb #sylus #rafayel #xavier #zayne #mc #y/n #reader insert #x reader #lads x reader #luke #kieran #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #zayne x mc

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theleavesofwesteros · 1 day ago

Text

love hearts (Loki x F!Reader)

A/N: I'm back already with another oneshot (yay)! This one is shorter and it's a valentine's day one, something fluffy/smutty in honour of me thirsting over loki again (and him being my only valentine this year). anyways, i hope you all enjoy and are doing well!

PS: happy birthday to tom hiddleston! <3

PPS: thank you again to @cafekitsune for the divider and the permission to use it!

AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62925667

She often wondered how she'd even gotten into this situation. Dating a god wasn't just something that people did. People, human ones, especially. Moreover, dating a god who'd been forced and tortured into trying to destroy New York City was even more of an unusual case. How could she even bring that up to the people in her life? She didn't, actually. She and Loki acted like he was a mortal (much to his amusement) and he simply charmed everyone with a well-timed grin and any possible contradictions about their supposed story were forgotten. However, one bad thing about their romance was how unpredictable his appearances could be. His own habits had to do with that, of course. He liked keeping people (especially her) on their toes. But he was also a royal prince to some kingdom on another planet that she'd not yet seen. He seemed keen not to take her just yet. "Mother would love you," he often insisted, but he didn't say as much about his adoptive father. She didn't think she'd be quite fond of the man either, from what she'd heard.

Loki had been gone for two weeks now. On Asgard, or maybe even one of the other Realms at this rate. He tried, but communication was somewhat hard to maintain inter-planetarily. She understood, but she missed him. Her life was rather particularly mundane, and especially during the colder months, he was the most exciting thing about her. He always regaled her with stories of his centuries of life, or simply got her to do things she would've never thought to do on her own.

It was February now, thankfully. After a particularly long January, she found that the second month of the year was going by in a flash. Today of all days, happened to be Valentine's Day, the day of love and friendship. She'd never made a big deal of it, or had big expectations for it, but she'd still opted to wear something of the pink/red variety to work today. She'd gotten in touch with the important people in her life and they'd thanked one another for being in each other's lives. She'd even received a small package of love hearts at work from one of her colleagues (everyone had gotten one). With no warning from her lover, she felt it was safe to assume that his business (whatever it was), had not yet been concluded and that he would not be joining her tonight. She was alright with it. Even if she wasn't, there wasn't much she could very well do about it.

That's why she found herself making a casual meal for herself, something not too complicated, and then pouring herself a nice drink. It was a day to celebrate, after all, and it had fallen on a Friday, so she felt she could indulge a little and welcome the weekend. Even if she was alone to celebrate it this time, she still had herself, and that was an important person to thank and cherish, indeed.

What she did not expect, was to hear the telltale woosh of magic, rather, of seiðr, that usually preceded the arrival of someone with a far longer lifespan than hers. She'd just finished washing and putting away the very few dishes she'd used for both the preparation of dinner and the cooking of it, when she turned to see just who had teleported into her apartment. She hoped her guess wasn't wrong.

And it wasn't. He stood there, waiting for her to set eyes on him. When she did, in his (always) dramatic fashion, he spread his arms wide and grinned with pride at himself.

"I... am back," Loki said dramatically, nearly waiting for applause.

She approached him and wrapped her arms around him right away, smiling into his chest.

"I can see that. Welcome back," She says, her entire demeanor seemingly softening in his presence.

It was impressive how they did that to one another.

"... Is that all? No tears of relief at my unexpected return? Darling..." He frowns, placing a hand to his chest. "I'm offended. I might just go back to Asgard for a redo."

She shoots a heatless glare in his direction. "Don't."

He groans and moves to flop somewhat gracefully onto her couch, long legs spreading nearly automatically and giving her a great view of his thick thighs. She moves her eyes away before he can catch her and tease her for it. He was still dressed in his Asgardian leathers. The ones she loved so much, the ones that were black, with some gold and dark green accents and all those clasps and flaps and added (unecessary) parts. No helmet, though. She moved to him, sitting next to him, her thigh touching his. It earned her a nearly rakish grin, his eyes already glinting with a particular kind of mischief she'd come to recognize (and cherish).

"I wasn't expecting you back just yet," She says in the comfortable silence. "Did you forget to send a message?"

"No. Did you miss me, love?" He asks, reaching out to place his arm on the back of the couch. He was teasing.

He could touch her so easily, move his big hand just a sliver and touch the back of her neck. But he wouldn't, and they both knew it. She wanted it too much.

"Of course I did. I always do." She reassures him.

He hums, considering her words and being seemingly pleased.

"And... am I wrong in recognizing today as a mortal holiday?"

She falters for a beat, surprised that he considered that to be information worthy of being stored in his mind.

"I... well, no. It's Valentine's Day, yeah."

"Mm, as I thought, then. Good." He says, before conjuring up a small, green cloud of seiðr, which left only a rose in its wake.

She seemed openly surprised at that. He grins and cocks his head.

"What? Did you want twenty instead, my sweet?"

"No... I just didn't think you'd be back today, and I also didn't think we'd be doing this."

"Doing... this?"

"Yeah, you know... celebrating Valentine's together."

He seems offended at that.

"And why the Hel not? Have we become lifelong enemies in my short absence? Have we had a falling out?" He gasps dramatically, looking at her with wide eyes. "Have you... found another?" He asks, knowing full well she hasn't. His facade of shock was already faltering, his eyes gleaming with mirth, and his lip twitching ever so slightly.

She groans, rolling her eyes.

"No, Loki."

"Then... whyever shouldn't we celebrate this, pet? We are a couple, yes? And not a couple of friends, either..."

The final few words he says are lost to her, mind getting caught up in what he calls her. He only really calls her that when he has particular intentions with her. It makes something deep inside of her warm up.

"We are a couple... of course we are. I just didn't think you'd care."

"Well... my lover is a mortal, and I assume that she cares for such a popular holiday in her world. I am trying to be nice, you know..."

"And I appreciate that... but I didn't expect my immortal boyfriend to even pay attention to what day it is on Midgard, much less make the effort to gift me a rose." She says, resting her cheek on his arm resting on the couch in thanks.

He turns up his nose slightly at her calling him her boyfriend. He didn't much like that term, least of all for himself. He found that lover was better.

"Well, dearest, I am trying to be romantic. And nice... nicer. For you." He declares, still holding that damned rose.

She smiles, and takes it, inhaling the scent of it. It was addicting, and so very fresh. Clearly magical. His doing, of course. It was the most perfect flower she'd ever seen. Its red petals smelled fresh, like dew and earth, but also of their expected rose scent. However, there was something disctinct at the end of the scent... a sort of aftertaste. An aftersmell? She practically sighed in relief at the smell of it. Loki grinned, her reaction and thoughts surely being obvious. Most of all to him, with his mind reading powers (that he swore he didn't use on her unless explicitly told to).

"That's ambrosia," He says in that low, soft purr that makes her insides feel all hot and molten.

"Ambrosia? I thought that was only for gods to have."

"Mm... in food and drink, yes, I suppose so. But no one said anything about smelling it, hmm? A simple enough enchantment, pet. Now..." His hand finally, finally moves, moving to touch the back of her neck ever so gently. "What is it you smell, hm?"

She focuses on that smell, trying to name it for him (he seemed to be after her answer like a cat after the cream).

"It's... sort of woodsy.. minty, I guess... and leather-y?" She speaks carefully, naming the scents out with careful consideration, her eyes closed to make sure she is smelling it all properly.

Her eyes open, and she finds him looking all smug and proud, his hand now rubbing her neck softly.

"It's you. It smells like you. This isn't ambrosia."

"Oh..." He purrs proudly, leaning in. "But it is, my love... ambrosia tastes, or smells, like ones favourite things. I suppose that just means..." He moves in further, pressing the lightest kiss she's ever felt to her neck. "One of those things for you... is me,"

Her pulse flutters both at his words and at the touch of his lips to her skin. God, she just wanted to absolutely devour him sometimes. Okay, all of the time. He was all long limbs, and he was lean, but he was also so built. He was strong, and those shoulders... and that ass. And all the other, more salacious parts of him, and all they could and had done to her.

"I've missed you," She says and she finds herself breathless in his presence.

"Oh, pet... I've missed you, too..." He grins, his voice getting lower, the last few words nearly a groan.

"I want you to kiss me..." She whispers.

"I'll kiss you... and then I'll kiss you everywhere... and then I shall lick you everywhere." He vows, pressing a kiss to her jaw, this time.

She groans, hand moving to brace herself onto one of his biceps.

"I want you to take me... or I can take you..." She says, unable to stop herself from getting closer, from trying to sit in his lap, from simply trying to make herself one with him.

He laughs softly, even as he pulls her closer, half of her in his lap by now.

"We've time enough for both, my heart... the night is yet young, and we've a fortnight to make up for, hm?"

"Plus, it is Valentine's Day." She reminds him softly, pressing the first of her kisses to his neck, and then his sharp jaw, and then those damned sharp cheekbones.

He moans softly at her attentions, holding her closer by the waist.

"Oh, yes, it is indeed... the day of love, and lust... we must do our best to celebrate it, yes?"

And celebrate it, they do indeed.

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saoirsezz · 2 days ago

Text

ᯓ STRANGERS TO A LOST SOUL | 리키

PAIRINGS. stranger!riki x stranger!reader

GENRE. fluff, sprinkle of angst

WARNINGS. none

SYNOPSIS. after a very terrible day, you found yourself wanting to dissocialize from the world, what happens when coincidentally, someone did too?

THE RAIN WAS POURING HEAVILY, so was your tears. it had been a day like all others, tiring, draining, and clearly pained you the most. the clouds were grey, the noisy sound of raindrops concealing your pathetic sniffles.

why must your day simply be terrible out of all days? it was your special day— your birthday, it was suppose to be happy, nostalgic, but clearly something jinxed you for it to be the exact opposite.

your `friends' forgot to greet you a happy birthday, maybe even forgot your whole birthday. you got detention for being late becuase your bike tire got flat on the way to school, so you had to walk.

then some junior bumped into you, making you spill the milk on your uniform, the disgusting sticky liquid seeping through your clothes.

normally, these would simply annoy you, but not enough to ruin your day, but they all just had to happen at the same day, especially the day you were most looking forward to all year. how unlucky.

now you just found yourself crying over frustration on how bad things went. it won't undo what happened, it won't rewind time, but maybe it'll simply ease the little flare in your chest.

there was a small playground inside your village. the heavy rain caused children to stay inside their houses, bored. you were wet with sticky milk anyway, so the rain didn't cause you harm. you sat on the wet swing, little by little pushing yourself. the anger from earlier slowly subsiding, but it's still there.

to your surprises, another, probably also-got-a-bad-day person sat on the other swing. he was also just sitting in the rain with no umbrella. you wondered why he's here, but you came to a conclusion he most likely had a day like yours, if not worse.

“bad day?” he broke the silence. his voice was raspy, tired even. “could've definitely been better.” you sighed, letting your feet dig into sand to stop you from swinging.

he scoffed. “same. i lost at my game and my mom scolded at me saying it was a bad idea to start baseball in the first place— that I should've just focused on my studies. I tried to tell her that being a baseball player was my dream since I was a kid but-” he paused, his voice fading, as if he was weak and wanted to cry. “—she just doesn't get it.. what about you?” he questioned, he hoped you understood, even if you were just someone who he coincidentally met at this time.

“I, it's my birthday, and my friends didn't greet me, no one did. my bike's tire got flat, I'm drenched in milk, and I got my first ever detention. it sounds shallow I know-” he cut you off, shaking his head.

“it's not. I promise,” he paused for a few moments. his gaze lingered on yours, “happy birthday,”

you smiled. for the first time today.

“and go for your dream, I don't know you.. but, I know you deserve to be in the league of baseball. I hope I get to see you in TV someday,” you grinned, there was a spark in his eyes you didn't see when he sat down.

“maybe my day's not half bad.” he smiled as he stood up, “mine too.” you retorted.

you both got up and exchanged smiles, each going in their own ways, you looked back at him, seeing his figure slowly dissappear, you smiled on the way back home. the thoughts of today's earlier dismays were long gone. you had hoped to somehow see him again, and what you didn't know was, he did too.

SHO'S NOTE ; i love this so much, i genuinely love this kinda dynamic. i hope u guys like it (╥﹏╥)

#niki fluff #niki x reader #riki fluff #niki nishimura #nishimura riki #riki x reader #enhypen fluff #niki au #riki au

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rekino2114 · 3 days ago

Note

How about we do a Valentines Day prompt for Wenona~ I freaking love this woman, and I don't even know why. So let's do prompt 25:proposing on valentine's day🩷

Wenona proposing to you on valentine's day

Pairing:Wenona x gn reader

Valentine's prompt#25

Prompts list

"YOU'RE GOING TO PROPOSE TO Y/N!?"

"Shut up ya gremlin, do you want the whole school to hear?"

"It's fine I asked Diana and jett to hang out with y/n so they won't see me setting everything up"

Your girlfriend Wenona was currently talking about her proposal to toshiko, grace and desmond

"This is simply splendid news, love truly is in the air today even more than other valentine's days"

"That's great news Wenona, congratulations, but are you really sure about that? It's a big decision and we're still pretty young"

"Y/n is the person I want to marry. They've been with me ever since I had nothing and have continued to support me all these years, so yes, I am 100% sure. And age shouldn't play a factor in that, if I want to marry them now, I'm going to"

"Pfft, so cheesy"

"And that's why no one loves you"

"What did you say you soybean?"

"C-calm down Wenona, there's someone foe everyone in this world.....even for grace"

"Oi! What is that supposed to mean gremlin?"

"By the way, do you need any help with the preparation? I would be most honored to help such a wonderful couple seal their love forever"

"Thanks kid but it's fine, I already have everything prepared"

"Oh that's nice, could you tell us if you don't mind?"

"Sure, I was thinking of just doing it the classic way, I already have a reservation at their favorite restaurants and the ring prepared, I'm just going to propose after the dinner"

"Oh that's a good choice, an intimate and romantic atmosphere is key for moments like these"

"A bit too cliché if you ask me"

"Like they say, if something isn't broken then don't fix it"

"What's the ring like anyway? Can we see it?"

"And risk one of you breaking it? As if. That ring is worth more than your entire networth"

"Sure, how much can a stupid ring cost?"

"It's 24 carat gold with a 50k dollars worth diamond on the middle"

"F-fifty- the fuck! That's more than I've earned in my entire goddamn career"

"Told ya it was expensive"

"Grace, please tone down the language there's a child around. B-but wenona don't you think that's a bit.....excessive"

"If you think that's excessive, then you're not ready to hear my plans for the wedding"

"You might as well wear a dress made of banknotes while you're at it"

"Hey that's a great idea, thanks for the suggestion"

"I WAS KIDDING!"

"C-calm down everyone, while I might not know what a carat is. I know that there is no price you can put on love, so I fully respect wenona's choice"

"If you don't stop spouting those romance movies phrases I'll tore that fan of yours to shreds"

"N-not my fan!"

"Grace stop it! And Wenona thanks for telling us and I hope everything goes well for you and y/n"

"Thanks, I'm sure it will"

After saying goodbye to her classmate, Wenona went back to her dorm to set up everything, preparing the ring and putting on one of her best dresses. When you came back she told you about her plans and that it was going to be a simple date for Valentine's Day so you agreed quickly and got dressed to go to the restaurant.

The dinner was amazing with Wenona complimenting you every chance she got and telling you how much she loved you basically every minute, you were a bit surprised as she wasn't this loving often, sure she complimented you a lot but this time it seemed different, but you still ignored the feeling and simply continued eating with her.

You finished your last glass of golden champagne and told your girlfriend you wanted to finishe dinner, she simply smiled and said that she had to do something first

"What is it?"

"This"

She suddenly got on one knee, and before you could even react, she pulled out a velvet box out of her pocket and opened it to reveal the most beautiful (and expensive) ring you had ever seen

"Y/n in the time we've been together I have loved you like I love no one else, I know you're with me because of me and not my money or some other dumb reason and so I want to spend the rest of my life with you simple as that, I promise to take care of you and love you forever and all of the rest, I think you can wait for the vows for the entire speech right? Anyway what do you say, will you marry me?"

"A-are you serious?"

"Do you think I would have brought a ring like this for a joke?"

"S-sorry it's just.....really? You want to marry me?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're the whole package, sweet, cute, and smart, I'd be an idiot to not take the opportunity. You still didn't answer me, by the way, even if I probably already know what the answer"

"Yes, yes of course I'll marry you"

"That's what I wanted to hear, now come here"

You got closer to her and she put the ring on your finger, you admired it for a while before you were surprised by Wenona kissing your lips.

The kiss went on for a while, and when you pulled back she started at you with a loving look in her eyes

"I love you my future wife"

"I love you too y/n"

#project eden's garden x reader #project eden's garden #p:eg x reader #p:eg #wenona x reader #wenona #wenona project eden's garden #wenona p:eg #x reader #wenona project eden's garden x reader #wenona p:eg x reader #project eden's garden wenona #gn reader

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cosmosluckycharms · 3 days ago

Text

Bug like angel

pt2

Girl Afraid

May 12, XXXX

4:45 AM

"Shit," you think to yourself as you realize you're going to be late for school

Yes, your school usually doesn't start till 7 AM, but you have a field trip today, and the bus leaves at 5:30 AM.

"Ms.Rose is gonna kill me if I'm late again! Where did I put my bag? Where are my earbuds?" you whisper to no one in particular

You had a million thoughts running in your head, but one thing was sure, you were so late.

You still had to grab your phone, eat breakfast, put on your clothes, do your hair and makeup on the bus, and run towards the bus and then maybe you can make it in time.

You rush downstairs to get breakfast and realize you don't have to be as quiet because it's empty in the kitchen.

You quickly eat breakfast and finish your morning routine before making it out the door.

It's 5:43 when you make it onto the bus, Ms. Rose was waiting on you and thankfully didn't you much of a hard time.

"Ms.y/n, please be more considerate of others time next time."You sat down next to your "friends"

You don't fully consider them your friends, they're too full of themselves and you all know none of you guys are friends, just close acquaintances.

After finishing the coffee you brought onto the bus ride, doing your hair and makeup, and taking a quick nap while listening to music, you finally made it.

Alchemax.

You were excited for the trip, even asking Dick, Jason, and Bruce if they wanted to tag along as chaperones.

They said no, which you both understood and were also sad about but, whatever, who cares? Anyways- you're at the coolest place!

It's perfect for someone who wants an internship that would look great on your resume.

Why do you want that resume? You don't know. Maybe it's so you can impress your family? You aren't fully sure.

Before you question yourself further, you get off the bus, along with your schoolmates.

You hear them all chatting about whatever, but it's clear to everyone that you are the most excited to go on this trip.

You, who wouldn't shut up about it despite everyone at school and home telling you to. You, who kept bouncing off walls while talking about it. You, who constantly wrote about it in journals.

Nothing could stop your excitement, and that was clear to others.

While you were there, you were practically the only one participating.

The only one wasnt scared to ask questions.

The one that would ask questions for others who wouldn't.

You were sure that this was the best trip of your life! You were so interested in everything!

It wasn't until later in the day after you got home at 7:56 that you saw everyone in the dining room sitting together eating, like usual, without you.

Every time you saw them together your heart broke a little more.

You tried to not make a scene and just walk away quietly, and it worked!

With everyone but Alfred.

"And where have you been, young miss?" He asked in an authoritary tone.

"I've been on a field trip in Alchemax! I just got back! It was soo fun, why?" you asked, knowing what he was going to ask.

"Wouldn't you like to have dinner with the others?" it's clear he just wanted the others to notice you, he knew you've tried so hard to be with them.

"it's alright, Alfred. I grabbed lunch with my friends earlier, I'm still full!" you said enthusiastically. It wasnt a lie, afterwards you all went to your favorite fast food place, batburger. You're sure theres no better fast food place than batburger.

"Oh, that's quite alright then." as soon as he said that you went upstairs to get unready and unpack for the day. you didnt notice Jasons slight dissapointment on his face when you refused and walked away.

It's good that it was a Friday, you could rest tomorrow.

You didn't notice how you accidentally took Project 111 with you. Mustve sneaken in your bag while you went to the bathroom while at Alchemax.

It took you a while to open your bag due to you getting ready for bed, and you screamed when you saw a spider in your bag and crawling onto your hand.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK STOP CRAWLING ON ME LEAVE ME ALONE WHERE DID YOU COME FROM GO AWAY!" the stupid spider kept crawling on you.

It's honestly suprising no one heard you scream. Either that or they didnt care.You didnt know what to do. You hate spiders.

It took you minute or two of just flailing before actually doing something.You tried to reach for your nearest hairbrush to hit the spider with, only to accidentally hit yourself anywhere but where the spider was. Thats gonna leave a mark.

The spider, project 111, ended up biting you on the wrist. You ended up killing it with your hairspray.

You started panicking on whether you would die or not, you may have cried a little before realizing you were being a tad bit dramatic.

You realized the spider didn't look like the venomous ones you researched online while trying to find common ground with Damian back when he was new

So you decide to keep this to yourself, a nice little secret.

3:37 AM

You woke up sweating, panicking, hot, cold, tired, wide awake, hungry, full, thirsty, not thirsty.

You didn't know what was happening.

You forced yourself to fall back asleep.

it's around 12 PM when you wake up again.

You hope it was just a weird nightmare.

You realize you woke up late to breakfast, which was usually at 9:30 for you, so on your desk was some cold breakfast Alfred left for you.

While eating it, you thought about what happened.

Was it a dream? Was it a sign? Were you high?

You start walking in circles trying to figure out what it could all mean...it took you a while to realize you were literally upside down on your ceiling.

Oops?

Before you processed it, you panicked.Why are you on the ceiling? Why were you walking on walls? How were you walking on walls?

So many questions. No one to answer them.

After a bit of panicking and running around making a mess, you realize you sort of have powers.

You could stick to walls, that was one.You could make webs, thats two. You could be a hero, like the others!

At first, you find it so cool!

..then you realized your father doesn't want metas in Gotham...

You decide to keep this to yourself, for now at least.

oml this is so short oops guys i swear im. tryigg my hardest but also im kind of a bad writiter 🙏

anyways the next one of these i make is most likely gonna be emu reader cause shes so silly

anyways

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brain4stew · 3 days ago

Text

Y’know what, let me try and make a headcanon, or something out of this myself. Note to self though, that I cannot write for sh-

…. ANYWAY!

Headcanon/something under the cut! ;

• So, let’s start off by saying that, for you to be Eunoia’s bodyguard, we’ll say there’s a special skin for Guest 1337. “Yourself” skin, to be precise. (Like John Doe’s skin.)

• You and Mafioso do not know each other that well, but you both tolerate each other, due to you both working under Eunoia.

• Whenever there is an Elliot with Eunoia skin on your team, they will be highlighted for about 10-15 seconds, at the start of the round, so you can go to them, and protect them.

• (I highly suggest you immediately go find a medkit first however, as apparently… Some of your teammates are greedy for the medkits… Get one for Eunoia.)

• Let’s say that you have gotten a medkit for Eunoia, and you’re about to go back to find her, and give her the medkit. But, all of a sudden, you are being chased, by none other than… Mafioso.

• Of course, you block, punch, charge and do whatever you can, to stall the time for the others, and Eunoia. Eventually, Mafioso goes away from you, presumably to go for another survivor.

• Now’s your chance to run and find Eunoia. You’re at 57%, but you’ll be fine. Eunoia can heal you, you hope…

• Mafioso killed her… You, of course, being devastated and angry at him, you heal yourself up with the medkit you were gonna give to Eunoia.

• When you do finish healing up however, you are the last one remaining of your team, which… Of course you get reasonably annoyed, frustrated and angry about.

• You walk around and try and avoid Mafioso as much as you can, and the potential “pizza delivery”, (other members working under both Eunoia, and him).

• But, of course, he finds you. What do you do? You stall the time, yet again, and try to survive. You do get cornered time from time, but, nothing a little block and punch can handle, right?

• So wrong. He somehow manages to grab your hand, before turning you around, and pulling your arm behind your back.

• This is an unfortunate situation for you, as you know he’s most likely stronger than you. However, you wait for an opportunity to be able to break free, and escape.

• But that doesn’t happen, what does happen however, is that, he, sits down, pulling your arm behind with him. Practically setting you on his lap, as his other arm snakes around your stomach to hold you in place.

• …Seems like you’re stuck, aren’t you, little bodyguard? You wonder, why hasn’t he killed you, when he killed Eunoia. Upon remembering Eunoia dead however, you twist and turn yourself around, and practically pounce and pin Mafioso down.

• He, of course, is in shock. He didn’t expect it, nor did he think you had enough strength to do that. But, he isn’t complaining about the sudden turn of events. He strangely… Likes it. Seeing Eunoia’s bodyguard, the one he tolerated due to their boss’s decision, having HIM pinned down under them…

• But, that’s basically all that happens, for the timer runs out, and you’re both sent back to your lobbies. You, in the survivor lobby, he in the killer lobby.

• You of course, IMMEDIATELY go to find Eunoia, to help her wounds after being sent to the lobby. Who are you to ignore your boss’s wounds, and not tend to them?

• Mafioso however, he does feel guilty about killing Eunoia. But, he can’t seem to get the image of him, under you, out of his head.

• Perhaps he’ll go friendly next time it’s his turn to be killer again… He strangely misses you. And Eunoia, even though, he killed her… Yeah, he’ll go friendly next time it’s his turn again…

((NEVER. LET ME WRITE AGAIN. I DONT THINK IM MEANT FOR THIS 😞😞…))

((But anyway, hope you all like it? 😭 Uhm, any tips for writing would be appreciated, as I want to get ALL of my ideas out of my head. I think I can take requests too, however, I’ll prioritize my current list that I have written before today.))

#forsaken x reader #forsaken roblox x reader #roblox forsaken x reader #Mafioso x reader #Never. Let. Me. Write. Again. AAAAAAA👺👺👺#dreamgame x reader

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bunnysdollette · 2 days ago

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₊⊹⁀➴ How to get your shit together in a slump: BD’s instant guide to feeling 100% again! ⟡﹒⪩⪨ 🫧🌸🧁

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧ Hi angels :) Thank you so much for the positive reception on my last posts. Anyway, I’ve been super down lately so I’d thought I’d create this post as a bit of a reference point for anyone who feels like their life is going off of the rails these days. This is how I get myself out of a slump. 💬

♫ todays song is…some by SOYOU

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ GET OFF THAT DAMN PHONE.. 📝 ⊹₊⟡⋆

wait! I was just joking. don’t close your phone until you finish reading (haha). anyway, take a look at your screentime for me. you might have been scrolling for hours or trying to distract yourself from how horrible you felt by doomscrolling endlessly…no. we can’t do that.

usually when I’m in a slump I feel damp, it’s not just about laziness. this could also be the result of exhaustion or a number of factors. dampness is an evil condition in chinese medicine where you feel heavy, tired, and dead. scrolling will only make this worse because you’re prolonging the pain. the first thing you should do is get up, stretch, breathe, and maybe crack a window. the airflow will make a big difference, I promise. 🌿

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CLEAN UP GUIDE. 🌸 ⊹₊⟡⋆

when my room is a mess my state of mind is a mess. I can’t do anything, I’m literally loosing my marbles bc all I can see is a messy space. if your brain is in shambles rn, the smallest amount of organization you can do right now is tidy up your room a little bit.

this doesn’t even have to be a big clean, but small steps make a big impact!… remember your space is sacred. 🧘🏾‍♀️

make the bed. doesn’t have to be fancy, just make sure everything is where it needs to be.

wipe down surfaces like desks, mirrors, and vanities. you can even include a scented spray whilst doing this to make your space smell much cleaner and nicer!! I literally cannot function when my room smells like asscheeks.

remove any old cups, or food waste that you were procrastinating from doing so. don’t want to attract any bugs.

Sweep the floor. You probably don’t notice how many crumbs are on the ground, but please just do it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ RECHARGE YOUR “STATS”. 🛁 ⊹₊⟡⋆

honestly the best way to get out of a slump is self care. neglecting your needs and body can often lead to things going downhill, depressive episodes, etc. We all forget to take care of ourselves properly sometimes, but it’s important to pay attention to our needs and personal wellness.

Ask yourself.

“Did I shower today?” ➜ Take yourself a nice, warm shower and stay in as long as you want.

Take some time to reflect on your day or anything that’s been on your mind. And be sure to wash up well, so you can feel really nice after and tap into your feminine energy. You can even add bath salts, milk, or bubble bath. It will literally make you feel like a princess. . . 👑

“Did I eat/drink today?” ➜ Go eat something.

I prefer light meals or snacks that are cold like fruit, water, or a juice when I’m feeling dead but you can also eat whatever you want. Just think about what will make you feel good and reduce the dampness as much as possible, and will prevent brain fog. Heavier meals aren’t the best for that though.

I bet you feel better already after doing these things! Remember that taking care of yourself is the most important and you are a priority.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ REFLECTING AND MAKING A GAME PLAN 🧁 ⊹₊⟡⋆

Lastly after you feel a little bit better now and you took care of yourself, I would really suggest reflecting either through journaling or shadow work questions. They’re the easiest way to just brain dump all of the crap you’ve been thinking about lately and get it out of your system in a healthy and helpful way.

You can write about things like “how have I been feeling lately?” “What’s one way I can improve in xyz” and so on. This is a mundane activity you can do at the end to organize your thoughts. Mental health is a huge thing after your physical health, as it literally not only affects your world but the world around us. Especially if you are trying to achieve your dream life/dream self, manifest anything, etc. you will need to take care of your mental health to not be consumed by your emotions and keep your mind in check.

Also something that is crucial is practicing gratitude and mentally grounding yourself. You can list things your grateful for, mediate, or exercise. Anything to get yourself into that mindset you need going forward. I personally love to listen to the wizard liz’s podcast in times like these, it’s a great motivation for me.

Remember that slumps, dampness, depressive episodes, all of it, is normal. We are just humans at the end of the day. Be a little nicer to yourself today and take some small active steps towards your goals. ✨🫶🏽

✧ thanks for reading beautiful !! ; so basically I’m thinking of maybe making a community here on tumblr for the girl bloggers that share dream girl content and stuff like that? idk let me know what u think. inbox is always open, stay hydrated and cute, buh bye 👋🏾

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orangez3st · 23 hours ago

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Coruscant's Hottest Gossip

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.10.25: Introduction | Event Masterlist

Part 1 of 5 | Next to Part 2 ↦

Summary: Meeting the galaxy's most famous actress is now labeled as ‘most inconvenient and useless interaction’ in Wolffe's book. Not to mention the predicament against her toxic ex boyfriend that eventually leads him to stick with a fake dating agenda at her behest. He can endure a tenday campaign easily, but gossip and neverending media spotlight? Not so much. Tags & Warnings: fake dating, the return of artist!wolffe, crack treated seriously treated as crack, same universe with author’s other pairing (rex/sho’cye), swearing, clone shenanigans, suggestive themes, angry kissing, wolffe boutta explode, clone shenanigans, celebrity life Pairing: Wolffe × Nic Erlonna (OFC Muse Actress) Word Count: 13.5k A/N: Soo with that word count, my clone x oc pairings in this event are plot-heavy, but they're all fresh fics you can read starting here! (I absolutely did not make them on the spot since the event's announcement) And! If you're the one who couldn't wait for this pairing, here's your treat at last. Enjoy!

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏

— False Idols - The Weeknd, Lil Baby, Suzanna Son [X]

Wolffe left 79s earlier, leaving his fellow squad members who initially registered for the weekly karaoke night. Partly because he's got other errands, and partly is… well, he's not really into singing.

Their brothers from the 212th happen to be planetside today as well – both battalions with both shore leaves lined up. Wolffe didn’t catch Cody at the bar though, leaving him to easily speculate either it's about overloaded reports or something else involving his prim and proper Jedi General who Wolffe isn't interested enough to keep up on hearing about.

It's okay, they could always meet some other time.

Speaking about reports, Sinker joked earlier about piling stuff Wolffe must have hadn't tended to – jokes on the sergeant because he had, just moments before getting dragged to the bar for a couple pints of beer, actually.

The prickly warmth of Coruscanti night air spells nothing like peace. It’s got some gritty quality Wolffe can't relay out loud, eventually leaving it with just the kriffing pollution.

That's what one gets for living on a planet with 7 trillion people in it with artificially controlled excuse of a climate, anyway. But at least they've got winter at the end of the year and the first two months of the next. Wolffe always likes snow. He likes the cold. He prefers his drinks and shower and bed sheets cold. Winter provides him an excuse to put on some warmer and thicker civvies while chilling in his own quarters all by himself.

Shame it's summer night air smacking him in the face now instead, as he strolls down the street to that little art supplies shop he frequents.

With his basic allowance on subsistence – BAS – isn't directed to top shelf drinks at 79s, they go to more flimsi sheets and various styluses. Funny how the given credits, that are totally for daily sustenance like getting better food in the commercial districts or for entertainment indulgence, goes to his hobby.

Wolffe picked up sketching when he was a cadet. Their trainers in Kamino urged most of them to pick something between poetry, painting, sketching, and literature analysis to divert the battle-hardened focus to something relaxing and to relieve the restlessness within their system. And, oh well, it works well for him.

His collection grows over the years. There are thick piles of folders and binders on the side table in his quarters, all filled with his stylus sketch pieces. An artsy endeavor involves hours of tracing and shading on the flimsi while sitting down with whatever reference he could find in the holonet. He's done some with colored styluses, too. And even some watercolors, when a break is lengthier than usual. Everything turned out great. Always satisfies him and grants him relaxation after every mission or writing reports late at night.

Mostly it's for his own indulgence, to quench that curiosity if he'd draw this in another angle, draw that in different pose. Rex’ika is always rooting him on – always been, since they were but cadets – that when they're both planetside the blond would ask how much has been added to his ever piling sketchbooks, a shy question to hang out in his bunk just like old times while catching up and admiring more drawings.

Wolffe ducks into the small humble art supplies store, acquiring whatever is on his mental checklist, exchanging small pleasantries with the nice elderly Nikto who owns it, and leaves with a paper bag in hand. With the night getting later, the eagerness to try out new styluses in different hardness on the fresh sketchbook, and an obvious home destination in mind, Wolffe trudges through the bustling sidewalk.

On one or two occasions people nudge his shoulders in passing, roughly brushing against his grey leave uniform and making him scowl in annoyance. He's not one to wear patience on his sleeves, alright. Though he understands these people's hastiness, he'd hope they'd understand physical boundaries as well. Unanticipated touches just irk him, okay?

So when suddenly a woman sidles up next to him and grasps his bicep close, Wolffe stiffens.

“Just keep walking.”

Yeah no.

Keeping his strides strong, Wolffe makes a move to yank his arm away, but she holds on tight, fingers clutching onto the fabric-covered crook of his elbow and into his skin.

The woman keeps up with his speed. “Will you help me?”

“Too late to pop the question, lady,” he scowls underneath his hat, “What the hell are you doing?”

Beneath various neon lights and a wisp of blond hair underneath the hood, within a glance, Wolffe finally takes in her anxiousness, almost fear, latching onto the olive green fractals of her eyes.

As if afraid that they're about to get caught, her gaze frantically flicks to the street across and behind them in wariness. Glaring at him now with urgency, she presses on, “Will you help me? Yes or no?”

Wolffe makes a discreet move to pull away again while putting forward the littlest bit of courtesy that hopefully conveys how uncomfortable and offensive it is to his personal space only to fail again. The harsh sigh coming out of him is totally capable of making Mace Windu himself squirm in his seat. “Lady, I'm not gonna–”

“You're not gonna help me?” she asks in disbelief, her features twisting into bafflement.

As if she's surprised a stranger's gonna help her–

Alright, okay, when she puts it that way, that ain't right, okay? That makes him, on the spot – tight spot – trying so hard to channel whatever peace of mind and all that Jedi osik his General tells him about once in a while.

“Depends on what kind of help,” he eventually answers with seriousness, a bit gentler but leaves the sharp bite somewhere in that sentence to, y'know, convey how disturbed he is ‘cause he loves his me-time especially during hard-earned leaves like this, thank you very much.

She scoffs, “That how you act when people ask for help?”

Stars, and he's been trying to be polite. Something tangible within an arm's reach is definitely about to kriffing snap if in five seconds she's offers no explana–

“Nico, hey!”

The woman stops walking, making Wolffe stop walking as well. Curiously, warily, he sees her visibly cringing, shoulders going up to her ears. Then she looks up to the sky and sighs heavily as if tossing why me? to whatever divinity that exists in the cosmos, before quickly striking a totally fake smile that Wolffe suddenly finds the talent quite impressive.

“Shon!” She had turned around and curiosity took over Wolffe even more. Despite her cheery tone, her grasp onto his uniform tightens and is wrinkling the fabric. “What are you doing here?”

A Pantoran male, silver hair and golden facial markings shimmering in neon lights, grins up at her between pants catching his breath, evidence of having to run to catch up. “Caught you from the other side of the street,” he says, jabbing a thumb backwards in general direction, “Couldn't resist to at least say hi.”

The woman lets out a flat laugh. “Okay.”

Another awkward pause of staring in silence with the Pantoran looking at her hopefully like a wet massiff in front of one's door. Wolffe makes no move.

“Now that you've said your hi, goodbye!”

Spinning on her heels, she tugs Wolffe along.

“That’s it?”

Wolffe clicks his tongue in annoyance as they stop again. Look, man, he just wants to go back to HQ and sketch late into the night…

“Yeah why?” The woman sharply turns around, a long stream of blond tress escapes her hood and sits over her shoulder. “You've done your business, which is saying hi to me, so it's time for me to be going about my own business, right?”

Wolffe can practically feel her tense body since she's stuck to him, sensing frustration bleeding off her shoulders.

“I don't just wanna say hi, Nic,” the Pantoran shakes his head sadly. He takes a step closer, hands in front of his chest aiming for a peaceful resolve. “Look, for everything that we had–”

“I don't wanna hear it, Shon.”

And with that, it clicks with Wolffe. The running into ex and latching onto strangers pretending to be the new guy to get out of the situation situation. The woman, Nic or Nico, makes it crystal clear she doesn't wanna see this Pantoran guy Shon. Quietly sighing, and ultimately deciding to play along just in case he needs to meddle in when someone's about to get hurt, Wolffe reluctantly dismisses his personal frustration for the time being.

“I said it,” the woman – Nico – continues, now seething, “I put my foot on it. It's done. For good, Shon. You get me?”

Shon groans. “C'mon, you're just playing me being like this.”

She recoils in mock shock. “Who says I'm playing?”

“Maker, I just miss you alright? Just quit playing this game, please?”

“Who says I'm quitting on playing?” Her tone rises angrily, stomping forward to make her point clear, “We're over, Shon! Fuck off! I don't wanna see you again!”

Shon, now positively fuming, clenches his fists and nears their guarded vicinity. “You know you don't mean that!”

At another step from the Pantoran, Wolffe shoves himself forward. “If the lady says she doesn't want to see you again, that means you should leave now.”

Shon stares at him aghast, as if just noticing that the sidewalk never belongs to the bickering not-couple after all. Onyx eyes bulge in shock, as if the cruel world betrayed him of many credits, and flicking back and forth between the clone and the woman behind his shoulder.

“Who's this?” Blue hand pointing slowly. Golden facial markings twist in evident disgust. “New boy toy? So fast after throwing me away?”

“Great!” Nico quips cheerily. As if accepting the assuming scenario wholeheartedly, her hand is now grabbing Wolffe's, the notion apparently is too much to his reflexes that he twitches. “Now that you're aware we're already over, go home and fuck yourself. Goodbye!”

“A clone, Nico?!” Shon yells in disbelief just as they turn around. Several passersby turn in their direction at the raise of tone. “Wow.” Fists clenching, the Pantoran scoffs and shakes his head offended. “Your standard's been free falling, huh?”

Wolffe is half-expecting Nico to march forward and smack the blue son of a droid across the face, but her blasé expression betrays his confident assumption, as if already used to this sort of altercation every single day.

“You know what,” Nico snarls, “I've been kind enough not to shove a kriffing restraining order in your face!”

“I just want you to wake up!” Shon protests, emotion blaring behind onyx eyes, “We were so good together, we were perfect! How'd you end up with a clone, out of all people?!”

Wolffe rolls his eyes. That restraining order sounds like a good idea just about now, actually. The whole ordeal is just fucking disgusting. And oh, right, the piece of kriff said something as if they're objects lacking relationship standards. Just another Taungsday.

“Well maybe because I like him! Maybe because of the fact that we're already over! You hear that?! What we were is a far cry from what you see as perfect.” Nico pants over frustration, every word spat as if toxic. “Go home, Shon. Don't make me call the police!”

Wolffe bites the inside of his lip to hold his smirk in. No he’s not humoring himself with the absurdity of the scenario, but it's just amusing to watch the former couple bickering in the middle of the sidewalk. So much fighting over disagreement, and then there's him, a war front-liner himself, fighting over another kind of disagreement.

So using that persona, Wolffe joins in on the fun and puffs out his chest, putting on his most disgusting scowl, and takes a menacing step forward to the already cowering Pantoran.

“I'm gonna ask you to leave now.”

Just this once. Then he can go back to being disgusted by the entire predicament as he's supposed to be, like usual, like how his vode describe him. Civilians are weirdos anyway.

One of few things Nico is grateful for today, next to sneaking out to her favorite Corellian buckwheat noodle joint in the lower levels without being noticed, is the clone who she randomly chose to be her escape and savior of the day is finally picking up on what's going on.

He’d been stiff and even tried to yank his arm away earlier, a quick glance to his sharp features showed he was actually ticked off that she threw herself onto him… in her defense, she needed it. Anything to avoid Shon. That blasted son of a gundark just can't suck it even after breaking up a year ago.

Now the clone stands tall, shoulders and back rigid and fists clenched loosely by his sides, an easy scare to anyone as scaredy as Shon.

“You're gonna regret this, Nic.” Shon’s onyx eyes flit in her direction, nostrils flaring. “You and your clone boyfriend.”

Nico huffs boredly. “Yeah?” She decides to call the whole thing done, so she reaches out to the clone and tugs on his sleeve. “Can't wait to see what you're gonna do, Shon.”

“I'm going to fucking destroy you!” the Pantoran shouts as they're already two buildings away.

“Yep, looking forward, bye!”

Nico counts to ten just in case Shon's still standing there gaping in all his toxic obsession, before she removes her grip on the clone and slides in front of him.

“I’m really sorry for all that,” she immediately says with a small smile that she hopes is apologetic enough, guilt overcoming her for dragging a stranger into her mess. “Can I, uh, treat you to something to make up for it?”

The clone shakes his head. “No need. Just doing what anyone would've done.”

“C'mon, I insist!” Nico urges, readily jostling her shoulder bag in instinct to brandish a payment card. “That was a jerk ex with an obsession, and you handled him like a hero.”

“Sorry, but I have to refuse,” he says firmly. Nico catches some kind of an authority inflection in his deep voice. “And I should be going back to the barracks by now.” His feet shuffle a little as if ready to ditch her on the spot and scurry back to HQ.

“Oh well.” Nico shrugs. To be honest she almost forgets that he's also a war soldier. She’s just used to seeing Corries stationed on-world. “At least, if you'd like, walk me back to my apartment? S’not so far away from here.”

He's conflicted, that Nico can see. She never gives much care towards clones, let alone see one so close without their buckets. Amber brown eyes that seem to glow golden when light hits from a certain angle, sharp facial features under the hat that comes with the leave attire, and battle experience carved onto their features in soft facial lines. This one however, got a cybernetic fit into his right eye, an accompanying vertical scar tells the misfortune of losing the real one in a close combat.

Weird thing is, he acts like he doesn't recognize her. He'd been tense when she practically hugged his side but she brushed it off assuming he was just stunned to call her out. But now, where there's no more running into ex disturbance and the likes, he's clearly annoyed by her presence, meddling in his downtime and screwing his relaxed walk in the city, but can't really bring it up and throw the harsh facts into her face without all due respect.

Curious. He doesn't know her? She's just as famous as Jabba the Hutt! Butting heads in the ranks of fame, yeah, but she wins in the entertainment section by a landslide.

Nic Erlonna the actress, galaxy's sweetheart and most famous.

And this one clone doesn't even know her, though she's sure there's a lot of pin-ups of her somewhere in the army barracks.

A big sigh comes out of him before, “Alright.”

Nico claps her hands startling him. She holds back a snort. “But, uh, one quick stop, is that okay?”

“Only if I can make the whole trip plus the trek back to headquarters before 2200.”

She promptly ignores his flat dismissing tone. “Should be enough.” As they continue down the street with her in the lead, she then asks, “Can I at least get your name?”

“Best not.” His answer is abrupt, followed by a quiet but certain, “Sorry.”

Nico chuckles awkwardly. “Ah well. Stiff rules in the army, huh?” She's met with silence. He's not even looking at her, just at the path straight ahead. But she's not known to be silent either. “To be honest I don't really know what's been going out there. Just about there's a big galactic war and that's all.”

The clone shrugs subtly. “Don't really expect people to know so much.”

Nico hums. Makes sense. Like herself, case in point. “You fight in the front lines, trooper?” she asks again, earning a curt nod and nothing else that follows. Absentmindedly reading the neon signages as they pass, she decides to let it drop and leave him be to privacy. The least she can do for dragging him out of that very privacy not ten minutes ago, anyway.

They stop at a shop absent of any colorful neon signages. Tinted windows and an ornate decoration on its entry door, the amber neon sign only displaying a name of its owner, leaving passersby curious of what may be offered inside.

Nico’s gaze flicks momentarily to her involuntary companion. “Okay, here we are. Wait out here for a bit, if you don't mind.”

He wordlessly tells her he doesn't, and dutifully so near the store windows with one hand behind his back almost in parade rest, the other clutching his own paper bag. Then, she enters the shop with the knowledge that it may or may not be a newly purchased sketchbook in the paper bag he keeps close guard of. Heh. Clones with artsy hobbies.

An art supplies store, the top shelf kind. She's seen this often during her discreet commute, especially on her way back to her apartment. Pricey equipment and high quality paints worth of credits and more incoming credits if the artist that makes art stuff with these sells it to the highest bidder.

So when Nick walks out with a bigger paper bag in hand with nearly a tooka-like grin, she pretends the clone isn't looking at her suspiciously at all.

“Okay, all good. Let's go.”

The walk ain't long, much to Wolffe's surprise.

When they marched down the sidewalk in what he realized as the most high-end residential area in the heart of Coruscant, a looming apartment building kept jutting out amongst many others, the most lavish looking out of them all. And the longer they walked, the closer that particular apartment got. It took him another moment to realize that they really were walking in that direction.

“How’s your commute back?” Nico casually asks him as they approach the lobby, warm amber light illuminating their figures.

“Walking,” mutters Wolffe.

“Wait. Seriously?” Nico exclaims, peeking into the lobby through the glass doors to see the chronometer on the wall. “Why not get a cab?”

Credits spent on that aren't worthy when a five minute walk to the nearest shuttle headed to HQ.

“I prefer walking.”

An unamused scoff escapes her lips. “I hope you're joking. We’re not having that. I'm not having that.” Suddenly she takes off running to enter the building. “I'll call a cab for you! Hang in there, alright?”

His protests fall deaf on… well, nothing. Nico is already inside leaning over the receptionist counter, vigorous movements of hands and head nods and hasty smiles to make quick of the endeavor… calling a cab home for a clone.

And Wolffe just really hates it where he's got to be polite from now on that somebody is paying for his convenience. Like he's owing them. And he can't pay back since he's got nothing on him. Indebted. It's as if the floor and the ceiling are pinning down on him. Why the hell did he even agree to walk her back if it's gonna come to him owing someone? Owing her?

“All good!” Nico runs back outside to meet him. “Cab headed to GAR will be here in another minute.”

Wolffe sighs, guilt swallowing him even deeper. “Ma'am, really, I–”

“No, no, my words are final. Don't worry about anything,” Nico interrupts him, “You get in a cab to your HQ, and with this.”

The bigger laminated paper bag he’d forgotten about is suddenly thrust into his hands, the size and the texture of the carrier itself looking comically different to the humble one he acquired from his usual art supply store. Never being so generously gifted, he can only gape, mouth slightly parting and the insides of his stomach whipping up emotions alien to him.

Kark she bought this… for me?

“Please just take it as my gratitude for standing up against Shon,” Nico says abruptly, her tone almost commanding, before words of refusal leave his tongue. “But if it's against your rules and stuff then I dare you to chuck it down the lobby.”

Judging by the look of the bag and how weighty it is, it makes him wonder what could be inside… Yeah no.

“...Thank you.”

No regulations explicitly stating on owning personal belongings anyway. The least he can do then is to accept it… and not be a dick. Those are possibly hundreds of credits in his hands. It could've been bottles of alcohol. So yeah, no chucking it down the lobby.

The cab arrives. Wolffe has never been so desperate to be home after a night out before.

“Get home safe, trooper,” Nico says after he climbs into the seats, ducking to the cab's window level so she can bid him bye.

Wolffe stares long at her, noting how the hood of her poncho had come off and spilling blond hair everywhere about her shoulders. He gives a curt nod. “You too, ma'am.”

She smirks. “Well I'm already here.”

His ride ascends to the skylane zipping along the traffic. Wolffe leans back, neck rested against the padded cushion as he mulls over what the heck just happened to him tonight… A week long extraction mission to the Mid Rim, returned, and… whatever this is.

He reaches for the paper bag. The lux one.

“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, gaping wholly to the contents inside.

Five high-grade non-smudge flimsi sketchbooks (the label says it's imported from Kashyyyk). A portable sketching kit. A dozen fine liner styluses of various widths. Three dozen high-quality graphite styluses of various hardness. A sizable organizer clutch that could definitely hold every single tool that's left cluttered inside a single shelf under his desk. A watercolor paint set of 108 shades. And all those are of high-end brands he'd only get to hear so much about, but never been able to buy.

As a humble and barely-hanging-on artist, all those are just… dreams come true.

Reaching further, Wolffe peels off a sticky flimsi note and, under the low light of the cab, examines it.

Saw your sketchbook(?) Hope you're into drawing or this is gonna be a really awkward gift –Nic

As if it's entirely made out of glass, Wolffe gently put the bag next to him on the seat. All that was definitely worth hundreds of credits… and knowing her just tossing money for someone as unworthy and insignificant as him…

Let's rewind then. He went to buy more supplies, Nico sidled up to him, Shon happened, walking her back, and that's when it got worse.

She spent hundreds of credits after apparently catching a glimpse of his little shopping endeavor and called him a cab home, all in her tab. She's stupid stinking rich.

Now here he wishes it was liquor instead so he can sober up from the overwhelming and unnecessary kindness. But to be honest, it'd be blatantly thankless and stupid of him to reject gifts…

He's a clone. He'd never been gifted abundantly by anyone ever, anyway.

“WOLFFE YOU SLICK SON OF A DROID!”

Wolffe slurps on his pureed soup. “Mornin’, Boost.”

“MUST BE A GOOD MORNING TO YOU, SIR.”

He sighs. “Look, if you don't stop screaming, m’gonna pull rank and make you run ‘round the shipyard, get it?”

Boost snickers. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He plops down on the bench across the commander. “But with all due respect, respectfully sir, would you kindly tell me all the good juice about your date last night?”

Wolffe stops halfway slurping. He swallows.

“Date?”

“Don't play dumb, sir,” Sinker guffaws next to Comet. He brings up a datapad. “Here, take a look. Should help you. It's all over the holo–”

“WHERE IS HE?!”

Heavy, stomping steps boom throughout the bustling mess hall. It's not even 0800 yet, and Wolffe sighs at that particular voice pitch, at the slight hoarse quality of it. Within a slight turn of the head in the direction of the door, is a sight of his brother in all his 212th white and orange glory, fuming as if he's been foul-played and is now begging for justice. And of kriffing course, being in possession of most excellent eyesight out of the command bunch, Cody picks the slight movement out of the crowd, definitely catching Wolffe's permascowl too, and he's grinning maniacally that his temple scar creases as he immediately makes his way over.

“WOLFFE YOU BIG UGLY SON OF A DROID!”

At that very moment, Wolffe is certain his sanity is depleting as quick as the cheap beer in 79s during collective clone trooper leaves.

“Can everybody stop yelling and just tell me?!” he snarls, making sure it reaches neighboring tables. He sharply turns to Cody and half-exclaims impatiently, “What d’ya want?”

Cody pauses a few steps away, his armored shoulders heave in deep determined breaths, expression hurt and utterly betrayed.

“YOU WENT OUT WITH NIC ERLONNA?!”

Wolffe recoils, his frustration simmering to the brim. “Who the hell is Nic Erlonna?”

“You don't know?” Comet voices his shock, sharing a baffled look with the other two. “That's the girl you went out with last night!”

“I didn't go out with anyone!” It may look like a weak ass response but whatever, as long as it's the truth. There was Nico but… can't be the same person, right? He eyes his squad members. “And what's it got to do with me? How the hell did you even find out?”

“It’s all over the holonet.” Sinker finally nudges the datapad in his Commander's direction, having been held by Cody's imposing presence. “Here,” he says, biting down on his lip to not laugh. Wolffe glares at him but he doesn't waver, amber eyes under dyed pale hair twinkling with mirth. “Seems you made headlines and hot news and everything gossip, sir.”

Wolffe's cold glare remains two seconds longer before he observes the presented article.

𝐍𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚: 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲?!

Surely a surprise to the whole galaxy, but a welcome one! Reported just last night in Triple Zero, Nic Erlonna was seen walking down the streets in one of the commercial districts arm in arm with– wait for it… a clone trooper! Honestly, that grey uniform is trademark downtime clone fashion already – it means they're on leave after an off-world campaign! Aside from that it could've been a romantic-patriotic motive (to which maybe some of us wouldn't complain because we understand that these boys really do have charms, okay?), is Nic making a bold move onto politics with our boys in white? Diplomatic much, Nic? But maybe MAYBE she just fancies them the way some of us do? Our zine is absolutely not pro-Shonic, and hasn't been, long before they broke up last year (good riddance!), so we're already flocking to this unexpected pairing! #clonic

Cody now definitely and intentionally is doing things to irk him further, peering over his shoulder to catch the article on the datapad making Wolffe half tempted to drive his elbow back and hit the di’kut in the crotch. Swear to kriff he can feel Cody's glare burning hot plasma holes into the back of his head.

“Can't believe I’m betrayed as kark,” Cody says, his voice trembling with childish resentment. “And I call you my brother.”

Wolffe exaggeratedly rolls his eyes as he returns the datapad. “I don't owe you anything, Cody.”

“Wrong, vod. You owe me everything.” Both of Cody's hands clap onto Wolffe's shoulders, startling the Living Force out of him. The gloved fingers slip between his armor plates and start massaging. “How’d you meet her? You two been goin’ a long time? You two kriffin’ yet?”

Wolffe roughly shrugs him off and without looking, he actually drives his elbow to hit Cody in the crotch, only to meet air, as Cody jumps out of the way and casually pops up on the other side.

“We just met,” he grumbles, turning back to his pureed soup, “Nothing more and nothing less about it.”

Boost humors him by chuckling. “Yeah, you met the dick ex Shon, right?”

He wishes it wasn't just a ‘met’. He wishes it was more than ‘met’. Like, decking the Pantoran toxic crybaby across the face, maybe. It would've been a funny story to tell at the moment.

Then of course he gets reminded by the lavish art supply gifts, still untouched on his desk and everytime he looks at it he still feels kinda guilty.

Wolffe sighs and goes to rub his eyes. Look at him. Not even 0800 yet and he's exhausted as kark, especially with Cody's irking presence. He suddenly understands Fox's rare yet loud sleep-deprived complaints when they get on holo. Though the Corrie definitely doesn't share Wolffe's current further exhaustion and frustration catalyst, but damn is the feeling similar.

“Look,” he grumbles into his hands, “Now that I'm apparently the talk of the rotation, I'm gonna clarify that there's nothing going on.” Then he turns to Cody and emphasizes every single word; “I. Don't. Even. Know. Her.”

Cody's loud dramatic gasp startles even the neighboring tables. Not even one of them knew the Marshal Commander of the 7th Sky Corps is capable of dramatics. No matter how unbelievable that is, anyway, must’ve gotten it from the general, and emphasized by the other general and Togrutan padawan.

“YOU DON'T KNOW NIC ERLONNA?!”

“Fuck’s sake–!” Wolffe swats him in the stomach. Cody is not even dodging. “Stop yelling!”

“YOU DON'T KNOW 14 TIMES OSK’ARR NOMINATED AND 5 TIMES BEST ACTRESS WINNER NIC ERLONNA?!”

Patience running thin, Wolffe swiftly turns around and starts swinging his arms.

“Get the kriff out Cod–! oof–” Cody’s knee suddenly slams into his vulnerable stomach, and Wolffe stiff-arms him again, trying his best not to hit the table behind him and spill this morning’s bowl of pureed soup onto the table. “Fuckin’ hell–”

He manages to stretch, swinging his other leg over the bench, and in a split second triumphantly thrusts his leg out into Cody's knees, all while sitting down and sending Cody reeling backwards in surrender. A victorious smirk slides into Wolffe's face, only not to last long as Cody suddenly aims for his head in blinding speed, the sudden assault he manages to block with both of his arms save for Cody's other hand that quickly slips through the defenses and successfully smacks Wolffe across the head.

Laughing while finally walking away like the little shit he is, Cody turns, going backwards in his path. “M’gonna holo Rex and scoop up more juice from the 501st,” he announces, then he cups his hands around his mouth, “Letting vod'ika know that his ori’vod is dating galaxy's famous!”

Wolffe swallows as waves of realization storm him at that moment.

Nic Erlonna… Nico… Nic… that little sticky note…

Kriff does that mean…

Hood over her head. Lavish apartment. Lavish gift. People talking.

Fuck me. That was a real kriffing celebrity.

“You look… unhappy about all this, sir.”

“It’s paps,” Boost says to Comet, “Paps are never fun. Invading your privacy and all.”

“And the fact that the whole thing wasn't going in my favor at all.” Wolffe turns and sits properly again at his firstmeal tray. The protein cubes suddenly look unappetizing. He sighs, eyes sweeping across his three squad members. “It was just a small altercation and I had to step in. Bet you know why.”

“Shon Vatore is her co-star in various holos,” Sinker resourcefully chimes in again, “His obsession with her eventually became too much and she broke up with him for good just last year, but he hadn't been taking it well, as you could see.”

“Crazy ex,” Comet shakes his head, “Couldn't leave her alone. I mean they broke up last year. Someone should've admitted him to a psych hospital or som’n.”

Sinker swallows his food. “Not issuing a restraining order against him is what I don't understand.”

Kark me they're just as bad as Cody. Just how invested are they in Nic Erlonna?

“Yeah you gotta admit the ex was creepy as kark, Wolffe.” The commander looks up from his carbs at the call of his name. Boost looks at him expectantly. “You met him. Thoughts?”

There's a royal string of curses and disrespectful names lined up already.

“Delusional. Intrusive,” Wolffe answers instead (because he's still got dignity and exemplary traits in him that he needs to exhibit to his men). He huffs. “Stupid.”

“Most of the galaxy agrees with you, don't worry,” Sinker laughs. He then nods at Wolffe with respect, and a teasing glint in his eyes. “Very heroic of you, Commander.”

“Believe me, I didn't even speak more than two lines to the di'kut when it happened.”

“No, no, that may be true, but you and your scary-looking presence are helping the media to cook exaggerated stories to gush over in the morning after,” Boost unhelpfully offers.

“It's just news,” Wolffe shakes his head dismissively, “Something that people are going to forget after four-five days. Or maybe even three.”

The trio shares a look, already knowing just how wrong their commander's statement would be. But for now, they spare him a quiet firstmeal, before more people would definitely flock to him and throw teasing questions about the alleged relationship in approximately… two hours, minimum.

Or maybe in fifteen minutes the moment they stroll down the corridor.

“How did you even end up with a clone, Nico?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Mummy, that's the tenth time people's been saying to my ears today and it's not even 0900,” she sighs, “I was in need of a way out. He walked past, then I thought a clone was a good idea.”

“Alright I understand then, honey,” Mummy speaks softly. Nico imagines her mother pouting, arms on the railing of her parent’s bedroom's balcony. “Those paps weren't going easy on you, were they?”

“Like they ever did,” Nico huffs, picking on her breakfast, “I wasn't even aware of them just across the street. According to that still’s angle in Ecumenopolitan.”

A straight amateur shot towards the altercation, but it was clear enough to catch her face even underneath her hood and his underneath his hat, with Shon was fuming as kriff. Must've been during the last moments where the clone positioned himself in front of her.

“They've got a clear shot on this clone too,” Mummy mulls again, “That huge scar over his eye, ugh.”

“Cybernetic,“ Nico supplies, “How many clones do you think in the army fitted with cybernetic eye?”

Mummy hums. “Not much, I think. What cut him so bad he lost an eye?”

Nico stands, having cleaned her plate, and heads to the kitchen. “Beats me, Mummy, but I've got Veeli to go look for this clone.”

“Okay then,” Mummy sighs dramatically, “Gotta go, honey. Your father's waiting. Remember what I taught you; people who help you when you're in trouble–”

“–are the ones we should pay back with kindness. Talk later, Mummy.”

This morning so far has been filled with her overthinking and brooding about the circulating rumors, and specifically feeling bad for the clone. The unwanted attention must be most undesirable for him. For a clone, called ‘property of the Republic’... Yeah that's definitely gonna cause more problems that haven't risen, demanding her management's attention to act in urgency. Like, summoned by the head of the government for meddling with what's theirs…

“Your ingenious move now puts you in all these delicious rumors.”

Her manager Titus strides in through the elevator, Veeli in tow. Veeli is a Mikkian, always in her hand is a datapad, being Nico's personal assistant and all, scarlet skin painted with neutral and all-business facial expression. The accompanying yellow-skinned Zabrak, however, sports an enthusiastic grin across his tattooed face as he rubs his hands together.

“Right?” Nico calls out from the couch, watching them marching in. Her tone changes to actual concern, voicing her inner turmoil. “Though I really didn't mean to. I think I'm putting the clone in too much trouble already. His identity hasn't leaked yet, right?”

Titus shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “If those clones have social media they haven't ratted him out yet.”

Veeli butts in, datapads clutched close to her chest, “Well, to answer Nic's question; no, but it's gonna be any second now if anyone would interview a single clone trooper.”

Nico holds her scoff in. “How could anyone possibly identify a single clone trooper anyway? Even within their ranks? What are the chances?”

Veeli looks hesitant for a second. She trades a look with Titus who had taken his liberty to sit on the couch across Nico. He shrugs. Veeli lets out a breath. “For starters,” she begins, “The guy last night was a Clone Commander in the army.”

In a second Nico hunches forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I'm not,” Veeli answers seriously, now tapping in her datapad, “I had a friend in the GAR medwing who was willing to look through the medical archives. Turns out not everyone lost an eye due to lightsaber wound, so the archive search was unnecessary. His number is CC-3636.”

“Um… Number?”

“Identification number. Serial number. Whatever you wanna call it.”

Nico lets out a noise at the knowledge. Right, they're dubbed as products, anyway. Born with serial numbers makes sense.

“He got a name?”

Veeli is scrolling now. “Hang on… uh, yeah. Army Clone Commander Wolffe of the 104th Battalion.”

“Either way the whole kriffing galaxy now thinks you're dating a clone,” Titus asserts, arms now splaying over the top of the couch. He subtly points at Nico. “That sends political impressions to the public, so I think you need to prepare for shit thrown at you.”

Nico rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, that's the classic Centaxday for me, Titus.”

“Nic, this is huge, okay?” the manager leans forward ardently, “Who knows someone up in the Chancellor office requests you for attendance? You were interacting with their property and now everyone's eyes are on that clone and you!”

“Yeah, and we can't forget Shon either,” Veeli butts in again.

A groan escapes Nico. Both hands scrub down her face as if able to just wipe her quiet frustration away all together. Feeling bad for the elusive clone commander by drawing attention to him, in addition to her auditions and modelling being scrammed together with daily workout sessions, and now, the audacity her ex seems to have yet again to approach her last night and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

“I think this is an opportunity.”

Titus is found grinning wickedly at her once she peeks through her fingers. Nico loves her manager alright, everything is in perfect control thanks to his excellent time management, but sometimes his ideas can be just too creative and daring to execute. See, that kind of smile, among his tattooed face and horns around copper hair smugly slicked back with a concerning amount of hair gel, is the face that manifests such ideas just exactly. But Nico always indulges him anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, hear me out.” Titus scoots to the edge of his seat enthusiastically. “You want Shon to be ridiculed for his treatment and obsession with you. You want the galaxy to hate him. And you're ‘dating’ this clone.”

Nico blinks. “Okay?”

“So show the media you're in a happy relationship with the clone.” Titus spreads his arms triumphantly as if having just pitched the most brilliant idea in the galaxy. “Drive every single love and attention to both of you, leave them gushing all over you, and Shon will be out of the picture soon enough because how good and happy you both are.”

Veeli is facepalming.

Nico shares the sentiment as she looks at the Zabrak in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”

Titus holds her gaze. “I’m as serious as I could ever be.”

“You want me to fake date a clone commander in the galactic army?”

“I want you to use the given gossip to your advantage. You can do anything, Nico. At a given opportunity. And this is it. Plainly handed to you.”

Titus may be great with time management and multitasking solely for her personal branding and public image and all, but sometimes his ideas and encouragement are just…

Nico is actually thinking about it. She can, can't she?

“Besides I think the clones don't look too bad,” Titus shrugs, “And he's a commander. He's the best one can get. We can schedule an appointment to talk to the Chancellor about this, or I don't know, wait for an attendance request from his office, whichever’s faster. Farfetched, not to mention ridiculous, but as far as I know, he's a fan, so we'll see if he could go around the rules for a bit?” He laughs gushingly into his hands. “Maker, new power couple smacking everyone in the face.”

“I can't believe you're shipping her already,” Veeli grumbles, her floating tendrils flicking the air almost in disappointment.

“Hey, not gonna lie, they look great! I dunno how friendly this guy is, but there's certainly chemistry going on already!” Titus laughs, “And that Hot Gal Coruscan-tea ship tag is genius. I know I've always liked them. They came up with hashtag ‘clonic’ for clone and Nic, but now that we know the commander's name, the fanbase better be prepared for-” he makes a whooshing noise while wiggling his fingers around “–Nicolffe.”

Collective groans from both ladies. Utter disappointment from Veeli. Flustered woozy feelings from Nico.

Oh yeah that's right. She's falling for it already. Look at her, she's blushing. Seeing how pinkish Nico's face is, Titus is feeling absolutely victorious right now. Proud of his own (very serious and strategically pitched) joke remains an understatement.

Not gonna lie. Physically speaking, they are oh so excellent. Fit physique – she's almost as tall by a few inches. Killer cheekbones that she could cut herself slapping that face. Jawline game running strong. Those wide shoulders. Exotic bronze shade of skin. Deep, rugged voice, tinged with steadiness and military harshness and wartime experience. Brown eyes that shine when light hits them in a certain angle as if the doors to the heavens above open during the golden hours.

She clears her throat. Blame it to stupid infatuations happening in under 24 hours.

“Okay I admit these copy paste faces aren't that bad,” she mutters sheepishly, voice muffled as her hands still pressed against her face.

Titus barks a laugh. “So you admit it's a good idea! And it's not like we can hire a bounty hunter to off your ex.”

“We can. She just doesn't wanna,” Veeli pitches in.

“And so social resentment is the only way,” Titus says matter-of-factly. “And you've got a galaxywide fanbase! Use it, Nico!”

Before allowing herself to think thrice about it, determination whirrs to life inside her, and Nico finds herself smirking.

“Think I could put up a smug face in the Chancellor's office?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I would!”

“REALLY?!”

“Sure! It's gonna feel like autographing holoposters, I guess. These gunships wouldn't be any different. I'd do anything to make the 104th famous and glorious as I am.”

“Ugh, I love you so much, Nic.”

“I know babes, I love you too.”

“Alright, lines done. Gonna have a hard time choosing your dress… or maybe swimsuits? Oh, uh… sorry.”

“Babes, choose whatever item of clothing you want! Just don't paint me stark naked. As much as I want the Republic to win the war I don't want the Seps to write off the cause of death in their casualty reports with ‘inappropriate body exposure.”

“HAHA! Oh stars you're so funny. Think I'll do swimsuits later.”

“As long as you get my boob size right! I'll be offended otherwise!”

“Any favorites from your Nedd Gala red carpet?”

“Hmm… Oh, that's gotta be that royal blue one with the cape and silver headpiece.”

“The off-shoulder one with a lot of tiny silver stars and thigh slit?!”

“That's the one!”

“YES! MY FAVE TOO! Stars you were an absolute goddess in that one…”

Wolffe expects every single thing to happen this morning (fellow 104th troopers flocking to him, Cody's occasional hazing, Rex's bland and sheepish holo messages, Fox's sleep deprived rants, Bly’s lovesick rants, General Koon’s paternal check-ins with the boys) but never, ever, the sole source of his week-long misery as mentioned above casually merry-making in the 104th hangar with his men as early as 1000.

Especially not about autographed gunship nose art.

Of her stupid famed holomovie gloriousness.

Nor about how his general is standing nearby, hands on hips, looking so terribly proud of the boys’ art endeavors.

As he approaches closer, helmet clipped to his belt, he spots multiple empty drink carriers stacked on top of a crate, and– Force’s sake, Warthog is slurping on a stupid pink drink with a spark of spoiled childish excitement in his eyes. Comet is munching on some snack with orange powder on top of it that makes Wolffe do a double take thinking it's a royal sprinkle of goddamn spice.

Nic Erlonna, reeking pure feminine charm and expensive perfume, is gracing the hangar with her presence; blond hair loose and done in soft curls, sunglasses perched on top of her head as if expecting a royal star fighter ride out under the sun, and some iced drink in her hand (who drinks iced drinks at 1000?). Her statuesque figure, wrapped with some monochromatic smart casual getup. Wolffe registers a certain shade of grey in her attire that looks too familiar…

Oh.

Stupid rich people and their tailored making-a-statement clothes.

Of kriffing course the grey matches his battalion’s markings with incredible accuracy.

And to be honest it goes well with her hair and her eyes–

“Hey, darling!”

Before he can register who-where-what, ohshit happens. That reeked perfume suddenly gets too close to his nostrils than moments ago as he realizes the devil lunges herself into him, affectionately touching his chestplate and pecking him in the cheek.

It all happened in under four seconds.

Then his fight or flight instinct kicks in.

“Geroff–!” He shoves her away from his beloved personal space by her shoulders, only earning a nonchalant toothy grin acting as if the hostile gesture didn't happen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“An impromptu meet and greet with your brothers. I didn't know you clones could be this fun!” Hopping up and down on her feet (those are Force-forsaken damned heels) she excitedly gestures behind her, his own men waving back at him with elated expressions on each and every one of their faces as if winning a million credits in the lottery. Wolffe scowls back (in greeting too). Kark, he's never felt this betrayed before.

“And before that, a quick meeting with your general.”

Wait, what?

Plo Koon suddenly appears next to her.

Wolffe blinks. “Ah. Uh… General, sir.” He half-assed straightens, still completely thrown off by the whole thing.

The General looks at him in utter amusement. “I’m afraid I have other business to attend to, Commander,” he says, “I trust you to accompany Miss Erlonna until she sees it fit to leave the establishment?”

Kark me.

Resisting to roll his eyes, Wolffe clears his throat. “Yes, sir,” he grits out with all due respect, “Until she leaves.”

She kriffing giggles at that part.

The General turns to the woman. “Wolffe is my confidant. You’re already in good hands, Miss Erlonna.”

“Don’t I know it, sir. If something happens, it wouldn't be the first time for him to be the hero of the day.”

Nico’s smile seems genuine as it reaches her eyes, or maybe it's the acting skills to sweeten her behavior around government (or Jedi, whatever) figures.

They bid goodbye; Nico opts for the go-to have a nice day and Wolffe with a curt nod to the Jedi, and the Kel Dor himself with a friendly wave of the hand to them before marching away.

He wonders just how much time Plo Koon has wasted surfing on the holonet.

And then Nico slurps on her drink noisily next to him, making him slowly turn to her in disbelief.

Olive green eyes lazily blinking up at him. Then, she sighs, that confident and gleeful upbringing crumbling apart as Wolffe isn't backing down from glaring at her.

“Okay.” Her shoulders slump even further. “I understa–”

“Respectfully, you don't,” Wolffe sharply interrupts. He folds his arms across his chest. “Start explaining. Now.”

“I was just about to get to it before you interrupted, darling,” Nico smirks impishly. “Now, how about you take me on a walk so I can start explaining?”

Wolffe grimaces at the idea of walking around the premises with the gossip still running hot among the clones. “No. I want it here and now. What were you doing with General Plo Koon?”

“Talk,” Nico shrugs, swirling the ice in her drink. “Something about a mandate from the Supreme Chancellor himself upon my request.”

He snorts. “The Chancellor abide by your request?”

“I suppose because of my talent and charms!”

Kark me. Stupid famous rich peop–

“–so it's not surprising he's a massive fan of my holomovies and that he keeps up with the gossip.”

Okay look, he's been living the past week like a kriffing celebrity himself. It's a whole load of nightmare. Walking down every single corridor, heck even attending a session in the war room, grants him teasing glances from his brothers. It's driving him crazy. His only escape is no longer gunning away the targets in the shooting range, but locking himself inside his quarters doing certain things with stylus and flimsi.

Wolffe really hates when unanticipated things get thrown his way. Not a single briefing and they expect him to freestyle himself out of the situation. Sure he can do that with the CC programming and all, but if the news isn't as fun as the words request and Chancellor and gossip weaved into a single sentence with the source of his weeklong misery saying all that to his face, he'd be far more grateful. At least it'll spare him another grey hair. Looking back at himself, Fox is probably having the best month of his entire life right now.

And so as he registers it, processing it again and again, he just knows the entire world hates him right now.

“What did you do?”

Nico sips on her drink again. The straw comes off her lips with a pop. “This is going to be a really lengthy and serious discussion but with me in these heels, I'd really hate it if we're not sitting down. So, you have somewhere in mind?”

Sighing heavily and resolutely groaning, Wolffe turns around and storms out of her vicinity. The click-clack of her heels resound through the durasteel flooring of the hangar as she catches up to him half running. Wolffe scoffs. In four inches? It's impressive. It's a wonder she hasn't tripped yet. He quietly hopes she'll stagger or something.

She doesn't. She follows him in stride, hurried pace matching his own albeit a few steps behind. A few passing clones gasp and call out to her in adoration, to which she answers in passing.

“Sure, hand me a permanent stylus, I'll sign your armor!

“I’ll catch up to you later babes!

“A still? In a minute, okay, babes? He's walking too fast, haha…

“Oh yeah, with this getup I do support the 104th fully. And the entire Grand Army of the Republic!

“Where am I going? Oh y'know, somewhere private.”

Holy kriff. She did not just say that.

Wolffe slams his fist into a panel to one of the assembly rooms, the door swooshing open at his proximity. Both then enter, the click-clack of her heels now is a false and horrendous symphony to his ears, tickling the big bad resentful beast down in the bottom of his gut. The noise stops, followed by a soft grunt and another noise of plopping down a cushioned seat. When Wolffe turns around, Nico is already situated, one leg over the other, eyes on him in serious anticipation.

Frustration still comes out of him in heaving breaths as he bores down to her. “You have exactly three minutes.”

“Very commanding, but I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Nico clicks her tongue dismissively. “I believe you've heard what's been circulating around the holonet?”

At that, Wolffe scowls. His arms cross over his chest. “S’not been going in my favor.”

Her grin grows even wider. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She subtly points her drink cup at him. “So the word is, the galaxy's most famous actress is dating a clone trooper of the army. How did they meet? How could she set her bar that far too low? Well, it's simple. I fell in love and swooned over your patriotism and heroism, and now the whole Grand Army of the Republic is under my patronage as well because of my kindness and compassion towards these clones.”

Wolffe laughs. Swear to Force laughs. “Have fun dreaming. You just fabricated that the moment you woke up this morning.”

Nico giggles along. “Exactly, darling. But, hm, it's last week actually. But! We're dating now, whether you like it or not. Well I, for one, like it.”

“I don't,” Wolffe grunts, the dry humor dissipating completely from his eyes.

Nico doesn't reply. With the smug smile gracing her painted lips, she sits there almost contentedly, olive green eyes seeming to assess the moment and taking every smallest movement he makes as his reaction. The drink in her hand is almost empty leaving the ice, with red lip stain on the top of the straw.

“I'm not finished yet,” she says to him, still smiling, maybe to show how nice she is (she really isn't she's a kriffing devil), with an additional ounce of seriousness, “Allow me to backtrack. The morning after that encounter with my dick ex Shon, you bet the holonet was full with pictures of you and me and the devil himself at that side of the street. People speculated, and somewhere in those twelve hours, you and me became us.”

Sighing deeply, he shuts his eyes.

“Now the whole purpose of this pretend relationship setting is to take Shon Vatore out of the picture. He's narcissistic, he's obsessed with me, he's disgusting, he's a dick, alright?” Nico goes on determinedly. “I want him out of my life, and you might be the only one who could help me.”

Wolffe’s eyelids crack open. He's sure he was just hearing the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard in his life. There are certainly other ways to do it that don't involve him.

“If you want it so bad to ‘take him out of the picture’,” he suggests darkly, “why not hire a bounty hunter instead?”

Nico is unfazed. “Both my assistant and manager have been coaxing me to do exactly that since ex and I broke up last year, believe me,” she shrugs, meeting his gaze, “But if I do that, my reputation will crumble and my good public image will cease to diabolical. My fans wouldn't hate me for that but all tracks would obviously lead to me, and I'd be helpless in the court of law.”

Wolffe shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “You big figures always have something up your sleeve if it comes to that.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, darling, that's not how I roll.” The straw plucks into the corner of her lips, and she sips noisily, eyes distant. Finishing, she inhales deeply. “I’m clean, believe it or not. Save for the tiny case of spice I use in desperate situations to numb the nerves and everything.”

“Get to the point,” Wolffe huffs impatiently.

“Hey you threw the ball,” Nico raises her hands, “So since blatant murder won't work in my favor, I've been relying on social resentment. I want people to hate him and forget him, and so I think you can help me with that.”

“I am a commander in the galactic army,” Wolffe growls, his feet carrying him forward dominantly. Nico hasn't fazed. “I fight war. I don't fight toxic former partners, and I'm not teaming up with the alleged innocent side of the story. I'm not gonna be your personal bodyguard.”

“Ah ah, there's a difference between bodyguard and boyfriend and you, my darling Commander, are the latter.”

“Tomato tomato, woman. I'm not–”

“I’ve proposed half of my annual earnings to the Grand Army of the Republic.”

She had shot up to her feet. He's still trying to register the words that came out of her when she joins him in his vicinity – too close for his own liking, her heels clicking too loudly, too close.

Nico stares him down, the impish look diminishes from her features and is replaced by intense seriousness. “That means from this year forward, I'll be financially supporting your military funds and your personal wellbeing and needs,” she says lowly, “Some or few, if not everything, will be under my name – effective immediately whenever the discussion comes around to a close in the next Senate session.”

Wolffe has been breathing noisily he hadn't realized, shoulders heaving to stow his aggravation as if contending against the worse fate of hers. No. His is much worse. He didn't ask for this.

“The length I choose to go through, Commander,” Nico continues. She takes one more step. Their chests now are barely touching. “I sacrifice my riches, a handful of my sponsors, my future projects, and probably half of my supporters throughout the galaxy turning into haters, just because I choose to strike a deal to play date with a clone.”

Before he can resist it, he averts his glare.

Nico sighs softly, “That means it says something about my political views, as I abandoned all of the above. Promises of something nice.” Her menacing tone dissipating, Wolffe hears. He focuses his eyesight on something else. “But this is nicer, even if it takes to play this game with you to get rid of my toxic ex boyfriend. And to be honest Commander, I'm not even mad about it.”

That makes him turn sharply to face her. Nico's jaws are no longer tense and nostrils no longer flaring. Mouth slightly agape as she exhales through it. For the first time that day Wolffe maps her countenance in close proximity, and finds himself baffled to the absence of the usual mirth and smugness.

Nico is pleading, though she doesn't say that out loud. Wolffe doubts she's the type to show weakness out loud. Instead, she sacrifices almost everything – all the luxurious privileges she owns. Career, profit, fame. Money, power, glory. All the winning hand, she forfeited some. Believing in another wave of luck that waits if she won't give away anything.

And now this is her set of cards – a hopeful, daring hand. If this order really comes straight from the Chancellor's office, with the official mail awaiting, he wouldn't have much choice anyways.

“All that for your ex?” Wolffe finds himself speaking. He shakes his head. “Not even worth it.”

A twitch of a smirk in her lips. “I play stocks, my credits are everywhere and limitless,” replies Nico, “And as long as I have a roof over my head and water to survive and a clear blue sky to look upon in hope, I'll live.”

Wolffe scoffs under his breath.

Nico ignores his input. “I approached the Chancellor with my proposition,” she says, smugness returning to her tone bit by bit, “Lucky he's a big fan. Big green from him. In return, by his wrinkly kindness, the old man agreed that I could borrow a certain asset of the Republic to fit my personal agenda.”

“You’re an idiot for even doing this.”

“You don't have a say in this. It's happening.”

“I’m not deaf.” With all courteousness thrown out of the airlock, he jabs a finger into her shoulder. “Just satisfied to say that to your face.”

Nico grabs his hand away and squeezes. The smugness makes its full return to her person as she smirks. “You're not my first hater, Wolffe. Whatever curse you're gonna hurl my way won't break me, and it certainly won't satisfy you.”

Kark, he hates that she's right. He's unsatisfied. Angrily, he breaks free from her grip. “I hate that we met that night,” he seethes.

“Such a whiny baby. You know what? You don't have a choice in this.”

“As if I’ve ever been presented with any.”

That gets her to shut up.

Wolffe takes a step back, relishing how the realization breaks into the countenance. This time it's his turn to smirk.

“Would you just… focus on the trade? I'll be direct about this, okay?” she shakes the confusion away, folding her arms on top of each other in weightiness. “We’re dating now, and me being in the spotlight every time I come out of my penthouse, once your name is out, you are too. I need you to follow all these social cues, the basics of it. What we natborns usually do, not bound by the code of your institution. You don't get it, you ask me, and I'll tell you what to do. Is that clear?”

He growls. “Are we always a property to you?”

Nico blinks. “It's… what's stated in the law.”

“Of course. I'm your slave now, mistress. Tell me what to do.”

“As if you're not a slave to the Republic yourself.”

“It’s different. We serve the Republic with a purpose!”

“The Republic you're serving is the same Republic whose military funds I aid very generously!” she raises her voice. “Wanna up me on that, or do we agree to disagree?”

There it is. The silence. That gets him to finally shut up and dismiss his upcoming protests.

Nico squares her shoulders and pretends to fix the buttons on her sleeve. “You’re allowed to come by to my place and spend time with me whenever you're on leave. Your general is coordinating your usual errands to be shared between your captains as we speak so everybody's prepared,” she continues, watching every twitch of reaction in his face, “So for you, no need to worry as much as you usually do about the upcoming campaigns. You still go out there, I won't hinder you, and I'll be your good little girlfriend waiting for you to come home. When you're on leave, you're allowed to be your own person.”

Nico is thankful she came to the Chancellor prepared, thanks to Titus and Veeli’s help.

The Commander still can't accept the truth. There's doubt still, she can see it. His glare is unwavering, and the way his jaw tenses and twitches in annoyance every now and then somehow spurs her on to defeat him in this useless argument.

To get him to see what more there is, she changes strategy.

“Commander,” she starts, “I did this for your men too. I pay for better rations, I pay for your men's needs starting from socks of higher quality, I pay for comfier mattress in your barracks, I financially support every single one of your brothers stationed on Coruscant. As the patron of the GAR, I'll make sure every single need is fulfilled. For the wellbeing of these men. And all you have to do?” Her arms spread, smirking. “Be my boyfriend in the fake dating scenario. And I assure you, Commander Wolffe, I'll be attending to your needs too. No matter how difficult. I'll give you anything you want.”

That gets Wolffe to not so subtly look up to meet her gaze.

“Anything I want?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just don't get any ideas about wanting the war to be over as we speak.”

It's not like he'd be left with a choice of what to do after the war is over, anyway. He's made exactly for that purpose, after all.

Wolffe is crumbling apart. Nico pushes further.

“Anything you think I have control of. Tell me, and it's yours. You just have to agree.”

He scoffs. “‘Just have to’?”

She nods up at him questioningly.

“You said it yourself,” he scowls, “It's as if I have a choice.”

“I don't either, okay?!” she yells, breathing sharply. “I wish it wouldn't be this difficult. I wish it would be just a random civilian so I wouldn't have to sacrifice my career prospects and a lot of my possessions, but the fates have been playing funny that they chose you. A clone commander of the army bound by so many rules, that I'd have to put on a forced smile and drink tea from a fancy set of cup and saucer in the Chancellor's office to practically ask for this stupid arrangement.”

Wolffe meets her gaze apathetically. “As I said,” he reiterates, turning around, “It’s been working in your favor only. Not mine.”

At the downward infection of his tone, she laughs. Laughs. She's certain Wolffe is just playing games now, and it's kriffing funny. His resolve has crumbled and he's denying shit now.

“Okay, Dramatic Closing Line. I see you've always been this horrible person.”

Silence, before a quiet, “Correct.”

“Not my first Kessel Run, I'm afraid,” she quips.

Wolffe hasn't moved further to the door, seemingly contemplating.

Nico sighs, her schedule swarming her mind. “Look, I'm tired, I still have to meet and greet more of the clones ‘cause I've promised, not to mention possibly running into another unit as we go, I've got modelling at 1500 and a dinner reservation at 2000.” Her heels click against the flooring as she nears him again. Softly, with her gaze drawn to the back of his black skirt thing, she speaks, “I just want this thing to go well in public. Put on a mask whenever we're out, you can hate me all you want behind closed doors. I just want you to act like we're the most powerful couple in the galaxy.”

Wolffe finally turns to face her again. The scowl is ever permanent on his face, still etched into the bronze tone of his skin. Nico wonders if he's been born with it and how his face isn't twitching in muscle soreness already.

It's an expectant scrutiny. Wolffe is expecting something from her.

She sighs, looking down to her heels this time, and internally goes wrecking-balling her smugness altogether.

“I'm sorry, for dragging you into this. I didn't have a choice, especially not when the media in Coruscant is this strong,” she gulps in sudden nervousness. Wolffe might be a bit… scary up close, especially with that scar. “And we have to work together… either way. So uh, why don't we start to warm up with a proper introduction first?”

Nico bats away her nervousness and cranks up her confidence again as she offers a hand.

“I'm Nic. Those close to me call me Nico, short from Nicosalis,” she says, smiling a bit and shuffling on her feet, “You can call me Nico too.”

Wolffe stares at her hand, frowning and all, as if deciding if it's toxic to the touch. With a sigh of his own, he probably decides to internally call for truce, seemingly fighting with his own morale.

He takes her hand, shaking it but firmly. “CC-3636.”

She blinks. “Huh. That's it?”

“Our given Basic names are sacred.”

“But I know your name already.”

“An adverse leak of information.”

“Don’t blame me for being famous due to butterfly kissing with a lightsaber,” she rolls her eyes. Wolffe meets her gaze, alarmed. She grins. “Being the most famous person in the galaxy even surpassing the Chancellor means having connections everywhere, my darling Commander.”

Wolffe rolls his eyes skywards, his head almost lolling back. Nico hides her snickers behind a hand.

“And since we're dating each other, Wolffe.” She goes as far as calling him by name now. “I’ll have to ask you that we need to be convincing. With occasional… public display of affection.”

Wolffe gives her no reaction.

“Is, um, is that a problem for you? You've got experience with this kinda stuff, right? You ever engaged in a relationship before?”

He sighs heavily. His voice is quiet when he admits, “Never romantic. Never long term.”

“Ah right, good ole stress release.” Nico nods genuinely in understanding. “I wish I could say I don't wanna make you uncomfortable for doing this, but I need us to look like we're completely in love. Not as sappy as children's fairytale, but I think you get it.”

Before she can register it, Wolffe suddenly drags his feet forward, boots thumping against the flooring. Their chests touch again.

“Public only,” he proposes.

“Deal,” Nico says quickly with a nod. Then, with a smirk, “Well, aren't we in public?”

Wolffe recoils slightly, a look of surprise – not disgust – on his features. “The hell? You horny or somethin’?”

“No. Maybe? Maybe not?” she finds herself giggling and arching her back to the heat suddenly and pleasurably pooling at her core, “Anyway, just saying.”

Wolffe shakes his head, his gaze serious. “You... always like this?”

“Depends on what ‘this’ means.”

“You’re considerate in one moment. You act like you care,” he contends – his words hold weight in a single moment for the first time in their entire conversation, “Then you act like you don't care next. Is using people to your benefit a hobby of yours?”

She scoffs away his accusations easily. “I’m a public figure, Wolffe. I want people and their attention to benefit me, if that isn't clear enough.”

“You’re asking for attention?” he growls, the voice coming deep from inside his chest, “That what you want right now?”

“If I say yes, would you indulge me?”

With her challenge, Nico leans in, their noses touching. The Commander isn't recoiling or moving away. Excitement blossoms inside her chest as she looks forward to the prospect of teasing the kark out of him and finally getting him to give in, to see what kind of man she's dating.

Disappointingly, Wolffe leans away. His jaw tenses.

“Not giving you that satisfaction.”

“Yeah?” Nico continues prodding him, giving him a sultry look that always works in adult zines, eyelashes batting against her cheeks. “I'll let myself know I'm dating a coward, then.”

The last thing she sees before she turns around is his shoulders heaving, long, harsh breaths coming out heavily and noisily out of his nostrils.

A hand clasps on her shoulder, roughly yanking her towards him. A blink and a second later, she gasps, eyes blown wide in shock when another hand wraps around her throat, fingers clamping down onto her pulse points, her own hand coming up to clutch the perpetrator’s wrist.

Wolffe's breath is tickling her lips, their noses rubbing. A faint, rough sound emits out of his chest with every exhale of breath. They're but separated in just another inch, with either of their favor to lean in and get lost in abrupt, careless, selfish desires.

Once the sensation seeps in – her own pulse beating urgently under his gloved fingers, the fabric scratching against the bare skin of her neck in every pulse, heat crawling up her jaws and entire face – the smallest of moans squeezes out of her throat and falls off her lips. Upon the sound, the amber in his irises constricts, blown with heat.

“Nice. You've found out I'm into choking,” she rasps, features loosening to succumb to the lust, “Buy me dinner first before this turns into hate fucking?”

He jostles her. She whimpers not expecting the movement.

So that's the man he is. Peeling his layers off, getting him riled up, sprinkle the ongoing talk with seduction, and she has him. Or is it him who has her? The man who has her is a man who outrightly acts once he spots insubordination.

It fits her just perfectly.

Her lips part, tongue coming loose and nestles just before the edge of her bottom lip. He glances down at it and draws a sharp breath.

“I did tell the clones we met in passing that we were heading somewhere private,” she murmurs, the delightful sensation of her own head swimming with blood struggling to circulate properly is hauling her up to new heights. “Might as well play the act?”

Wolffe growls. “Shut up, woman.”

“Or what?” Nico challenges, struggling to keep her eyes open and bore down into his because it just feels so good she just wants to close her eyes. It excites her to get him riled up, to challenge his place. “Just a little kiss, Commander. Doesn't have to turn into a full make out session unless you want to, of course. I like where I am now.”

His grip on her falters for a split second as he licks his lips.

Nico huffs a triumphant laugh, her breath mingling with his an inch away.

“The length you chose to go through won't get you anywhere,” he growls lowly, teeth gritting, look hazy behind half-closed lids.

“Gets me to seduce a commander of the galactic army,” she taunts him, nearing the touch of his glistening lips despite his grip. “Gets him to steal a kiss any second now.”

The tension breaks the moment Wolffe releases his grip, and with Nico falling into him, he crashes his lips into hers halfway. A pleasant groan rumbles in her throat as she tastes him on his lips, her body instantly melting into him and his armor. He grabs her by the shoulder, yet the moment he drags his hands upwards to cup the sides of her face, his lips part and openly accept her gasping mouth, catching her lips again and again, and fiercely so.

Her own breath catches in her throat. Wolffe is unstoppable. She underestimates his strength. One of his hands weaves into her hair, pulling her even closer and making her even more breathless. His grip on her is too strong to push away for a mere intake of breath. Dark grunts rumble from his chest as he sucks and nips on her bottom lips relentlessly, proving his point, standing his ground, settling on top of the food chain and reminding her who's over who.

They break away, but solely for his own need to draw more air into his lungs, before devouring her mouth again out of hunger. Not lust. Vengeful hunger.

He's angry, at her, for pushing him over the cliff of this very predicament of her own making. Nico can feel the pent up frustration bleeding out of him into every sharp bite to her lips, into every sudden nudge of the tip of his tongue.

Then, something hard presses against her thigh. Nico doesn't need to look down. A timid hand trailing down from his chestplate stops at his utility belt, reminded of the rigid crotch part of his armor she hasn't found the term of, though she's certain he couldn't be not hard.

Deciding not to do it in here, Nico fights back, pushing into and leaning away from his attacks on her mouth, brushing her own lips against his thinner ones, his stubble scratching against her skin. She playfully bites down once, but he, stronger with his carnal vengeance, harshly returns it twice as if a punishment – the fleeting thought alone and the sting from the bite strikes a new wave of heat between her thighs, her walls clenching around nothing and she moans into his mouth at the misfortune.

Big mistake. Just as her mouth opens, he remains untiring with his prodding tongue and violently shoves himself inside, harshly brushing against her own. She gasps, mindlessly starting to accept him in battle. Wolffe rocks his hard-on into her thigh, unscrewing a deep grunt out of him and into her mouth, the sound making her moan again.

Kriff, had they been in her apartment instead of one of these GAR meeting rooms…

Wolffe pulls away first, the movement abrupt and carries him two steps backwards and away from her touch, seemingly sober all of a sudden. Nico watches him take off his glove while still breathless, dragging the pad of his thumb across his swollen lips – the sight, her handiwork, making her draw a sharp breath – and wipes off a smudged carmine red stain.

Wordlessly, Nico digs into her pocket and offers him a handkerchief.

As he uses the condensation on her drink cup to scrub the stain away – with several questioning glances for her to check and equal responses of a head nod and shake and a finger pointing to where he missed – yeah, she definitely needs to retouch too before they leave the room.

Another five minutes consisting of them finally trading verbal conversation – albeit timidly – to find a close equivalent of a mirror in the room, several pat downs, and a couple swipes of lip retouching later, in the middle of the stage, Nico clears her throat awkwardly. It catches his attention as he fiddles with his glove.

“You're living a trillion trillion people's dream, Wolffe,” she says, gaze fixed into him. “Act like you're special. The entire galaxy would've done anything to be where you are right now.”

After the brief argument they traded earlier, she decides to swallow the I want you to… back and leave it unsaid. It gets her actually thinking during the lull of their cleanup, internally fussing already over just how far the treatment they've received until the slave jokes are but usual sarcasm that inflicts pain no more.

Smugly, selfishly for a bit, she thinks; maybe proposing patronage over the GAR – over the wellbeing of its clone army, to be exact – has been a good idea after all? Next to making out with her arranged commander boyfriend, that actually makes her feel great and confident about her position.

“Wanna head out now?” Nico nods towards the door, a hesitant smile gracing her lips.

Wolffe is looking a bit more tolerant than several minutes ago during their headstrong and suggestive stand down – the situation finally gets into him, or it's the kiss that's that good. And it really was good, if she'd say so herself. Judging by his shoulders and jaw no longer tense, he'd probably agree as well.

They slip out of the meeting room together, now side by side unlike the way they come in. Nico manages to pull a straight sabacc face as if they'd just having a proper verbal discussion that doesn't involve making out at all, while Wolffe is a bit struggling. Though she's sure he's one talented enough to cover his true countenance, probably it's because of the helmet because there's an unconvincing frown between his brows now.

A few troopers in passing throw them a knowing glance. It's enough for Nico’s external wall to crumble and make her cheeks fluster.

They reach the hangar. The 104th boys still in their spots, either actually washing the gunships like they're supposed to do (most of them are), or going to paint the nose of the transport vehicle (one of them is already graced with her image, wearing some silver sequin gown she thinks she had in one of the awards she attended a couple of years ago), or chilling around with the snacks she brought in.

Wolffe is taking in the sight too. He's a bit relaxed at the sight of his brothers, she notices.

She clears her throat, gathering his attention. She smiles sweetly at him. “Guess I'll see you at 2000.”

Grunting, the look he gives her is a combination of annoyance and confusion. “Care to make that clear?”

Nico looks at him in disbelief.

“You didn't catch that?” she huffs a laugh. “Dinner reservation, my darling Commander. Heard it's called a date nowadays.”

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