❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ D.O.D ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ falling for her T.O. wasn't part of the plan, but his kindness, his strength... it became something she looked forward to, every single day ❜

Charlotte gasped audibly as her hand jerked, spilling her drink across the front of the man's shirt—a margarita soaking quickly into the fabric, transforming the light grey into a darker, spreading stain.

She could feel the warmth in her cheeks as her embarrassment mixed with the alcohol buzz, and she stumbled to apologize, words tangling together as she tried to make sense of the little disaster she'd just caused.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" she burst out, half-laughing, half-mortified. She waved to the bartender, almost frantically, her fingertips grazing the bar in a clumsy attempt to flag down some napkins.

Everything was fuzzy at the edges, the dim lights casting a golden glow over the bar's rich, wooden interior. Her senses were heightened in that slightly surreal way they got when she drank, each moment magnified.

The man didn't seem annoyed. Instead, he was watching her, amusement glinting in his eyes as he reached for the napkins himself, taking them with a gentle, steady grip. His fingers brushed against hers for just a second, and the warmth there steadied her, even if only a little.

She let go reluctantly, biting her lip as she watched him dab at the stain, not getting very far with the blotchy mess that had spread across his shirt.

She was still frowning, brows knitted together, when she spoke up again. "I'm sorry, I'm drunk, I'm mourning," she blurted, her voice going soft, almost as if she were reminding herself. It was true, even if the margarita was only amplifying her emotions.

He looked down at her, a spark of something in his gaze she couldn't quite place—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe understanding. His voice was rich, deep and unhurried, like he'd seen his fair share of life's messes and didn't mind another.

"You seem to be a lot of things," he said with a hint of a smile, holding her gaze a beat longer than necessary.

She blinked, a little startled by his steady, calm presence. She didn't know him, yet there was something about the way he held himself, his broad frame towering over her, that made her feel... safe, maybe.

Or at least seen.

"I'm Matthew," he offered, his name coming with a quiet confidence as he finally extended a hand to her, the napkin momentarily forgotten between his fingers.

Charlotte's hand moved almost on its own, reaching up to shake his, feeling a steadiness she hadn't expected, her smaller hand dwarfed by his.

She laughed, a little nervously, her heart fluttering despite herself. "I'm Charlotte," she replied, hearing her own voice soften.

A slight smile tugged at his lips, a small flash of teeth, but he said nothing, only watched her with that same calm intensity that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.

The buzz of the bar seemed to dim around them, voices and laughter falling away as she tried to read him, tried to figure out if there was something there, some invisible thread pulling her toward him.

He looked down at the soaked fabric of his shirt, sighing with an exaggerated weariness that was more amused than annoyed. "You know, if you wanted to get my attention, there are easier ways."

Charlotte's cheeks burned, and she looked away, biting her lip. But a laugh bubbled up in her chest, and she let it escape, breathless and full of something exciting.

Matthew moved so he could lean back against the bar counter, a gentle smile curving at the corners of his mouth as he studied her, the way her face flushed slightly, cheeks pink with either embarrassment or the lingering effects of her drink—probably both.

He brought his glass of beer to his lips, pausing for a moment before taking a sip, eyes glinting with curiosity. The hum of the bar softened around them, people talking and laughing, but the sounds blended into a quiet hum as he turned his attention solely on her.

"So, I get why you're sorry," he began, his voice low and steady, almost like he was unraveling a mystery, "but what's the deal with being drunk and mourning?"

He leaned in just slightly, an eyebrow lifting with a faint smirk, and she could feel the warmth of his gaze, steady and somehow comforting. There was an easiness in his expression that made her feel she could share—if she wanted to.

Charlotte looked up, taking a shaky breath. She could feel the words bubbling up, half-caught between honesty and the need to deflect, the way she always did when things got a little too close to real. "It's... a work thing," she started, feeling the weight of it settle in her chest even as she tried to brush it off with a casual shrug.

"I kind of had to break it off with a coworker," she admitted, her voice softer, a little less sure. "We had this... on-and-off thing going on for a while. Complicated." She winced slightly, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass as she tried to sort out her own feelings.

But then the alcohol gave her the courage—or maybe recklessness—she needed, and she let out a quiet sigh. "I don't know. I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this..." she trailed off, a nervous laugh escaping as she bit her lip, glancing up at him through her lashes.

"Especially because you're—well, you're hot," she confessed with a half-smile, her cheeks going an even deeper shade of red. "And I... I might actually want to get to know you, which is just—"

She let out a small, frustrated sigh, "—stupid, because here I am, rambling. Again." She covered her face for a moment, groaning, the mortification settling in as she realized she'd blurted out way too much.

Matthew's laughter filled the space between them, deep and warm, making her peek out from behind her hands, and she couldn't help but smile despite herself.

He shook his head slowly, taking in her reaction, his gaze softening with something she could only describe as endearing amusement.

"I, well, happen to have a thing for girls who ramble, and spill their expensive looking drinks on me," he said, voice warm and reassuring, and something in the way he said it made her stomach do a little flip.

The softness in his tone felt like an invitation, like maybe she wasn't such a mess after all, and her heart did a strange, steadying thump in response.

She let out a nervous laugh, meeting his eyes fully this time, feeling the rest of the room fade a little more as she let herself relax into his easy smile. "Yeah? So, you're not secretly judging me right now?" she teased, raising an eyebrow, and she felt her confidence returning, bit by bit.

His gaze was unwavering, gentle but with an undeniable spark of interest. "Nope. Just... curious," he replied, his voice a low murmur as he leaned in a bit closer, his presence calming and grounding, even as her own heart hammered a little too fast. "I like to hear people's stories. Besides, I'm getting the feeling yours might be pretty interesting."

She felt herself smiling, really smiling this time, letting herself relax a little more. The air around them was warm, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the lingering smell of tequila and limes, creating a cozy bubble that wrapped around the two of them. And for the first time that night, she didn't feel like she had to run from her own thoughts.

Charlotte let out a little sigh, propping herself up against the sink as she rinsed her hands, feeling the cool water against her skin grounding her just a little.

Her phone, wedged between her shoulder and ear, wobbled dangerously as she tried to keep her balance, teetering in her slightly tipsy state.

The bathroom was lit with a too-bright fluorescent glow that made everything feel oddly surreal, like she was in some kind of dazed, alcohol-tinted dream.

"I'm telling you, guys," she whispered dramatically, her voice just a bit louder than it needed to be in the echoing bathroom, "he's perfect." She tried to keep her balance, leaning against the sink as she relived the memory of Matthew's easy smile, the way he'd just taken the napkins from her without a second thought, still laughing.

"I mean, I spilled my whole drink on him and he didn't even blink! His shirt went see-through," she continued, her voice dropping to a giddy whisper, "and I swear I could see a tattoo above those Hawaiian-roll-looking abs... and those pants—obnoxiously tight."

She heard John groan on the other end, sounding exasperated but amused. "Perfect! Got it. Spare us the details."

Jackson's quiet laugh came through, and she could almost picture him shaking his head. "What was his name again?" he asked, his tone playfully curious.

"Matthew," she sighed, the name rolling off her tongue like a little melody she wanted to hum all night. "Matthew, Matthew, Matthew... I could say it all day." She let out a dreamy sigh, leaning her weight against the sink as she swayed a little, the alcohol humming through her veins like a warm, buzzing current.

"Or scream it," Jackson quipped, a teasing edge to his voice that made her laugh despite herself, a hiccup escaping before she could stop it.

"Jackson," John groaned in protest, clearly not wanting the conversation to veer any further into the gutter.

Charlotte snickered, fumbling for the paper towels as she tried to get a grip, her cheeks still flushed, her head spinning pleasantly. "I think I need this," she said, a bit more seriously, the buzz fading just enough for the honesty to slip through.

"After the whole Tim thing, I—I need to move on. And I'm gonna do it with Matthew." She hiccuped again, the noise making her giggle in spite of herself.

"If he hasn't left already," John teased, sounding amused, "you've been in the bathroom for 15 minutes talking to us."

Charlotte squealed, protesting as she cradled her phone closer, as if it might magically transport her friends right there beside her. "Hey! Going to the bathroom when you're drunk is hard, okay?" She looked at her reflection in the mirror, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

She straightened, clutching her phone with both hands, shooting herself a little pep talk in the mirror. She could still hear Jackson and John chuckling, their voices a comforting background noise in her slightly foggy mind.

"Alright, alright, wish me luck," she muttered, giving the mirror a shaky, nervous smile. She blew her friends a kiss, hung up, and took a deep, steadying breath.

As she stepped back out into the bar, the buzz of voices and music wrapped around her like a warm blanket, her heart pounding with nervous excitement.

Scanning the room, her eyes searched for that familiar grey shirt—still margarita-soaked—and when she spotted Matthew at the bar, still casually waiting with that easy smile, a thrill of relief and excitement shot through her.

Charlotte looked up at Matthew, her eyes glittering with the lingering buzz of her margarita, and tilted her head with a playful smile. "Think we can take this conversation somewhere else?"

She set her nearly empty glass on the bar, her fingers lingering on the cold glass before letting go. Her voice held a mix of excitement and softness, a quiet thrill that she almost didn't realize was there until the words were out. "Your place?"

Matthew's lips quirked into a small, almost bashful smile. "Maybe not mine. It's, uh..." he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, "a bit of a mess right now."

She laughed, a soft giggle that seemed to fill the space between them. "Mine it is, then," she said, lifting her chin with a little confidence.

"Just a fair warning, though—I'm a cop, so if you see a pair of handcuffs lying around, they're probably not for, uh... recreational use." Her cheeks flushed as the words tumbled out, a silly laugh escaping her at her own awkwardness.

"Oh, a cop?" Matthew's gaze lingered on her, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. He took a slight step back, his expression flickering in the dim, hazy light of the bar. He looked around, as if making sure no one was listening. "That's... interesting."

The word fell flat between them, and Charlotte's smile slipped just a little, something twisting in her stomach despite the warm buzz from the alcohol. There was something unsettling in the way he'd said it, like it meant more than he was letting on.

She tried to brush it off, shaking her head a bit, her laughter quieter now. "Why's that interesting?" she asked, trying to keep the tone light, though her eyes searched his, just a bit wary.

"Nothing, really," he shrugged, looking away. "I just... dated a cop once. Didn't work out. She was always too busy, barely ever had time. Are you sure you're not a stripper, though?" he teased, grinning as he gave her a gentle poke in the side.

Charlotte couldn't help but laugh, her suspicion easing as she rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, you jerk," she huffed, swatting at him playfully, the last of her doubts melting under his playful grin.

He reached out, his hand warm and steady as it rested on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. "Let's grab a cab," he murmured, his voice soft in her ear, sending a little shiver down her spine.

They moved together through the crowded bar, weaving around people swaying and laughing, the smell of spilled drinks and faint cologne clinging to the air around them.

Outside, the cool night air hit her skin, fresh and sharp, making her feel a bit more grounded as they waited on the curb. She glanced up at him, her breath visible in the chilly night as she watched his gaze turn distant, almost contemplative, as if lost in thought.

She wanted to ask what he was thinking, wanted to know why he'd looked so strange when he found out she was a cop, but she bit her lip, telling herself not to overthink it.

She felt his hand slide a little lower, resting comfortably at her waist, and he pulled her closer, shielding her from a gust of wind that whipped down the street. The warmth of his touch was both comforting and exhilarating, making her heart race despite herself.

A cab pulled up, its headlights bright against the dark sidewalk. He opened the door for her with a small, almost old-fashioned nod of his head, watching her carefully as she slipped into the backseat.

She felt her stomach flutter, a mix of nerves and excitement stirring as he climbed in beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne.

"So," he said, his voice low and smooth as the cab rolled away from the curb, the city lights casting soft shadows across his face. "Officer Charlotte, huh?"

"Yeah," she murmured, glancing out the window before meeting his gaze, a half-smile on her lips. "So you'll have to be on your best behavior tonight."

"I'll do my best," he replied, his fingers brushing hers as they rested on the seat between them. The touch was light, almost incidental, but it sent a spark through her, making her pulse race as the city blurred past, her thoughts a mixture of anticipation and intrigue.

Charlotte's back hit the cool sheets, the soft fabric brushing against her skin and grounding her for a moment, though it did little to steady the rush that Matthew's touch set off inside her.

His weight pressed down over her, and the warmth of him was intoxicating, sending sparks up her spine as he braced himself above her.

The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the subtle musk that lingered from the bar, filling the air around them and weaving into a heady combination that only seemed to pull her deeper under his spell.

He found her neck, his lips soft yet urgent as they pressed against her skin, leaving a trail of warmth that made her heart pound harder with every slow, deliberate touch.

She closed her eyes, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as his breath brushed over her skin, and for a moment, she felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders instinctively, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. She could feel his pulse racing just as fast as hers beneath her fingertips, a rhythm that matched the rush of her own heart.

Just as she thought she'd lose herself in that moment, he pulled back slightly, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her with that same unreadable expression, something intense and raw flickering in his eyes.

There was a hesitation, just a split second where he seemed almost lost, and then his shirt was off in one smooth motion, revealing a broad chest marked by a faint tattoo that dipped just above his ribs.

The tattoo was barely visible in the dim light, but she could make out the edges of dark ink curling like shadows across his skin.

For a brief moment, she felt the cool air settle between them as he moved, but then his warmth returned, his body pressing closer against hers as he leaned down, capturing her mouth with a kiss that was both soft and filled with an urgency that made her pulse skip.

Her hands found their way to his bare skin, her fingers tracing the curve of his back, feeling the strength and warmth of him, and she couldn't help the small shiver that ran through her as he deepened the kiss, his hand brushing her cheek with a surprising gentleness.

Her room was filled with soft shadows and the quiet sounds of their breaths, the only light spilling in from the street outside, casting a faint glow over the walls and catching the strands of his dark hair as he leaned closer.

The night outside seemed to fade away, the sounds of distant cars and city life disappearing, leaving just the two of them wrapped up in the silence, the tension, and the unspoken connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second.

His fingers traced her jaw, brushing her cheek before his hand slid down, gently wrapping around the small of her back, pulling her closer against him.

Charlotte stirred, blinking against the morning light that filtered in through the thin curtains, her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She grimaced, squinting as the full weight of her hangover set in.

But as she stretched, a smile spread across her lips, the gentle ache in her body reminding her of last night. There beside her was Matthew, his muscular arm draped protectively over her waist, his warmth still holding her close.

She glanced over at him, noticing the faint stubble along his jaw and the way his hair lay in messy, unruly waves.

Despite the pounding in her head, Charlotte couldn't resist leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his bicep. He shifted slightly, a lazy grin creeping across his face as his eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice soft, carrying the remnants of last night's laughter.

"Mornin'," he replied, his voice rough, tinged with that early-morning drowsiness that made him sound endearingly vulnerable. He smiled down at her, his goofy grin making her giggle. "You free today, officer?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes, still laughing, her fingers tracing absent patterns along his arm. "Yes, why?"

Her smile turned mischievous. "Already want another round of this?" She let her hands trail teasingly over her own curves, wiggling her eyebrows in playful exaggeration.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he propped himself up on his elbow, gazing down at her with an amused look. "I mean, you know that'd be amazing," he said, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, the faint scent of last night's cologne lingering.

"But I've got something else planned." He paused, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch warm and gentle against her skin.

"Oh yeah? Do tell." She smirked, crossing her arms with an expectant look, though her heart did a little flip at the thought of what he might be planning.

"I'm taking you on a D.O.D.," he announced with a grin, the proud look on his face making her laugh even before he'd explained.

"A D.O.D.?" She tilted her head, brow raised, eyes twinkling. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Day of Delight," he replied, his voice softening as he watched her. He traced slow, lazy circles along her arm, clearly savoring the moment.

"We start with brunch—anything you want, made to order by yours truly. Then we head out, do some shopping, maybe pick up a thing or two that'll spoil you." His thumb traced along her shoulder, sending a gentle shiver down her spine. "Then, if you're up for it, dinner at a nice restaurant. Whole day, just us. What do you think?"

Her heart stuttered at the thought, at the thoughtfulness behind each detail he'd laid out. She didn't have to think long—she knew she wanted to say yes.

She gazed up at him, her expression softening, the lingering haze of last night blending into a warm, contented glow as she took in his earnest face.

"You're really spoiling me, huh?" she whispered, a soft laugh bubbling out as she touched his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of stubble under her fingers.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but his eyes held a glimmer of something unspoken. "Maybe I just know a good thing when I see it." His gaze lingered on her, his thumb brushing her cheek as he leaned down, kissing her softly, slow enough to leave her breathless.

For a moment, she let herself sink into it—the smell of him, the gentle scratch of his stubble, the way his fingers slid down her back, pulling her a little closer.

There was no rush here, just the two of them, wrapped up in the morning light, lost in each other's warmth and the quiet anticipation of the day stretching ahead.

He grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he brushed a stray hair from her face. "Mmh," he murmured, his fingers trailing down her cheek, pausing just at her jawline. "Or maybe I'm just the right amount of good and the perfect amount of trouble."

She laughed, shaking her head, but couldn't hide the warmth spreading through her. "I don't know if I should be flattered or warned."

He chuckled, low and soft, then leaned in, letting his forehead rest against hers. "Could be both, you know. Guess you'll have to stick around to find out." His voice was a murmur, his breath warm against her lips as he spoke, and she could feel his heartbeat against her own, steady and grounding.

"Fine, but if I regret this, you're getting all the blame," she whispered back, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile crept onto her face.

He tilted his head, eyes twinkling. "Deal. But something tells me you won't regret it." He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, letting the silence fill in the gaps between their words.

Charlotte sighed, content as she nestled against him, letting herself get lost in the moment. For once, everything felt right.

HAHAH you thought it was going to be THAT episode based on the title I GOTCHA!!!!

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❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 09.11.24 ❞