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[sleepymissy]

━ the art of observation ( 18+ )

( tim bradford x girl!reader )

SUMMARY: you're struggling to study a specific topic for your P2 training exam. luckily, your TO knows exactly how to teach you- in his own special way, of course. AUTHOR'S NOTE: the feedback on my recent fanfics has been UNREALLLL thank you for the support! i have been having so much fun writing these for you honestly slay for us. i need to be y/n SO BAD in this GUYS PLEASE IM SO SERIOUS. the reader is tim's rookie if you couldn't tell lol. please enjoy and give feedback AHHHH xoxo INCLUDES: dirty talk (HE TALKS YOU THROUGH IT AHH), pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it up chickies), PRAISE PRAISE PRAISE, soft dom!tim, sub!reader, mentions of anxieties (more like stress-of-not-passing-an-exam type of anxiety), desk sex WORDS: 11.2K+

Amidst the peaceful night where the stars twinkle ever so luringly and the wind whispers gently against your window, the chaos within your apartment differs.

Stacks of paper and books are sprawled across your desk and the floor surrounding you- reflecting the mess of your mind and your feelings of stress, frustration, annoyance. The thin white sheets have already begun to threaten you with paper cuts after hours of flicking through the corners of each page. 

You’ve contemplated burning these books and papers into your colourful candles that stare at you from across your desk- they, too, are not neat from where they stand. But, you suppose that having them accentuate their flames may entice you to keep studying.

You tried to create a peaceful scene to your otherwise booming stressful emotions. You tried.

In all honesty, you thought that the warm tint of the candles, the soft cushioning of the pillow beneath you and your laptop that currently plays Frank Ocean’s ‘Forrest Gump’ would have been motivating enough to get you through this specific topic of studies. 

Sure, while it is quite mesmerising and comforting, the papers and books that scatter across your apartment along with pens, uncapped highlighters and sticky notes with frantic scribbles have deemed themselves overpowering to your once calm environment. 

And it certainly does not help you understand what you are staring at right now with twitching eyes and furrowed brows.

Chapter 5: The Art of Observation | Subsection 5.3: Decoding Body Language

Your highlighter bleeds through the page of your P2 training manual as you over highlight.

You whisper the highlighted points, “Nonverbal communication accounts for up to 93% of human interaction…an invaluable skill to master during interrogations, de-escalations, and day-to-day interactions….recognise universal gestures, understanding micro-expressions, and identifying incongruences between verbal and nonverbal communication…practice and situational awareness are key to refining this skill…and remember-” You mumble. The words you speak breathe into your lungs but never quite reach your brain. You blink yourself awake, “reading body language is not just about observing- it’s about understanding the story behind the movement.”

Understanding the story behind the movement.

You curse yourself to the universe above that watches you steer away from your desk, a huff drawing from you as your mind fogs from exhaustion. Fuck, this is supposed to be easy. Why can't you understand this one thing?

Throughout your time training with your TO Tim Bradford, you found yourself getting strung up on one thing: Body Language. 

Whether it be because your overthinking leads to self-doubt, or that you overanalyse every movement and try to memorise textbook definitions of cues rather than trusting your instincts or inconsistent interpretations. 

And we wouldn’t want to get you started on spotting subtlety in one’s movements rather than an overt cue.

Whatever kind of situation you were put in, which thankfully, wasn’t a lot, you struggled to read someone’s body language and identify who was the real threat.

Releasing a groan, you drop your head down to your desk with a thump, your arms wrapping around you out of comfort and shielding you as you try to ground yourself from the shitty situation you have been placed in. 

Physically and emotionally, you’re a mess. Your eyes are strained from how much focus you have pushed them into pursuing amongst the endless words and the screen on your laptop, and you can feel the oils in your hair greasing your roots from the stress your body has struggled to keep up with. Your brain feels fried and your heart patters tirelessly.

You're unsure how long you stay like this for...seconds, minutes, hours? But the moment you hear a knock boom against your wooden door, your thoughts immediately shrivel away as you jump out of your seat. 

Who the fuck is knocking at 8pm?

Pausing your music from your laptop and standing up from your seat, you try to ignore the ache in your lower back from the horrible posture you've kept sitting at your desk. You rub at your eyes and pace your feet one in front of the other, dawdling your way to the knock that still rings in your ears from its expectancy.

“I’m coming!” You groan out, your hands just reaching the knob and the twist of metal sends an immediate chill to your overheated skin. Finally, you pull the door away, only to frown in confusion at the sight of the person in front of you.

“Sir?”

And there he stands. You take in his blue-washed denim jeans and the navy jumper that cuddles his body. He smells…really good. His hair is freshly washed, a darker tint cascading throughout his strands of hair, and he’s staring down at you with a frown on his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Boot?” Is the first thing he spikes up with, indulging in your physique by looking you up and down and you can’t help but shrink under his inspection. He spots your cream-coloured fluffy slippers, your hair loose and messy, and the matching grey sweatpants and hoodie set that bags away from the framing of your body.

You look at him, then down at yourself, then back up at him, “What’s wrong?” You ask and your head angles to the side.

Tim throws his hands up, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that I’m here to pick you up to take us to the bar where everyone is waiting for us, and you’re not even dressed!”

Fuck.

“Fuck,” You find yourself whispering aloud anyway, your eyes shut as you remember the conversations earlier today with your Mid-Wilshire team and friends inviting you to join them at the local bar for a drink.

You remember shaking your head multiple times, saying: “Oh my god, no! That’s the last thing I need before my exam!”

“Oh come on…” Lucy drags on as her and John’s stance next to your sides draws closer, your body warming under peer pressure as they continue to allure you, “We’ll call it ‘preparation drinking’ for you!”

“And Sergeant Grey will be there,” John peeks up, nudging your side, “so you basically have to go.”

You halt in your footsteps as they now stand against you, blocking you from moving anymore. Clearly awaiting your confirmation, the two of them raise their eyebrows with excitement glinting in their eyes. 

You sigh, “Guys, no. I’m already stressing enough as it is, and plus, I have no one to take me...remember? Some loser decided to hijack my car and steal my baby away from me.”

“Excuses is all I’m hearing Officer Y/L/N,” Lucy places her hands on her hips, “One: Having a drink or two may actually do more wonders for your relaxation and de-stressing than you realise. And two…” Lucy scans the room over your head and her eyelids squint at her supposed spotted target, “I know someone who can take you.”

There’s no getting out of this, it seems. You give in to your dismay- and Lucy and John’s happiness.

So later that day when you’re riding with your TO in the shop, your mind running a mockery as you try to recite chapters and pages, you’re immediately distracted by Tim clearing his throat as he glances over at you.

“I’ll pick you up at 8, Boot, be ready by then.”

It’s 8:05pm.

“Well?” Tim begins, his arms back to being crossed over as he awaits your excuses.

However, your heavy sigh that covers your excuses slips out of your breath as you push the door open a little more. And Tim doesn’t get what you’re doing until his baby blues catch onto your desk- or what open space is left of it to his eyes.

“Sir,” You start, meeting his confused look at the surroundings, “I would love to go, but I really need to study for the exam. I’m struggling with this one concept and I just…” You huff, “I can’t get my head around it. I’m trying- I really am! And I just got so lost on time and-“

Tim frowns, “What concept?”

You stumble upon your words, unable to grasp the perfect way to admit to your TO that you are struggling even though your P2 exam is so short away.

But you can’t, because there isn’t a perfect way of saying this.

So, you drop your gaze to the floorboards and quietly usher, “Body language.”

The moment the words fall off your tongue, you don’t even need to look up to know that he reeks of disappointment- that, and you don’t want Tim to see your utter blush of embarrassment flushing your neck and ears.

His groan is heavy as he raises his right hand from where his arms were crossed to rub his forehead in circular motions with his index and middle finger, “Boot…”

“I know, I know, I’m trying so hard, Sir but it’s just not-“

“This isn’t good enough, and you know that,” Tim cuts you off, his gaze bordering frustration and disbelief- something you hate seeing with him, “We’ve gone over this section in multiple scenarios- how can you still not get it? I thought I taught you better than this.”

You’re a good rookie- you know that. But the overwhelming creatures that lurk the back of your brain stress to you that you really aren’t good enough as they keep pounding the walls you’ve built up against them.

You’re a good rookie. You’re a good rookie.

Your breathing is erratic as you blink back tears before reaching for your last bit of courage to look back up at him.

And it hits Tim like a dynamite to his heart.

His eyes soften as they study down into your cloudy ones and the way you’re just barely holding it together in front of him. Your hands fidget, you’re a mess, you can’t keep still, but you’re staring at him with plead in your pupils.

You’re trying- and he’s your last chance to get this right, to get you over the line, to just get it.

That’s when Tim realises that rather than ridiculing you (because it’s so not like you’ve already ridiculed yourself this whole fucking time), he should step up as your training officer and teach you because it’s only ever been his training techniques that have helped you to where you are now. It’s no use punishing you for something that falls entirely back onto him and his responsibility. 

A fail in the P2 exam doesn’t just mean a failure to you as an officer, but an ultimate reflection on Tim’s failure to train you.

His exhale is slow as the tension in his muscles becomes plush to the touch, “Okay, let's work through this.” And immediately, a rush of relief flushes through your face. Tim peeks his head a little more into your apartment as he steps one foot past the door, “May I?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” You mutter, extending your arms out into your home to physically welcome him, “come in. Tea or coffee?”

“Water, please,” Tim murmurs, his eyes flickering amongst the piles of papers and books across your desk the closer he reaches it. A deep knot furrows between his brows as he brings a chair from your dining room over to your white desk, all the while, moving the endless pages of information around to free space.

As he does so, you’ve disappeared into your kitchen, hands trembling slightly as you fill a glass with water. The sound of the faucet running is your only distraction against the thick air that has suddenly arrived just in time with his presence. You don’t know what’s causing the tension, whether that be that, quite frankly, this is the first time a man has entered your feminine home or it’s the weight of knowing you’re about to have a one-on-one session with said man. 

You’d be stupid to ignore the facts that Tim Bradford; your TO, means a lot to you. 

Of course, you can’t stop the high-school swooning crush you have for him. Come on, who doesn’t? He’s a man of protection and resources. Sure, you’re younger than him, but his masculine qualities and those veiny arms do something palpable to your body.

Most importantly, though, is that he’s someone who has moulded you into who you are and what you know now, and his approval means everything. He’s hard-headed and rough and dominant, but deep down you know that in that cold-stoned heart of his, he’s compassionate and willing to do anything to help you succeed. 

Your ovaries can wait. His time and knowledge is valuable- you can’t let him down.

When you return, you find Tim leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as his sharp blue eyes assess the chaos of your desk. You notice that he's placed your laptop and the lit candles on your dining table opposite the open space of your apartment.

He takes the glass with a small nod of thanks, setting it down without drinking. 

“Alright,” He starts off, his tone steady but tinged with a kind of quiet authority that makes you straighten your posture instinctively as you sit down on your chair, “Show me what you’ve been working on.”

You clear your throat, quickly glancing his way before pulling your P2 training manual closer and flicking through to the dreaded section of the book. The pages are an embarrassing mess of highlighted passages, margin notes, and sticky tabs that seem more decorative than functional at this point.

“I’m trying to go through the practice questions,” You speak up, pointing to Question 3: Clusters of Behaviour. 

Tim huddles closer to examine it, his arm just gently brushing yours and you try to suppress the absolute shock that spreads from his very touch, “Okay- During an interrogation, a suspect exhibits the following behaviours: Avoids eye contact, speaks rapidly, taps their foot repeatedly. How should the officer interpret these actions?” He tilts his head to look at you, “What do you think the answer is?”

You look at him, then down at the question that taunts you, then back at him, “I keep thinking A): These are signs of guilt and should be addressed immediately but I already had a look and it’s B): They indicate stress, which may or may not relate to deception.”

“As it should be,” Tim retorts, moving his body so he’s sitting directly in front of you and away from the manual, “Why did you immediately jump into action without assessing the suspect’s context?”

“I don’t know!” You fling your hands up with a huff, your eyebrows knitting as you also look at him, “Clearly, I’m not trying to. I’ve been memorising all these cues and examples, but when I try to apply them to actual scenarios, I just…blank. It’s like the more I try to focus, the harder it gets.” 

Tim studies you for a moment, his gaze unwavering and you can’t help but feel an ounce of intimidation and nervousness under his silent stare. 

You’re unsure of how he’s going to react to your admittance, but you shouldn’t expect any less from him. This is who he is- an unopened book with every response he gives you sending anxiety to your bones at whether he’s going to yell at you, smile at you, joke with you, snap at you, grumble, grunt, whatever.

However, to your surprise, he reaches out and flips the manual closed.

“Wha-“

“You’re overthinking it,” he says simply, resting his forearm against the closed manual. “Body language isn’t about memorising lists or definitions. It’s about instinct. Observation. You don’t need to know every term in the book to read someone- you just need to pay attention.”

You blink at him as the confusion in your brain fogs even more, “But…how am I supposed to pass the exam if I don’t know the technical terms?” 

Tim smirks and chuckles quietly, allowing his body to relax against your agitated one, “Trust me, Boot. If you can read people in the field, you’ll pass the exam. They’re not testing your ability to recite definitions- they’re testing whether you can use what you’ve learnt.”

Sure, his words are meant to be reassuring, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest doesn’t quite ease as the frown in your brows never shies away and you’ve now moved to biting your nails as your last coping mechanism.

Sensing your lingering doubt, Tim sighs and shifts in his chair, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Alright,” he says, his voice taking on a firm but patient tone, “If there’s anything you should take from this topic and, most importantly, from me, it’s that observing non-verbal language should be examined in 3 sections: Eyes, body, and breath.” You try your best to snap a picture of what he said into your mind as you pull your fingers away from your face. He resumes, “Ignore the words they speak and how they speak them because you’ll get lost trying to figure out whether they’re lying or tricking you. Their body will give away their answer- it always does. The body never lies. What’s important, however, is that with whatever information their body shows, you need to piece together what they’re trying to say.” 

Understanding the story behind the movement.

Tim's head angles to the side, “Does that make a bit of sense?”

Fuck, if only he was here five hours ago helping you would you be under different circumstances than just holding onto your last thread of hope and tears.

“Better than the textbook,” You compliment him, “Focus on eyes, body, and breath. Got it.”

“Good,” He replies and he exhales in relief, "Let’s try something different than reciting lines and lines of words.”

You eye him out of curiosity to his suggestion, however, you nod your head reluctantly and you shuffle a little in your seat, uncertain to what will come next.

“Body language is all about context,” he explains, “Every movement, every gesture- there’s a reason behind it. Let’s see how good your instincts are. I’ll act out a scenario, and you tell me what you see. No overthinking, no second-guessing- just say what comes to mind.”

Your stomach flips at the idea, but again you nod, determined to prove yourself. 

With your agreement, Tim continues, “Let’s start with eyes, Boot. The eyes are everything- they’ll tell you where the mind is going before they even say a word. It’s about where they’re looking, how long they hold a gaze, or even if they avoid it completely.” 

And then he draws closer, his sharp blue irises locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. For a split moment, his gaze softens, but then he shifts his expression ever so slightly- his brows narrow, his lids lower just a fraction, and his jaw tenses.

“What do you see?” he asks, low but steady.

“Uh…” You fumble, hyperaware of his scrutiny, “You…look like your normal self?”

He rolls his eyes, “Focus, Boot.”

Fuck, how can you with him looking at you so intently?

You swallow, “Okay, you’re focused…angry? But not really angry just…concerned?”

The flicker of approval in Tim’s eyes is unbearable to your racing heart as he slants back a little, “Good job, Boot. Concerned is close. My eyes are narrowing, my jaw is tight- they’re classic signs of someone processing something serious or difficult.”

There’s something about the words ‘good job’ and ‘Boot’ that you rarely hear form in a sentence from Tim’s lips and it has you lingering onto that hot flush of praise and validation that you oh so yearn for.

So you exhale, “Eyes. Where the mind is before words.” You recite, and suddenly the paining knot that’s been deeply rooted within your chest now for days loosens just a bit. Maybe, just maybe, you can actually do this.

A tiny hint of a…smile sparks onto his face as he carries on, “Alright, let’s move on to body. Stand up.” He orders, and you obey- as you always do. 

You push your chair back and rise to your feet with Tim following suit. Your bodies are only inches apart and you find yourself shuffling back a little before your hormones make you do something entirely inappropriate like fucking jumping on him.

It’s no use anyway whether you moved back or not, he still towers over you.

But then he does something so…unsexual, yet, it has your focus entirely set on him. He hooks his fingers under the hem of his dark jumper and, in one fluid motion, he pulls it up and over his head, his muscles rippling under the movement. The air feels charged, your eyes immediately zeroing in on his white shirt showcasing his toned chest and bulging biceps that you can’t help but gawk at with the quick beating of your core.

God, you’re so feral for him- this shouldn’t be flustering you the way it is. But with how warm the atmosphere in your apartment has grown, you’re sure now that it isn’t the muted light above you tinting your cheeks a hot red but, perhaps- just perhaps, it’s the man who stands confidently in front of you.

It’s like you’re tunnel visioning right on him and his muscly arms and strong wafts of cologne and that taunting smirk on his lips and…and he’s stepping closer to you. 

“Relax,” he says, his voice softer, almost teasingly, really. “You’re stiff as a board, Boot. Loosen up.”

Fuck, guess you really hadn’t noticed how lost in trance you were staring at him that your body completely solidified into the floor; a man’s physique has grounded you and sincerely, you know a crush turned this badly can only mean you are royally fucked.

But then, he places his hands lightly on your shoulders, guiding you to adjust your stance. And the heat of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you swear you see his lips twitch upwards in amusement.

“Better,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to let you breathe- but certainly not enough to ease the sudden tension crackling between you. “Body language is about more than just posture. It’s the way someone leans in, the tension in their muscles, or how their movements shift when they’re comfortable- or when they want something. Watch me.” 

Tim suddenly crosses his arms (you try your best to avoid the way his biceps expand from the movement), his shoulders draw upwards and he taps his foot repeatedly against the floorboards. 

You knit your brows together in the hopes that it will make you observe better on him, “Closed off,” You spark up, hesitantly at first but it simmers more into confidence, “You’re defensive. The foot bouncing is…anxiety? Frustration?”

Tim stops the tapping of his foot yet keeps his arms crossed, but the small grin that tints his lips is far more important than anything else, “Not bad. Closed posture often signals defensiveness or discomfort, and the foot movement can show agitation or nervous energy- limbs can be utilised to cope with internalised stress such as fidgeting fingers or shaky knees. Keep in mind still that body language needs context. Frustration and anxiety can look the same, but the environment will tell you which one’s more likely.”

Understanding the story behind the movement.

You stand a bit straighter, pride rushing through your veins, “Okay, body language needs context, but it helps reinforce what the eyes tell?”

“Exactly- that’s it. See? You’re catching on now,” He praises, and you look up in surprise at his words and release a shudder through your bloodstream. 

You’re helpless, you’ve fallen, you’re entirely under his embrace as you whisper, “Thank you, Sir.”

God, you’re making a fool of yourself.

Tim smirks, “Don’t thank me yet, we aren’t finished.”

Right, of course, breath.

Tim leans back into your desk, the moonlight that shines through your window from behind him glimmers an everlasting white glow onto his physique- causing a simple yet effective spotlight onto his back. You watch his hands grip tightly onto the edge of the desk causing his muscles to flex and sharpen his veins and his knuckles whiten from the pressure. 

You quickly divert your gaze away.

“Breath is the hardest to fake. It’s involuntary and tied to emotion more than anything else. Breathing gives away more than you think. Controlled, even breaths mean someone’s calm. Quick, shallow ones?” He tilts his head and suddenly he’s moving closer to you where only two steps closer would have you colliding with him. His eyes tauntingly stare into yours, “Nervous. Or perhaps…something else?”

...Something else?

At first, you look at him blankly because the underlying words he points out in the explanation are far too relatable to how you feel in this sudden moment. 

And then, you immediately curse yourself with a shit in and try to hold your breath.

Yet, it would be too late supposedly- he’s already noticed.

Your face heats as you stammer a line of defence, “I’m…calm.”

“Relax,” he says, his tone equal parts teasing and commanding, “It’s not a bad thing. Just…interesting.”

Interesting? Interesting?

It's one word but with that, your heart’s thump echoes throughout your body, your rib cages shake and the blood swimming in your veins only accelerates with pace and quantity. You force yourself to breathe in…breathe out…but there’s no use to it. 

Does that mean he knows? Does that mean he’s caught on? And to the extent of how badly you want him? Surely he knows there’s tension, but does he know you’re not just thinking about kissing him but fucking him too? Does he know?

You shake your head to rid the thoughts- whatever he knows now is all that he’ll get out of you and nothing more. Your TO doesn’t need to know that you see him as something more than just a higher line of authority to you.

However, the air feels charged now, and the warm-tinted lights above you flicker against the overwhelming whirlwind of energy surrounding the room- the candles, too.

The bastard continues as if that moment never happened, “Breath is all about pace, depth, and how someone breathes when they’re worked up, nervous, or completely in the moment.”

You focus intently as he takes a slow, deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a purposeful rhythm. Then, without warning, his breath quickens, shallow and uneven, his shoulders moving with each exhale. 

“What do you notice?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You hesitate, your pulse pounding in your ears. “The slow breath...controlled. Like you’re trying to stay calm. But the quick breaths- panic? Or excitement?”

Tim’s expression softens, and for the first time, you catch a hint of something unguarded in his gaze, “Nicely done, Boot. You’ve definitely got it, you just need to stop overthinking and start trusting yourself.” 

Your body eases as his words settle over you and the anxiety that once was gnawing at you has long frizzled away; you’re getting better. “Eyes, body, breath,” you repeat, more to yourself than to him. “Got it.” 

Tim’s shoulders relax, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That's it. Now let’s see how well you’ve been paying attention. I want you to read me.”

There’s a pause as you take into his words, and then you frown, “What?”

Your puzzled expression causes him to grin, “You’re going to observe me. Call it like you see it. Eyes, body, breath.”

Your heart skips, “You want me to...analyse you?”

“Exactly,” Tim says with a shrug, settling into the desk more comfortably as he leans back into it. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he gestures for you to start. “Well? What do you see, Boot?" he prompts, his tone playful but laced with that familiar authority.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes and your fingers fidget from your sides. The pressure encapsulates you, you’ve never read anyone this closely before- let alone your own TO. 

“Okay, well…” Clearing your throat, you start at his eyes first, studying his baby blues closely, “Your gaze is...steady,” you say, your voice a little shaky at first. “You’re watching me closely but you’re not narrowing your eyes or tensing your jaw. That tells me you’re open but still in control of the situation.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt. 

“Your body is…relaxed,” You continue, noting how his posture oozes confidence. “But the way your fingers are tapping against the desk means you’re impatient.” But impatient of what?

Tim arches a brow, his expression unreadable, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath when you look down at his rosy lips, “And your breathing,” Your eyes move down to his chest too, “It’s even. Controlled. You’re not nervous or frustrated- you’re calm.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Tim studies you, his face giving away nothing. And then, slowly, a grin spreads across his lips, “Not bad- I’ll give that to you.”

Relief flushes to your cheeks at the same time a little sigh leaves your lips at his approval, your chest swelling with pride. Thank fuck for that, thank fuck you did it, thank fuck you-

“But you missed one thing.”

You halt. Brows furrowing and eyes squinting as you look back at him with your mind replaying the previous scenes continuously, “What…What did I miss?”

Tim’s gaze locks onto yours, and for that split moment of silence, the air buzzes between you two, “My eyes,” he says gently, “They’ve been completely locked on you this whole time.” He tilts his head as his tone drops low, “What do you think that tells you?”

You hesitate. The flames that crackle from the candles of afar produce white noise in a way to ease the tension within you two and you find yourself warming up at his honesty, “It means...you’re focused on me. You’re analysing me as much as I’m analysing you. Maybe even testing me.”

“Exactly,” he commends, “When someone maintains direct eye contact, it can mean a lot of things: confidence, challenge, or, in this case, testing boundaries. But always remember, context matters. Eyes alone don’t tell the full answer.”

Understanding the story behind the movement.

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels much smaller. Tim’s words hang in the air, heavy with a meaning you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack.

But he doesn’t wait for your approval of understanding- you two have gone too far for that now, "You did great but-" He suddenly stands up, “Let me show you how observation is done."

You swallow hard to where you watch him and how slow and calculated his steps are compared to your fast-pumping body. Like a trance, your irises are glued to him and how he begins to circle you.

“If you were smart enough to notice, Boot.” He begins, “You’d realise this whole time I’ve been observing you, from ever since the moment you opened your door and looked at me with begging eyes for help to now, where every look and touch I give you makes you melt.”

You look to your side and stare down into the spurts of fire that dance on your dining table in the hopes of grounding yourself.

“You’re trying too hard to control yourself,” he mentions first, catching onto your force of engagement away from him and you curse yourself in your head. “You and I both know it’s too late for that. Did you know your eyes gave you away first? The way you couldn’t stop looking at my lips whenever I spoke, or how they flutter when I step closer to you with pupils dilated.” He then pauses behind you, his breath just as warm against your ear as the flames that sit mockingly from afar.

Your stomach flips. His breath tickles your neck and you feel the motion of one of his hands gripping the left side of your hip to turn you towards the desk, leaving you trapped between the desk and him. His other hand lifts your right arm’s sleeve up and he hums at the obvious sign on your limb.

“And this?” His fingers ghost over your skin, “The goosebumps. Your body’s way of screaming at me without saying a word. ”

You shudder but, you don't pull away.

Tim approaches closer, his lips brushing your ear, “Do you want me to stop?”

Because undeniably, there is a massive line you two are crossing here between TO and rookie, mentor and learner…man and woman.

A line that is shamed upon, unforbidden, unrealistic, unnecessary, and all in all, everything wrong. You know that once this line has been crossed, nothing will ever be the same between you two and the actions that are made tonight could have terrible, horrible, guilty consequences. Would Tim even be able to look you in the eye after this? Would you be able to for him? Would all the progress of a partnership between a kind and curious rookie to her rough and shrewd TO mean everything or nothing at the end of this? Would it all be worth it in the end?

But despite it all, there is no inch in your trembling body that screams yes as an answer to him.

“No,” you whisper.

And that settles it.

Tim turns you around to face him and he's towering over you with how close you are. He's never been this close. Not even when he'd use it as an intimidating tactic to yell at you- but his usual complexion of dominating is softer now...luring...assuring.

With gentle fingers, he reaches up to one of your temples and tucks the loose strands of hair behind your ears, and a tremor releases so strongly that your exhale comes out shaky.

Tim teasingly smirks at your body's reaction, "You tremble every time I touch you, but you never tell me to stop or act upon your actions, which can only mean one thing," He resumes, drawing slow circles into the dip of your waist, "you want me to make the first move...Would I be correct?"

Your blush of embarrassment fills your cheeks at how easily he's read you and how awfully pathetic your body can betray you under his observation. And he's looking back at you with that knowing look that he truly has you wrapped around his finger.

"Yes, Sir," You mumble shamefully, "That would be correct."

"Well, if that's the case," He starts, re-tucking the strand of hair he was working on before cupping the side of your jaw into his warm yet rough hand, "What do you think your body’s telling me right now?"

You squirm. Not because you don't want to answer him, but because you don't know whether he knows just how badly you want him. You don't just want to feel his lustful lips seer into a fiery kiss with yours. God no, your needy and wet core yearn for him.

With a beating heart ringing throughout your ears and your half-lidded eyes locked onto his, you find yourself gathering any source of confidence before replying: “That it really wants to get fucked by you.”

Within those longing seconds of awaiting his answer, you notice how his eyelids widen but then retreat back to a squint with his blues no longer there. Instead, black takes over the space. His lips curl into a salacious smile and he whispers attagirl before bringing you closer to his face with the pull of his hand.

The praise sends a jolt through you, and before you can think, his lips crash into yours with a desirable hunger that ignites every nerve in your body.

It’s not soft nor tentative (not that you would have expected any different from Tim) but you're revelling in how raw, commanding and powerful it is. You’re drowning in it for your greed pushes your breath aside to capture his kiss again. But just as equally, it’s like his very own lips are the only thing keeping your head afloat. They're a gentle saviour to your overwhelming built-up of feelings that could have done more damage than good to yourself if you continued the way you had by trapping them in your already busy mind. 

In saying that, while Tim’s hand grips the side of your jaw to angle it back to deepen the kiss with his own personal invitation of his tongue, you can’t help but sigh in ultimate relief at how loudly this act of intimacy fills the weight of every stolen glance and unspoken word that has ever passed between you two. So much so that you feel like your feelings are being…reciprocated.

He’s precise with how he kisses you, and you don’t realise he’s pushing you back from the grip of his hand on your hip until you feel the hard surface of the desk just digging into your backside. 

A moan slips from your throat as his hands lightly trace all the way down to cup your ass. He squeezes lightly before hoisting you up so you sit completely on the desk's edge.

Are there some pages scrunched from the sudden friction of movement and are there some papers you’re sitting on right now? Sure, but it’s not like either of you noticed anyway. 

His fingers travel under your hoodie, roaming your velvet skin beneath his contrast of rough hands. As you finally pull away from the kiss, your moment to catch your breath is immediately disrupted by Tim lowering his face and placing wet and feather-like kisses on the side of your exposed neck. His stubble tickles your sensitive skin and your body reacts by canting your head back to provide more space for him to explore.

Your voice is breathy as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Tim, are you like this with...all your rookies?”

You can hear a small chuckle leave his throat, but he doesn’t pull away from you, “No, just ones who I know will…” He kisses you, “pass…” Another kiss, “their…” Another one, “exam.” And his tone is teasing with his raspy voice vibrating against you.

You stifle a laugh at the same time you let out a yelp at the sudden pinch against your neck, already knowing without looking that he’s creating a hickey, “Fuck- Sir,” And your hands have their own mind as they move up to his head. They cradle him there, your grip tight but comforting and your nails dig into the roots of his now dry short strands.

There’s no pushing him away as he draws one…two…three hickeys into your now bruised skin. Then, he pulls away to finally meet your low-lidded gaze, your mouth agape in hunger and full-blown lust.

But, he’s just like you. His cologne is now imprinted on your clothes and your eyes wander lower to his lips, then his sharp jawline, to where his chest furiously pounds against his white tee- and you feel yourself dripping wet at the thought of what may lay undernea-

“-You’re way too easy to read, Boot.” His voice cuts off your thoughts and you snap your focus to look back up at him to where a smug smirk rests upon those swollen red lips of his.

Your words are confident despite still flushing pink in your cheeks, “Not trying to be subtle about it.” You murmur, pulling your arms away from him to give him the space he needs to step back slightly. Then, he’s reaching behind his neck and your breath catches as he grabs the collar of his white T-shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid, practised motion. The movement is so calculated, so commanding, that it leaves you momentarily stunned. 

However, what’s most important is that he now stands before you, shirtless. It's such new territory that at first you aren’t too sure how to react- the sight of his bare chest and sculpted shoulders steals every coherent thought from your mind. But, when he moves in closer to you, your body instinctively reaches out and traces the muscles that flex beneath your fingertips' nerves.

You can’t restrain the moan rumbling deep from your core and you draw him into another kiss. This time, however, your hands roam his body- he’s even hotter than the searing air floating throughout your apartment.

Tim’s fingers inch to the hem of your hoodie, tugging it to motion you to take it off which, of course, you oblige. Pulling away, you glance up at him before grabbing the edges of your hoodie and taking it off, now becoming a collection on the floor with Tim’s shirt. Ultimately, this leaves you in nothing but your bra and sweatpants.

Again, new territory means you’re incredibly nervous for what's to come and it doesn’t help that Tim is just…staring at you.

“Do I look okay?” You try to swallow your anxieties as you try to not cover yourself and instead fiddle with your fingers in your lap, “Do you…like what you see?”

The low groan of Tim’s fuck that rasps out of his heavy breath is his first sentence, and then he’s gripping your waist again and he pulls himself closer to you, his eyes discovering every inch of your body for a split second before he trails his baby blues back to meet yours, “Oh, I don’t know, Boot, why don’t you tell me?”

At first, you think he’s joking, just playing along from your previous events of learning observation. But then he’s giving you that look, and he’s angling his head as if awaiting your answer and…oh, he wasn’t joking.

You blush furiously and you honestly feel like you could sweat from how hot you feel, but still, you obey and Tim can’t stop the pulse of pressure his hands indent into your waist from excitement and impatience. “Okay, well-” Already being so hyper-fixated on him assists in identifying his body language as you stare into his eyes, “Your pupils are dilated and heavy, which are easy signs of arousal. Your breathing is…erratic- meaning, you’re out of breath but also could mean you’re excited…or nervous. And…your body is close to me. Your hands hold me in place so I can’t leave and you’re leaning into me- you want more.”

He is leaning into you, and he certainly does want more. His forehead now nearly touches yours as he yearns for the touch of your body, “And?”

“…And?” You knit your eyebrows, trying to think about what else of his body language could mean more for his arousal.

Until, you feel his rock hard cock in his jeans pushing right into your covered core.

Your mouth faintly forms an ‘o’ shape at the realisation that your TO is very much so turned on by you. And the blush that was already there has doubled in heat and redness, your chest thumps wildly from it. 

“Remember, sweetheart,” He begins teasingly, his fingers rising up from your stomach and around your back to where your bra’s clasps sit, “Put it all together now- eyes, body and breath. Like a puzzle piece, what does it tell you?”

Understanding the story behind the movement.

You slightly choke on your breath as you struggle to form words at how to exactly tell him that he, too, wants to fuck you.

But, that’s it- there is no other way. There are simply no other words that can form a coherent sentence that relates even closely to what his body is begging for you to do.

You find yourself a stuttering and flustered mess, “You do like what you see and that-” You whisper the next words, “-you really, really want to fuck me.”

“That’s it,” he coos, his lips barely grazing your forehead as he undoes your bra one clasp by another, slow but sensual, “Good girl, you're such a quick learner.”

Your breath hitches, his words making your stomach flip and your mouth falls open like jelly. He pulls back just enough to smirk at your reaction and then he’s taking your bra off, leaving your breasts completely bare.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice rough, “You like hearing that, don’t you?”

But before you can reply, his lips move down your chest via kisses, only to then attach to your right nipple.

Immediately, you arch into the warm embrace of his mouth, the heat of his touch sending sparks of arousal through every nerve in your body down to your wet pussy. His left hand keeps your other breast occupied while the other traces lazy lines into your back.

You’re so fucking turned on that your hands connect with the one thing closest to them: his jeans.

So, as Tim licks and flicks your nipple with his tongue, your fingers move to unbutton his jeans and pull his zipper down with the utmost haste. Then, as his jeans fall to the ground, you tug down his grey Calvin Kleins’, and you can’t help but moan loudly as just when Tim faintly brushes his teeth against your sensitive bud, he becomes completely bare from entrapment and his cock springs free.

He’s…fuck, he’s massive.

You flutter your eyes as Tim tackles your other nipple, your top teeth gently grazing your swollen bottom lip. And without thinking a second into it, your hands are already reaching out to grasp his cock, one sitting at his thick base and the other resting at his leaking pink tip. There, you move in motion to how the man assaulting your chest circles your breasts and if there is one thing you could wish upon the dazzling moonlight from behind your apartment’s illuminating windows, it would be to keep a forever replaying record of your TO’s groan. It’s husky, low, and quite honestly, the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

Your hands continue their rhythm, the one on the base twisting at the same time that your palm does too, making sure to collect all drops of pre-cum and distribute it onto every inch of him.

Tim pulls away, breathless and he lowers his forehead onto your shoulder, groaning again, “Fuck, Boot, feels so good,” He whispers against your smooth skin, kissing the spot his lips rest upon.

You pull back to capture his whole face just for a second and before you even realise it, your subconscious reads him- observes him; 

Shut eyes and knitted brows…concentration. Concentrated on the feeling. Messy hair…‘sex’ hair. Breathless and imbalanced breathing…aroused, excited. Pretty eyelashes fluttering. Leaning in…wanting more, always wanting more.

And then, he opens his eyes. 

But the emotions still stick around.

There’s a smirk tugging on your lips as the hand that once rested on his base has now lowered a little more to where his balls rest. The smallest touch of your fingers playing with them has pride blossoming throughout your veins at the gasp that escapes him. 

You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so gentle, so…exposed. But, you like it. For someone so hard-headed and constantly wearing a frown so much it’ll probably cause early-aged wrinkles, you savour in this moment where he’s content. 

He’s content because of you. 

So lost in thought, you don’t notice that you both have directed your eye contact down to watch your hands glide perfectly around him- and Tim’s untying the drawstring’s bow on your sweatpants.

You feel his words more than hear them, his voice gravelly and thick with need as he grunts, “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing this.”

A sly smile spreads across your lips, your new profound ego boost intoxicating your persona as it breaks through your haze of desire. “What? This?” You tease as one hand reaches lower to trace his perineum and the other, slick with moisture, rubs his frenulum. 

His jaw tightens, his knuckles tightening on your pants’ waistband, “Careful,” he warns, his tone dark but laced with that tempting edge that makes your stomach flip. 

You analyse him and how his breath has changed its route to quick yet airy inhales and exhales and as much as he tries to look at you, his arousal says otherwise with the way his eyelids flutter.

You hum, “You should be the one that’s careful, Sir- you’re getting close.”

He lifts an eyebrow at you, “Oh, you want to test me?” he growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His baby blues are stormy now, locked on yours as his hands tug your pants down your ass and thighs until they fall with gravity to the floor and you're left in nothing but your panties. The cool desk connecting with your skin contrasts with the heat you radiate in this very sudden moment, “Well, let’s see how long you last.”

Before you can respond, his fingers are slipping your underwear down as well, and he’s brushing his index finger against your slick heat. 

You gasp, wrapping one hand back on his cock while the other places itself beside you, clutching onto the edge of the desk for stability. His thumb has already found your clit and he wastes no time circling it slowly and deliberately. “Already so wet for me,” he mutters, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His other hand grips your chin and tilts it up, forcing you to look at him. “I want to hear every little sound, understand?” 

You nod breathlessly, barely able to form words as one finger slides inside you, curling just right against that plush cushioning of your g-spot. 

“Good girl,” he praises, his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you, "How's that feeling?"

Tim’s fingers are long and rough as he fucks them into you, hitting all the right spots within you that have you shuddering into a hot and overwhelming bliss. You've left your attention off of his cock as you pull your hand away and place it also on the edge of the desk, selfishly taking into account your own pleasure in this heated moment. He’s just so excellent at this that even your own digits couldn't reach the areas he can and you wish he were here every time you were aroused so he could come back and bless you like this over and over again.

You don't even know how to reply to him but yet you still stutter out incoherently, "Fuck, so good, holy shit."

Your senses hit an overdrive- you don’t know whether to look at his dark irises and that smug smirk you want to kiss off, the hand that's moved from your chin to your waist, his fingers or, really, nothing by shutting your eyes closed. The air is thick and sticky from the arousal filling your apartment, and the only noise that can be heard is your heavy breaths, the occasional moan from you and your pussy squelching from Tim’s teasing fingers. 

“Sir-” You start, but what are you even going to say?

Luckily, he knows exactly what you need, “I know, baby, I know,” He coaxes, placing a tender kiss on your lips as he adds a second finger and his other hand diverts its attention from your waist to your aching clit, earning himself another gasp that he collects into his memories, “Doing so well for me, aren’t you?”

Fuck, he's right- you aren’t going to last. Your bundle of nerves have already begun fluttering within your core’s walls and your breath is harder to catch the longer he’s fucking into you. 

You pull your lips away from him, finding comfort in the nook between his neck and shoulder as you nibble gently down on his skin and you’re begging, “Please, please, Sir…” but for what? Release? More? Harder? Rougher? Faster?

But, Tim gets it, he really does. Despite never have laying a finger like this on you ever since knowing you, it’s like he knows exactly how to please you. 

You’re a kind and gentle person and a good rookie who obeys and listens- that’s a starter. You need to be talked through things, especially from him whether that be helping you with your P2 exam or...well, fingering you (Regardless, he's giving you the satisfaction you need either way). And on the rare occasion when Tim praises your work, there’s a flash of something dark that flutters within your eyes and eyelashes like an addiction, an obsession to have more. It wasn’t hard for your body to tell him that his praise wasn’t just a compliment to you, it was something you’d be going to bed fantasising about.

"Taking my fingers so good, Boot,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, the rumble of his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. “Wonder what you’ll be like taking my cock.” His veins pump heavily out of exhaustion with each hook movement he gestures from his index and middle finger and his other thumb pushes into your clit with such delicate yet deliberate circular motions. 

His words have you gasping and your shaky legs widening which, in return, has the desk rattling even more- but that’s the last of either of your concerns. 

“Sir, I’m so close-”

“-Oh, don’t worry, I know,” He taunts because, really, you’re quite obvious about it. But Tim is more revelling in how your warm pussy flutters around him, your sharp breaths coming from your pretty lips and your trembling body that follows. 

Then, one of your hands clasps the back of his head and you’re pulling him closer to you, a loud gasp drawing from the deep heavens of your voice with a symphony of oh, oh fuck~ that he knows exactly the moment your orgasm has peaked.

“Breathe through it,” He coaxes, though his voice betrays the tension running through him, his own arousal barely contained as he watches you come undone beneath him. He milks your climax, his fingers slowing down to a faint manoeuvre within you and your clit just being grazed as he places featherlight kisses on your forehead. And yet, you still listen; trying to catch your ever-escaping breath as your body quivers down from your high, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

One, two, three heartbeats echo within your ears as you sit there tirelessly, your eyes that were once shut now fluttering open to meet your TO’s stare- the man who just gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life. 

You swallow hard, your breathing slowly returning to a steady rhythm. Tim pulls his fingers out of you, and a pang of emptiness settles in your core. That is, until another wave of arousal tingles through you as your gaze drops to his fingers that glisten with your juices. You exhale a shaky puff of hot air, “Wow, that was-“

“-Was?” Tim cuts you off, his voice rich with authority and a suggestive lilt that he always had whenever you would say something while he was training you in the shop. He tilts his head as his hands travel under your thighs, canting your body so your pussy is fully exposed to the warm glow of the overhead light. The sight of you is iridescent - flushed, radiant, utterly wrecked - and it steals his breath. In this very moment of Tim’s sexual tendencies and the release of bundled-up feelings: you are an angel, “Oh, Boot, I’m not done with you yet.”

His words are all that you need to hear to have your heartbeat spiking back up again, your breath hitching and the wetness between your legs intensifying. 

Fuck, that is exactly what you wanted to hear.

There’s a smirk on his face and he widens your legs, stepping closer into your space. He gently pushes you back with one hand resting on the back of your head so you now lay completely flat on the desk. His cock's tip aches red as it just gently rests at your entrance. You squirm as he lets it glide through your folds, gathering your slick and nudging against your throbbing clit before returning to tease your entrance.

“Sir,” You prop yourself up on your elbows as you glare at him, a groan slipping in frustration and your hips instinctively arch towards him, seeking more.

“I got you, Boot,” He murmurs, eyes daring into yours as he drags his cock through your folds once more before pressing the blunt head against your entrance, this time with a little more pressure.

Then slowly, he pushes in. 

The small gasp you let out as you feel his tip stretching you forces Tim to recite lines and lines of the Police Handbook in his mind in order to not fucking cum from your pretty noises, and it doesn’t help that you’re staring deep into his dark gaze with heavy eyes, filled with pleasure and need.

He continues to push into you and your mouth falls agape, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he finally bottoms out, his hips completely flush against yours. 

There’s stillness, aside from the blood that races throughout your system and both of your chests heaving. And you’re staring at each other with such hunger, desperation, sensualness. In this angle from where you lay, the moonlight’s physique compliments yours as it shines directly onto you, lighting you up like you're some kind of Goddess.

In Tim's eyes, you are.

He doesn’t leave you waiting long- he pulls back just enough before thrusting in to bury inside you. Your head falls back against the desk as your body adjusts to the massive intrusion, a moan rumbling through the both of you. Whether it be your imagination or that you’re actually basking in it from where you lay, you are for sure seeing stars the more he pushes into you. The stretch is exquisite, every inch filling you and igniting a fire that spreads through your entire body. 

While at first, his movements are slow, a pace begins to pick up, and it’s to the point where Tim’s locked onto your waist and he’s pounding into you.

His fingernails dig into your flesh, “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty face,” He breathlessly says, to which you immediately lift yourself up, along with propping back up onto your elbows for support and you melt at the man that stands in front of you.

Of course, you always thought your TO was hot- in a way that was desirable and intimidating in chorus. But right here, right now where his hair is a hot sweaty mess, his pupils are full blown out black, and his muscles are flexing in all the best ways possible as he fucks into you is an absolute sight to see.

He grins at the way you observe him, “That’s right, baby, taking me so well,” He inches in closer to draw his lips into yours.

The kiss is everything of a mess; tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clattering, hot breaths engulfing one another, but, it’s everything right too. This new angle has him fucking you deeper and the stretch has you moaning into his mouth.

“You make me feel- fuck-” You choke out at a hard thrust, “amazing.” And sincerely, you don’t want this to end.

Tim groans, sweat beading his forehead, “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” He fucks you hard again, “How much I…want you?”

Your heart flutters, an overwhelming dose of praise hitting you and you think about how he’s probably praised you the most today out of all the other days you soldiered through being tormented as his rookie. No other day you have had with him has or will ever compare to right now- sexually, romantically and morally. From moments where he’d spend the whole day glaring and yelling at you like you were an absolute waste of time to…now, where he’s confessing not just his desire for your body, but for you.

At first, you’re taken aback by it, eyes widening in utter surprise. But then you rake your gaze up his eyes, down to his body, then back up to his breath and…yeah he isn’t quite hiding it.

“I…” You collect your breath, “I think I may have an idea.”

He chuckles breathlessly, making sure to really bury himself into you for your smartass mouth, “Fuck, of course, you do, I’ve taught you well.”

But the banter falls just as quickly as your smile when you feel the coil in your core tightening. And it’s like he sees it too and so he slows his movements, pulling out almost entirely before leaning down to peck you. Then, he whispers against your lips, “Turn over for me.” 

The command sends a fresh wave of heat vibrating through you, and without hesitation, you obey. You allow him to reluctantly pull out and you shakily step off the desk (completely ignoring the mess of scrunch-up and ripped papers) before standing and turning away from him, bracing your hands against the desk. 

Tim’s calloused hands slide down your back, over the curve of your ass, then one hand moves to your mid-back and the other to the back of your head and again, he’s ever so slowly pushing you down. Finally, you’re face down on the desk and before you can say anything about how he’s never been so soft on you before and that maybe this should teach him to be more easy-going on you while training you, he’s sinking his cock back into his home.

He doesn’t hold back this time. His thrusts are steady and unrelenting, each one drawing a mix of moans and cries from you. He manhandles your arms to rest behind your back and he’s clutching onto your wrists with one hand. 

“You’re so beautiful like this. Every little sound you make- it’s all for me, isn’t it?” And then, if it couldn’t get any better than his flourish of praise reddening your already blushed cheeks, his other hand snakes around to your front, his fingers finding your clit again and rubbing slow, torturous circles that only add to the intensity.

With the extra stimulation to your bundle of nerves, that ever-growing bubble forms once again and your breath hitches, “Oh my God, Sir, please, I need to- ah-”

“What is it, sweetheart?” You can hear him hum, his stare burning through your head, constantly pounding into you at a pace that even you can’t handle. He knows what you need, of course he does- but, he’s a tease and won’t let you go that easily.

Your legs start to shake, your body trembling with the force of the pleasure building inside you. Your smart mouth has withered away under his dominance as you blush in embarrassment and stutter out, “Cum! Fuck’s sake, Tim, I need to cum.” Only to shyly add, “Please, Sir- you’re driving me crazy.”

Tim stifles a laugh at your sudden outburst before tightening his grip on your wrists, “Of course, baby, let go. I want to feel you cum around my cock.” But he isn’t far off from you either, feeling the tightening in his balls. 

It’s at this moment that he, as well, wishes you two could stay like this- hot, aroused. And with this position, you both have the moon brightening onto your scene, shining on you two as if you were one, if you were...together, connected.

Tim applies just the perfect amount of pressure to your clit that it pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that leaves you crying out his name, your walls fluttering around him as your vision tunnels and blurs. 

Tim doesn’t let up, his thrusts slowing but growing deeper as he chases his own release, his breathing ragged and strained. Your whimper of overstimulation is swallowed by his low groan, the sound vibrating through your already spent body. With one last thrust, he leans over you, his strong arms bracing the desk on either side of you and he stills. His hips press flush against you as his hot threads of cum spill inside you, his grip on your body grounding him as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

The room falls silent.

Except, this time, there’s a sense of satisfaction lingering in the air- your breaths sync into a rhythmic cadence as they slowly return to normal, the goosebumps aren’t from tension anymore but from the coolness of the room, and your heart is stable, balanced, content. 

Tim is still leaning over you, and you can hear the moment his breathing steadies because he plants a kiss on the back of your neck and murmurs, “You okay?” His voice is silk to your ears but filled with genuine concern as his hand traces up your back, brushing strands of hair from your face and tucking them gently behind your ear. 

You hum in response, “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice laced with exhaustion and exhilaration. 

Tim chuckles, low and warm, before he stands back up and pulls out of you carefully, earning a little whimper from your sensitive body. He shushes you soothingly, his hands running down your back and over your hips, grounding you. “I’ve got you, Boot,” he coaxes, and you believe him. 

Before you can fully process it, he’s guiding you to sit in the desk chair that had been abandoned oh so long ago. He presses a kiss to your temple, “I’ll be right back.” 

You nod, your eyelids heavy as you sink into the cushioning chair.

Your mind is a blur, but thankfully, it isn’t because of stress for the P2 exam, or that stupid topic on Body Language. If anything, your body’s still buzzing, your mind blissfully blank from being thoroughly fucked.

When Tim returns with a damp, warm cloth, you watch him kneel in front of you. “I think I may have found my new favourite learning technique,” You whisper, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you watch him clean you up with the utmost care.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, “Good thing you won’t be a rookie for long, then. Otherwise, I might have to come up with a few more creative teaching methods."

“…I’ll think of things to learn.”

He pauses, his attention turning fully to you, his eyes softening in a way that feels foreign on his usually hardened face, “Biased or not, Boot, you will pass the exam. I know it.”

The humour once slipping hoarsely from your mouth grows quiet as your cheeks flush with affection and his words of kindness, “Thank you.” You murmur just as you gently exhale.

He smiles, then leans in to kiss your forehead, “Always.” 

The weight of his gaze settles on you, and it’s not just lust anymore- it’s something deeper, something unspoken. It makes your heart flutter in a way that’s almost more overwhelming than the physical intensity you just shared. 

Once he finishes cleaning you, you invite him down to your couch. He obliges, pulling you into his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, lulling you into a peaceful haze. 

You dare to look up at the clock ticking above.

9:47pm.

“Think we’re still late for the bar meet-up?”

[sleepymissy]

━ i think you wanna... (18+)

( tim bradford x girl!reader )

SUMMARY: living with your roommate whose boyfriend is your patrol partner and best friend is hard enough. but when the opportunity presents itself one night when you two are alone, you can't stop the urge to get a taste of him. AUTHOR'S NOTE: HEAVILY INSPIRED BY TATE MCRAE'S NEW SINGLE 'SPORTS CAR'!!! can you tell i'm a whore for her yet. usually i'm not one to support cheating fics BUTTTTT @kamisobsessed ask for one and i hated ashley. this is a little bit more comedic than my other ones BUT SOOOO FILTHY GUYS IT'S THE SMUTTIEST ONE YET and kind of toxic? idc LOL. also you're ashley's roommate in this fic AHHH enjoy much love x MDNI PLEASE INCLUDES: friends to lovers, masturbation, voyeurism, cheating (soz ash idgaf xoxo), dirty talk, pet names, TIM IS FILTHY IDC, unprotected sex, oral sex (reader receives), dom!tim, sub!reader, ashley being exaggerated to be infuriating (h2g she isn't even that bad canon-wise), lucy being your best friend, swearing. WORDS: 12K+

❝ you could do it on your own

while you're lookin' at me ❞

You didn't expect Tim Bradford to be the type of man to fall for a woman like Ashley McGrady.

Whether that be biased or not from your selfish heart, you just couldn't picture them as a well-oiled team- especially because of all the candidates you had in your head for who Tim was best fitted for, Ashley wasn't one of them.

In fact, any possible candidate for that asshole of a man had always been yourself.

And yet, here you are, arms folded tightly against your chest out of frustration and protection, your eyes furrowing and darkening at the scene in front of you. The wrong-ordered coffee Ashely gave you has been long forgotten and abandoned on the desk behind you as you can't seem to tear your glare away from Ashley peppering Tim's face with her sticky pink lipgloss in the middle of the station.

It's hard not to look despite your face scrunching up out of cringe as you watch how giddy the blonde acts around him, and though Tim wears a small smile for her, you know damn well that smile doesn't reach his eyes. His cheeks are red though not out of blushing, and his hands flex and unflex by his sides; he's expressing no interest to engage with her actions that clearly are embarrassing him.

No one else pays attention to it- clearly, there are more important things to do at the Mid-Wilshire police station. But when your patrol partner is being interrupted by his girlfriend's overly performative PDA mid-shift, you're forced upon your own will to look as you patiently...impatiently wait to get back to work.

You sigh.

You aren't sure when it all started going downhill.

For the past few years, your life has been nothing but…comfortable- and some of the best years of your life, in fact. Sure, being a cop in Los Angeles doesn't exactly scream easy, but you made it work into your lifestyle.

You started out in the academy as Tim Bradford's rookie, where your partnership was built entirely on mutual respect. Tim was by the book; he was hard-edged, borderline insufferable, and relentless in his expectations of you. His constant barking of orders and pushing you to your absolute limits could've easily made you slip from reaching P2. Yet, your determination and eagerness to improve had not only made you a capable cop, but it also left an impression on Tim.

However, somewhere between you being his Boot and achieving your qualifications of P2, you and Tim grew…closer. What started as a professional partnership where you spoke only when spoken to and made countless coffee runs for him had softened- Tim simmered down his dominance, allowing his external shell to ease at your presence.

Even after graduating, you stuck as partners on patrol. It was like an unspoken agreement between you- a choice that only blossomed your partnership into something resembling a friendship.

Though you never thought of it that way.

With you and Tim, it never felt like it could stop at a friendship. There was a simmering connection, an undeniable one that always seemed to tease that line between friends and friends.

Tim was adamant about the shop being a no-personal-talk zone, yet it was like everything he spoke about to you was personal. Whether it be the long hours spent in the shop that had him saying things, or high-stake calls that intoxicated a need to be vulnerable to you, Tim somehow let you in. And it was the type of in that meant things like; you knew how he liked his coffee, stories from his Army days (the positive ones, for now), and the pain that somehow still lingered in his healing heart from the events of Isabel.

It was a mix of simple essentials and secrets he wouldn't dare to share with anyone else and it all became carved into your brain. And with that, you would tell him things too. 

Opinion for opinion, fact for fact, secret for secret- you two had created a system of exchanges in the hopes of forming better trust between one another. 

And yet, you both stayed professional, right?

At least, that's what you both told yourselves. 

Because professional does not include the lingering glances exchanged in quiet moments, the way your breaths hitch when you stand side by side, or the comfort your presences warm for one another after particularly tough encounters. 

Tim had this habit of finding ways to touch you subtly- his fingertips just barely grazing yours, his hand guiding you by your lower back, or his shoulder brushing against yours.

It was so unlike him to do this and yet, you never told him to stop.

In fact, you loved it. You revelled in his every touch and how it made you gasp or shudder or flutter your heart in ways you'd never admit to the universe.

However, no matter the tension that the earth's frequency could've tightened around you two like strings pulling you together, it was never enough to act upon it.

“Professional,” You'd often whisper to yourself whenever you'd catch your heavy eyes drifting to his mouth, his biceps, his veiny arms, or worse, “keep it professional.”

Going against your heart's disapproval was one thing, but you knew better than to go against your head.

So, that's how it stayed between you and Tim: Professional, and nothing more.

Then, Ashley McGrady happened.

It was on the one day where Lucy begged you with pleading eyes and her hands clasping your wrist to please, ride with me today! We haven't been patrol partners in ages! That you obliged on going on patrol with her for the shift, in which Tim had then taken Captain Caradoi instead.

It started innocently enough; Ashely had gone into the station to thank Tim for his kindness because of course she did. They got to talking where Ashley's bubbliness overshadowed Tim's voice, but he seemed okay with it. From afar where you studied them, their simple conversation was pleasant to look at, considering it was your two worlds colliding together- your closest work colleague/best friend was meeting your…roommate.

...God, in the nicest way possible, Ashley isn't as good of a roommate as she looks to be.

She's well-dressed and presents herself with elegance and sure, there is no doubt that Ashely is a kind person, and sometimes funny. She's also thoughtful in small ways, and on rare occasions, offers her clothes for you to borrow on a night out. 

But…that's it. 

When it comes to her being a roommate, her actions do more harm than good.

For starters, Ashley has this frustrating habit of baking homemade goods but never quite reaching the point of cleaning up after herself. And she could be a real messy cook at times- flour gritting the marble bench top, the chocolate once oozing in the saucepan now cemented to the metal, and a towering pile of all kinds of utensils and bowls in the sink and on the kitchen bench, but humorously, never quite reaching the dishwasher. 

It wasn't just baking too, for fuck's sake. Out of the kindness of her heart, Ashley would put your clothes in the washing machine, only to forget about taking them out and drying them entirely, leaving you to deal with the soggy, musty mess after a long shift. 

You've had the hard conversation with her before through a 'positive sandwich'- as you would call it. You remember trying to explain to her that though her gestures are considerate, they usually ended up creating more work for you, and it would actually make things easier for the both of you if she just…had better workflow and stayed in her lane. 

But, it was like she didn't hear you.

Or perhaps, she didn't care.

Things were already on the brink of rough and unbearable with your roommate, but then Ashley and Tim started dating and…damn, you were sure someone had it out to torture you.

At first, it didn't bother you. Sure, it was natural for Tim to prioritise his girlfriend- to touch her back the way he used to touch yours, to hold her hand like it was the easiest thing in the world, to look at her how he used to look at you.

You were mature enough to respect that.

But to your insanity's dismay, it started getting more awkward.

Within a month, Tim was spending the majority of his free time at your house- and not in a good way either.

You'd walk in on them heavily petting each other on the couch with his hand gripping her thigh way too high while she palmed his covered cock, or making out hot and heavy on the kitchen bench. Where. You. Ate.

However, the worst of it came at night time.

You don't remember the last time you had a decent sleep. Sure, it wasn't like you hadn't heard her with other guys before (Ashley wasn't exactly shy about her escapades). 

But this…this was different. This was Tim. You knew who was on the other side.

Most nights, you'd cover your face and ears with your pillow, though your huffs of frustration were never loud enough to drown out the everlasting noises that thudded through the paper-thin walls of your home: Ashley's screams of oh, yes! and fuck me so hard!, her porn-star gasps and moans (I mean seriously, are those even real?), heavy and imbalanced breaths, the creak of the headboard, or the bed frame's harsh thud against the wall.

But, there were some nights where you'd lie awake still yet unsteady. You'd stare up at your ceiling where your fan slowly hypnotised the intruding thoughts, pounding into your head like one of those hangovers that draw out for eternity...

What was he doing that felt so good? Was he kissing her neck, whispering dirty things into her ear with that raspy voice of his, driving her wild with his rough hands?

Was he fingering her in the centre of the room with the windows rolled down so everyone else in LA could hear them too? Or maybe was he eating her out on the corner of her bed? Did he look into her eyes while he fucked her, the way you'd imagined he'd look at you? Or maybe he had her on all fours with her ass up and his hands gripping her hair tightly, hoping instead he was fucking you?

Often, when the time passed 12am, you'd find that was your cue to give up entirely on sleeping. You'd grab your keys, purposely slam the door shut on your way out, and drive aimlessly through the city. And as you drove, you would wish that the warm streetlights could blur your vision- like a cheap distraction from the ache that tugged within your heart.

However, the worst part about all of this was at work, Tim would act like nothing ever happened.

His ignorance would throw your emotions into an all-time frenzy as if the nights you spent awake forced to listen to them were just fragments of your imagination.

A fraction of you thought profoundly that maybe this was Tim's torturous way of reminding you that you couldn't have him. Regardless of whether he was malice with his intentions or not, it pissed you off. Sure, at work, he was still your reliable patrol partner- focused, attentive, professional. But, every time he brushed past you or met your stare across the shop, it felt like a cruel joke. 

In your crazed eyes, it was like you were seeing two different versions of Tim: your best friend who had your back at work yet couldn't admit the tension that coursed between you two, and the other, a pretentious asshole who couldn't care less about the importance of your sleep schedule despite being a bedroom apart.

You didn't know which one you hated more.

Often at times, you'd blame yourself for their relationship because if you didn't ride with Lucy that day, Tim and Ashley wouldn't have met each other.

“-Hey! You still with us?” 

Your thoughts immediately scurry away at the screech of Ashely's chirpy voice.

Waking back up to the world of reality, you blink your dry eyes wet, realising you'd been staring- not at her, but at him. His pupils, darker than usual, linger on yours for a moment too long before he shifts his focus, his jaw tightening as if he knew exactly what you'd been thinking.

God, as if he'd have any idea. 

Ashley, completely oblivious, tightens her arms that loop around his neck, her smile brightening as she brings him closer. “You zoned out there for a second. Long day already?” 

You clear your throat, forcing a smile. “Something like that.” 

“Well,” She begins, her grin turning cheeky, “I decided to make those chocolate soufflés again!” 

Your stomach drops.

Fuck. Me.

You can already guess what she'll say next too as you cross your arms.

"But, I didn't have time to clean up!" She chirps, and you bite down on your lip to stop yourself from lashing out, "Y/N, do you think when you finish your shift, you could maybe clean it up for me? I'll be out having dinner with my friends."

You sigh.

Of course, she doesn't remember the plans you made tonight.

"Ashley- I can't. Lucy and I are going out for drinks at the bar. Remember?" You try to smother the irritation that seeps into your voice, "I told you, like...three times this past week."

At first, Ashley cocks her head to the side, squinting her eyes as she clearly fishes throughout her memory card. And then-

"Oh! Oh my god, yes- I totally forgot!" She laughs at herself, drawing away from Tim just enough to pat his chest. Tim breathes out in...relief? "Look, don't worry about it, I'll just get to it tomorrow!"

Sure she will.

"But, Ashley, that's gross-"

"Tomorrow." She repeats, smiling assuringly like it's a promise she'll keep. Then, with one last peck to Tim's cheek, she turns to the both of you with a cheerful huff, "I best be on my way- have a good rest of your day!"

With a quick wave, she's out the door, leaving a faint scent of her sickeningly sweet perfume and an...awkward silence in her wake.

You exhale slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you turn to Tim.

But he's already eyeing you, his stare as steady as ever, and for a moment, you feel that familiar pull- the one you'd been fighting since the day you met him.

“You okay?” He asks.

You nod quickly, but then you hesitate, your orbs trailing over his face.

The glossy pink smudges reflecting under the fluorescent lights make a grin crawl onto your lips.

You raise your eyebrows at him, "Are you?" You ask mockingly.

Confused, Tim lifts his finger to where you're looking at his face, only to let out a low groan when he feels that cringe sensation of stickiness from her lipgloss. He grumbles, shaking his head, "Yeah, great."

You watch him for a heartbeat longer than you should, and when he catches you to find your amusement still lingering in your gaze, you quickly look away. Going back to professionalism, you clear your throat and tug your jacket closer to your body, "Let's get back to work."

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

Unfortunately, luck has not been on your side today.

Aside from Ashley's morning appearance, and then the amount of tension and frustrations floating between you and Tim throughout the shift, you've now been given the ultimate luxury of overtime. Trusting the helpful officers you are, Sergeant Grey pleaded for you and Lucy to stay back just a couple more hours and, well, how could you say no to him?

Though, in hindsight, you wish you did.

Because now, as the moonlight shines through the tall windows of the precinct, and the crowd of rushing officers steadies and dims against time, only a generous handful of cops and you and Lucy are left to monitor the station. And with exhaustion settling deep into your bones, you try not to think too much about how much you'd rather be sipping on a cocktail instead of finishing up paperwork.

Opposite your desk, Lucy groans dramatically, dropping her pen onto the desk as she places her hands on her forehead, "I swear if I have to look at one more incident report, I'm going to lose my mind."

You chuckle, flipping through the last pages of your own stack, "Couldn't agree more," Your eyes trail to the clock and how its hands tick ever so painfully slow, "Damn...girl, it's nearly 9pm."

Lucy lets out a defeated whine, glancing down at her own watch in disbelief, "Shit. At this rate, we won't be getting out of here for another-" She eyes her paperwork, then her watch again, "30 minutes? An hour? Should we just rain-check drinks for another Saturday?"

Relief washes over you- sleep definitely sounds a lot better at this point in time, "Sounds good to me. Next week?"

She nods eagerly, flashing you a tired but warm smile, "Of course, let's lock it in."

You return her smile, and for a moment, you both settle back into your routine of paperwork. With her pen scribbling furiously on her side of the desk, and you, tapping your pen against the papers as you re-read your reports.

But then, a thought crosses your mind, making you sigh heavily, "Let's just hope Ashley doesn't decide to bake again," You mutter, "She left me with 'chocolate soufflé' dishes tonight."

Clearly knowing about the nightmare of a roommate you have, Lucy's head snaps up with a gasp, "Oh my god, no. Girl, she's still doing that?"

You nod shamefully, "Unfortunately- and sleep hasn't been any easier either..." You exhale slowly, "You know how it is."

She does know how it is, that's the problem.

Lucy has always been your go-to friend to whine about the horrors of your home and she's nothing but supportive of you. So, it's not the first time you speak of things like this, and, to your misery, not the last.

Lucy abandons her work as she places her pen down. She leans back in her chair, "Yeah," She exhales knowingly, then she flicks her gaze at you, "Speaking of, how are things with...you know."

You cock your head, "Who?"

She gives you that pointed look.

Your heart sinks.

Of course, you know who she's talking about, "Tim?"

She nods, "Yeah. You two have been so...I don't know...tense lately," Her eyes are sympathetic and she leans closer, respecting the privacy of the conversation as she lowers her voice, "You know he doesn't even like her, right?"

Your pen has been left unattended as your attention goes entirely onto your friend, "You're joking."

Lucy tilts her head, expecting you to have already known the answer, "I'm not- he's told me some questionable things," She frowns, "I would've guessed that you knew already...seeing how close you guys are."

You shake your head furiously as you lean in too, folding your arms on the desk, "We used to be but...ever since he started dating Ashley, he's been distant. Of course, I respect their relationship, and I still consider Tim as one of my best friends...but it just sucks, you know?" You let out a disapproved exhale as you look down at the desk, "He still tries to act like he's not fucking her right next to my bedroom door. It's like he's too ashamed to admit it...and when we do talk, it's as if he doesn't even have a girlfriend and things are still the same. Like, he doesn't even mention her to me but-"

"-But that's the thing, girl, he never mentions her." Lucy cuts you off, "Not even the slightest bit, not to you, not to me, not to Angela...you really think a man would do that to the love of his life?"

You don't need to think too hard to know the answer.

"I guess not." You narrow your eyebrows and lick your lips, "Funny you say that, you should've seen them earlier today- she was kissing him everywhere in the middle of the station and doing all this over-the-top PDA, and it was like he seemed so...relieved when she let go." You shift in your chair, uncomfortable physically and mentally to this conversation, though you can't stop your greed from knowing more. "You think he's really that emotionally unhappy in the relationship?"

"Oh for sure...and worse." She inhales, preparing for the next few seconds, "He's sexually unhappy too."

Your eyes widen, "He's...what?"

Lucy nods to your surprise, "Look, he firmly told me not to tell you this but..." She leans even closer, darting around the precinct to make sure no one is eavesdropping. Then, her hands grasp gently onto your forearms as she whispers, "he can't cum."

You look intently into her, but all that circles her irises is truth.

Your jaw goes slack, "He can't what?!"

She quickly shushes you, placing her hand over your loud mouth as she looks around again, "Keep your voice down- I swear to God, Y/N, you're gonna get us in trouble," She ushers, then after a few seconds, she lowers her hand from your face. "Yes, can you believe it? He didn't tell me much- being the gentleman he is. But what I can recall is that he thinks he may be the youngest man alive to have erectile dysfunction."

Your eyebrows raise even further as you listen, "Oh my god, how? I literally hear them go at it like three, four times almost every night."

"Well, he didn't venture more on it, but to me, I don't think it's a 'him' problem," Lucy gestures quotation marks on the 'him' with her hands.

Her wandering thoughts only confuse you more, so you look left to right before replying, "Wait. You think she's the problem?"

She hums in response, "Girl, it makes sense. Think about it," She continues, leaning in like she's solving a murder case. "The man's been through war zones, car chases, hostage situations- but somehow, this is what's breaking him?"

You blink, "...That's a good point."

"Right? And plus, from what Rachel has told me in the past, he's definitely not an inexperienced virgin who suddenly forgot how to enjoy himself." She tilts her head, expression knowing. "So if he isn't the problem, then Miss Sexy Lifeguard might just be horrible in bed."

Your lips part, realisation settling in, "Luce, oh my God."

"That's what I'm saying!"

Your mind spirals and you lean back into the chair. Your arms fold tightly against your chest as if to physically hold yourself together, and also to restrain yourself from bursting from this new information. "Wow, so she's just…that bad that his body is physically rejecting her?"

Lucy throws her hands around as she follows your move, "I guess. Like, what if she can't suck a dick to save a life? Oh no, what if she uses her teeth to-"

"-Don't even finish that." You shudder, cringing already, "Maybe that's why I can never hear him in their bedroom. From what my ears can tell, it's always her- maybe he distracts her to keep her away from his dick?"

She giggles amusingly, "Girl, I'm surprised you didn't even know."

"Please, I'm not that invested in their sex life."

Lucy scoffs, "You sleep right next to them!"

"Yeah, and I'm actively trying to block them out," You rub circles into your forehead, trailing back to the paperwork that stares back at you, "Trust me, it's better on my heart that I ignore what they're doing."

And just like that, Lucy's gaze softens at the hush admittance of your ever-longing crush on a man who couldn't be yours. She picks up her pen and clicks it rhythmically, deep in thought, "You know...he probably feels the same way about you too."

You snort, a mix of sarcasm and disbelief airing your response as you dare not to look at her, "Yeah right," you mumble, but your chest betrays you- racing, hopeful, helpless.

"Please, are you blind?" Lucy's abruptness has your head snapping up. She sits up straight, twirling the pen around on the desk, "The tension between you two is unfathomable- the way he looks at you and talks to you without you even noticing...you spend all your time together so he's grown to be comfortable in your space, so much enough so that he knows every single thing about you. He trusts you with his life, goes out of his way to protect you-"

"-Luce." You cut her off her ramble, to which she stops. Looking at you with passionate eyes and crazed hand movements coming to a halt, "I love you, but you're not helping. He has a girlfriend."

She groans, "A girlfriend he doesn't like." She draws out. "Y/N, I'm telling you, you're his only hope- go and talk to him!" Lucy gasps, excitement stopping her train of thought as her mind wanders, "And if- IF he declines, you can go to Plan B, which is: act like it never happened, stop being patrol partners and go with me instead, pack your bags and move out of your shared home, and then we can live together!"

You open your mouth, ready to argue.

But, Plan B actually does sound quite nice.

The steady look Lucy is giving, yet twinkling with optimism makes you sigh- there is no getting out of this.

"Fine," You regret it the moment it comes out of your mouth, and her lips curve just that bit more, "I'll talk to him."

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

Busy back at the station with Lucy, you are oblivious to the man in your house.

Tim Bradford, awaiting his girlfriend's dreadful call to pick her up, lies in her bed with his head propped up on the headboard wearing a navy t-shirt that's a size too small and grey sweatpants that bag around his hips.

His tired blue eyes are trying to focus on the TV screen's flickering glow, but he honestly doesn't know what movie is on- and better yet, doesn't care.

It wouldn't matter anyway, he can't focus.

Every now and then, he shifts, eager to get comfortable. But, the sheets are stifling, and the constant reminder of his loneliness when he swivels his head to the empty space on Ashley's side doesn't make him feel any better about his situation.

It's 10:30pm, he had hoped that maybe her 6pm dinner would have wrapped up by now. Not because he wants her home- as terrible as that sounds (he actually loves being alone), but because he has work tomorrow.

Earlier, he stupidly agreed to pick her up, not expecting 'dinner' to go for this long, which has left him grumpier and more exhausted with every hour that passes. Especially in this field of work, every minute counts with sleep.

Because the more sleep he can savour, the more energy he has for tomorrow.

He scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

God, he constantly thinks about what the fuck he is doing.

His and Ashley's relationship isn't bad, per se- it's just…hollow. It no longer feels like... anything really, more like a routine. It was something he stepped into because it was easy; Ashley showed up at his work, and at the time, it felt like the perfect timing and a convenient distraction...from you.

He's an asshole, he knows he is. But, mistakes happen. And look, it was a good first...second impression, and the sex was okay the first time they did it.

But then, it never got better.

Ashley started using too much of her teeth when she sucked his dick (on the rare occasion that she actually did), and she made these incredibly fake moans that rather turned him off. She didn't understand the respect for his personal space, nor did she realise that her act of PDA, especially in his workplace, was so performative, rather than true and authentic.

He still can't wrap his head around the fact that she doesn't like foreplay unless it's him giving it, and she doesn't put any effort when it comes to intercourse. Trust, he is all for appreciating his woman and allowing her to be what they call a 'pillow princess', but not when she can't even offer to ride him.

He's told her many times what he likes and doesn't like, what turns him on and what turns him off...and she'd still do nothing with it

He can't exactly pinpoint the moment things worsened, but it became impossible to ignore once he realised he couldn't get off with her, let alone, struggling to reach a semi-hard.

At first, he blamed it on stress, exhaustion- Hell, just the fact that he was getting older.

But then, there were nights when he'd wake up from a dream with sweat beading on his forehead and his breathing unstable.

He'd look down and find his cock hard and aching.

And the dreams...oh, the dreams.

They all consisted of you.

You, kneeling on your bedroom floor with hypnotising eyes fluttering up to meet his with your lips around him.

And everything's perfect; your rhythm, your fingers tracing up and down his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed, the slick of your tongue, the way you would hum around him.

Sometimes in these dreams, he would have the privilege of fucking you hard and deep, and oh, the noises that escaped your mouth were enough to make him cum on the spot.

At first, he tried not to think much of it. Sure, the dreams were unethically exhilarating, but they were unrealistic. Of course, his body knows how to turn him on using the magic of imagination.

But then he started getting hard looking at you- not the dream version of you, but the real you, the one who stood before him in the world of Reality.

Your presence simply turned him on- and that's when he knew it was an issue with Ashley and not him and his supposedly erectile dysfunction (that he regrets telling Lucy. A part of him knows she'd tell you anyway despite him begging her not to).

You could do the most unsexual things and it would still get him aroused; like throwing your head back and laughing at one of his jokes, or nibbling on the end of a pen as you check attentively on your reports with a focused frown. Sometimes, you standing right next to him, with the smallest brush of your shoulder onto his arm, had him tense up and cursing, feeling his pants getting tighter with every second.

You're everything he should have gone for, and he knows it. Feels it in his bones. But the fear of losing you, of screwing up what you two already have, keeps him shackled to this damn mistake of a relationship. He isn't willing to lose something so dearly important to him if things go wrong between the two of you, so, his cowardness went for the easier option.

A loud noise from the TV throttles Tim from his trace of thought as he snaps back into his current dimension.

Him, lying alone on Ashley's uncomfortable bed, one hand on the TV remote and the other, resting beside him.

Except now, he feels throbbing below his waist.

He slowly looks down, sighing heavily at his cock that is already straining against his sweats, aching with the kind of desperation he never feels with Ashley.

He curses.

Knowing his girlfriend hasn't called him yet, and assuming you're out with Lucy for the night, his body acts before his mind can stop it.

And so his free hand slips below the waistband, and- fuck. He needs this.

He wraps his hand around himself, and a low groan immediately slips from his throat.

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

Unbeknownst to Tim, you drop into your car with a thud, exhaling every ounce of exhaustion you’ve been carrying.

The clock on your radio reads 10:35pm, and you're more grateful than ever that you and Lucy postponed drinks for next week.

Eager for bed, you twist the keys in the ignition, barely registering the radio as you pull out of the station and begin the familiar journey home.

The hum of the car lulls you into a relaxed haze, giving your body the chance to focus on how heavy your head feels and the way every bone aches from the endless hours on duty.

You shake your head, trying to re-arrange your focus on your surroundings instead; the night an abyss of black, the array of quiet homes with little to no lights glowing through the windows, your steady heart and slow breathing, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other rests on the centre console.

Then suddenly, the radio connecting to your phone rings your nominated tune, and Ashley's name flashes brightly on the screen.

You frown, confused as to why she's calling you. You answer, "Hello?"

"Heeey, babe!" Her voice beams through the car's speakers. Immediately you recognise her voice is too lively, too chirpy for this hour. You can telltale the slur in her words and the loud bass of music that thuds faintly in the background. "I just thought I'd let you know I won't be home anytime soon...you know how it gets- dinner turns into cocktails at a bar, then that turns into clubbing. And we're not letting down anytime soon!"

You exhale out relief and annoyance. Relief, because at least you have the house to yourself tonight. And annoyance, because you know she'll stumble in at some ungodly hour and wake you up, "Yeah, okay. Sounds like a big night for you, Ash."

"Oh, it for sure is! You heading to the bar with your friend right now? Maybe we can catch up!"

You run your hands through your loose hair- your roots aching from the tight ponytail you restrained it in all day, "No, actually- Luce and I got kept back so we thought it'd be best to move it to next week. I'm just heading home now."

"Aww that's such a shame," She coos, and you hear her giggle incoherently on the other end, "Well, the good thing is you're home to clean those dishes...could you? Pretty, pretty please?"

You grip the wheel so tight your knuckles ache.

If there is ever a reason to drive straight into a pole, this might be it.

You can't even fake your kindness because- well, you aren't genuine nor happy enough to do it. But, for your sake, a clean kitchen is a kitchen free of bacteria, and you'd rather it not turn into an unhygienic hazard. "Sure thing."

Your yawn protests.

She squeals, cheering on the other end, "Oh my god, yay! Thanks, bestie! You're a gem!"

"Yeah, yeah," You find yourself responding, your energy debilitating with every second that passes. Then, your heart flickers, finding comfort as you turn into your street, already spotting your house, "Look, I'm gonna go, I'm just about to head into the driveway. Have fun."

"Thanks, girly! Love you-"

You hang up before she can say anything else.

Yearning for your soft pillows and warm sheets, you're scrambling to get out of your car.

Slamming the car door shut, you inhale the crisp night's air for all its freshness and it tickles your exposed skin with goosebumps.

The night is almost peaceful like this, too peaceful that your fatigued self doesn't even notice your surroundings; like the leaves whispering about among the trees, the quiet hum of the neighbourhood, and a car driving by in the distance.

As you reach for the front door, you're jiggling your keys into the lock with another level of neediness, to which your brain mentally pushes your body into the entrance the moment your ears hear that familiar click.

You stumble in, but as you begin to drop your bag down and kick your shoes off to the side, you find your intuition forcing you to look around the house.

It's silent.

Usually, you'd feel comfort with this- it's a sound you haven't heard in an awfully long time.

Except, you can't feel relaxed from it.

Because, with a frown and widened eyes, you're staring at the kitchen bench to your left.

From your conversation with Ashley just then, the area should've been covered with dirty baking utensils and cutlery.

But, it's...spotless.

You feel your pulse picking up and a mixture of confusion and concern washes over you as you try to recite to yourself whether Ashley pleading at you to wash the dishes was actually real or your exhaustion wearing you into hallucinations.

You flicker back and forth from one side of the house and to the kitchen, trying to regain some sort of logic to the situation.

You look at the clean kitchen again.

You swear on your life that-

A hush shift in the air intoxicates your pores the moment you hear the release of a small breath.

Your head snaps to the incoming sound, your frown only narrowing more when you hear it come from Ashley's bedroom. From where you stand, you can spot the way the door is left ajar, allowing the lamp placed on her bedside table to glow through the bare strip.

Your heart pounds.

Before you know it, your feet take the first move; and you tiptoe quietly against the floor, drawn forward by something thick and heavy in your chest- wishing it isn't an intruder, but wishing more that it's a familiar face.

The noises louden the closer you reach the room.

Without hesitation, you find your hand just barely touching the door to widen the entrance.

And when you step closer...when you look inside.

You freeze.

Because there - before your very eyes - Tim lays reclined against Ashley's headboard, one arm resting behind his head and his chest rises and falls with every heavy breath he takes. His navy tee is scrunched up just that little higher so that you can spot the hard lines on his torso and how they tense every so often.

Your widened eyes lower their gaze to where his sweatpants gently hang on his hips, pushed down just enough to-

...Oh.

To have his other hand wrap around the thick length of his cock, stroking slow and deliberate.

Your lungs stop working.

He looks- fuck, he looks so good like this; how his muscles flex, his mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and his eyes shut- focusing strongly on whatever filthy fantasy is playing in his head.

The realisation hits you so hard and you force yourself to catch your breath before it can be let out.

This is Tim. Your best friend. Your patrol partner. Your roommate's boyfriend.

Tim, who really shouldn't be here in his girlfriend's bedroom with his girlfriend's sheets draping over his thighs like a God, his cheeks flushed with a faint rosy pink, his breaths sharp and unsteady, and his hand that luringly moves up and down his-

Fuck.

The wetness seeping from your core has you pressing your thighs together.

Maybe it's you who shouldn't be here.

In fact, you should leave, turn around, lock yourself into your bedroom and act like this never happened.

But then, Tim throws his head back and moans.

He moans.

It's a low, raspiness that vibrates between you two.

And then, he says your name.

Your. Fucking. Name.

Your knees buckle. And a gasp releases out of you too fast that you can't take it away-

And too loud that Tim flutters his eyelids open.

He sees you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck is all that plays in your head as your gazes meet one another, both breathless, both in shock, both...heavily aroused.

He slows his movements down, but no ounce of embarrassment filters through his cheeks as he looks back at you, neither does he race to hide himself away from you. His breathing doesn't even out, but it has quietened, and he's just...looking at you with even more desire, like his fantasy has just come to life.

And with the way he whispered your name like it was an oath- a prayer, it probably has.

You open your mouth, but no words can sputter out exactly how you're feeling because...what are you feeling? No measurement of time can be given to you that you'd be able to figure out exactly what to say to him- better yet, how to say something to him.

"I-" Your voice, embarrassingly airy as you swallow, pleading for any saliva to come front, "...You-"

He tilts his head, daringly looking back at you, "Me?"

Holy shit, you might cum from his voice.

"You-um..." You don't even know what you're saying- a stuttering, shaky mess taking over your voice as your arousal begins to wet your underwear. "You...don't have erectile dysfunction."

And then, he laughs, a smile lingering on his heated face as if he knew you would say that (He'll have to give Lucy a word later). He shakes his head, "No, Y/N, I don't."

His voice- a source of comfort and familiarity, oozes some of the tension that crackles in the air, and you find yourself melting at his response.

There's a beat of silence in the air, though you can't seem to let your eyes focus on anywhere except his baby blues and his leaking cock. "You shouldn't be here." You whisper.

"Neither should you," His voice, even softer, "I thought you were out for drinks tonight?"

You swallow hard, "Yeah well..." A shaky laugh escapes your throat- a coping mechanism to ease your nerves. Your gaze seems to falter from his own intimidating look, though you regain it as you stare back up at him. "Re-examing end-of-day reports isn't the best way to start the night, is it?"

He huffs quietly, knowing that feeling all too well of a late night overtime shift, doing nothing but staring at papers until the words marble together in blurriness.

"I'm awaiting a pick-up call." He doesn't mention her name, you two already know it. And the line of adultery you two are playing on right now makes it all that disrespectful to even bring up Ashley.

But the worse part is, you couldn't give a shit that he has a girlfriend.

And by the name he moaned out earlier, neither does he.

"She won't be coming home till later," You say, swallowing again, "She called me as I was driving...before I came home." You redden, overlooking the scene you've walked yourself into.

Tim tilts his head, "Oh."

"Yeah..."

In other words, you two have time. Time without Ashely, time without anyone to disturb you, time together, time to-

Your small sense of rationality begins to creep in following the silence.

You should leave.

You won't.

But you should.

You should leave, not for the pity of his girlfriend but because you never thought you'd reach this point with Tim; all those unspoken words and touches seemingly coming to life right at his very moment as you two stare at each other.

But, it wouldn't matter anyway, because you watch how his hand begins to move up and down again- deliberately, purposely, making sure he picks up every bit of pre-cum and spreads it across his shaft.

"Tim," You start, though it sounds more like a plead. But a plead for what? For him to stop? To keep going? To include you? "I shouldn't be seeing thi-"

"-But you are." He cuts you off, his gaze never leaving yours, "And you're liking it."

He's right- you aren't sneaky about your arousal. You're practically standing there, leaning against the door frame with an erratic breath, your thighs pressed together and your shaky hands bracing the wall behind you.

"Come closer, sweetheart."

You crumble.

You don't need him to tell you twice because, like a trance, your feet further into the room, only a few or so steps is all it takes until you find yourself standing just next to him on the bed, getting an even better look at how his fingers please himself and the imbalance to his breath.

You shiver. He's so fucking hot. His eyelashes flutter up at you, enhancing the lingering darkness and hunger you have witnessed so many times in your life but never have been acted upon.

Until now.

"Tell me to stop," He murmurs.

A sharp inhale escapes you.

"Or," He cuts in, "get on the bed and let me show you what I was thinking about."

Your stomach drops, along with your heart.

So he was thinking about you.

Your best friend moaned your name as he thought about you.

You're grabbing the TV remote that lay beside him right in front of you, clicking the Power Off button with shaky fingers, leaving you two to focus on just yourselves.

You glance back at him slowly, dropping the remote onto the bedside table.

Fuck it.

"I won't tell you to stop." You whisper.

And the answer has been given.

A small smirk flickers on his lips, relief flushing his cheeks. His free hand reaches out to you, his digits grazing your wrist before wrapping around it and pulling you down, "C'mere."

And you do so.

The motion of him tugging you to him and you obliging has you straddling his lap. Your knees press into the mattress as he releases the grip on his cock, placing both of his rough hands onto your waist, adjusting yourself into comfort as you feel the hot and solid weight of him underneath you.

Your hands hold onto his clothed shoulders, bracing your position on top of him, never wavering your eye contact with him as you draw closer.

It's weird- seeing him this close to you. It's a first, but you can spot the faint freckles brushing his face, the flushness of his cheeks and neck, the marbling of ocean blue within his irises and how dilated his pupils are.

You've been invited into a whole new world you wish you could've known years ago.

Your heart palpitates to match the beat of his own, and you can't stop your hands from grazing up to hold the base of his neck, sending shivers down his spine at the light touch of your fingertips through his hair.

You've never touched his hair before, but it might just be his new favourite thing.

With the TV silenced, its screen reflects you two on the bed. And the only sound to pass in the house is your heavy breathing, your lungs fighting over the oxygen shared within that small space.

"We shouldn't do this," Your voice quietly airs onto his lips, and yet, you're still moving closer.

And Tim, too, is drawing you into him, "I know."

But when your lips touch his, the problem itself seems to fade away.

It isn't sweet, soft, or delicate- no. It is everything of want and need and years and years of desire.

His lips devour yours into a heated kiss that you wouldn't dare to move away from. His lips are smooth, but the pressure is rough and needy, and his embrace is hot and seething- a type of warmth you could very much get used to.

One hand threads through your hair to brace the back of your head, holding you there. And the moment you feel his fingers tug onto the strands close to your roots, you gasp, allowing the perfect opportunity for him to claim your mouth with his tongue.

It's dirty, filthy, and so fucking good.

Deepening the kiss on your end earns a low groan from Tim, the sound vibrating throughout your body. Then, he rolls his hips up into you, and you can't stop your moan as you feel his hard cock grinding against your covered core.

You bunch your silk office skirt up even more, yearning for that friction again as you grind yourself onto him.

Your whimper is muffled by his lips.

He's still soaking wet from when he touched himself before, and now his mess is all over your underwear, smearing with your arousal.

Shit, you need more.

You tug on the hem of his shirt and he takes the note, finally drawing away from you just to yank the navy tee off, throwing the clothing to God-knows-where.

There's a pause to your scene as your eyes study his bare chest and collarbone.

You've only ever seen the man clothed and covered, and so when you reach out and touch him and feel how warm he is, your heart flutters.

He's so...perfect, so right beneath you.

You exhale shakily before looking back at him, only to find he's already looking at you.

There's a softened... almost relaxed expression resting upon his face- something you rarely see with him, something you weren't even sure he could do.

But the unspoken words speak enough volumes between you two; the moment is content, and it feels good to be like this- complete.

A best friend you may have called him beforehand, but the truth is that you've never seen him as one, and will never again.

A hint of arousal tingles your spine, your wet core reminding you of its loud presence.

Quickly, your hands clasp the back of his head and you tug him closer to your lips, the two of you continuing your course to what you may call Heaven.

His fingers work their way up your body to the first button of your blouse, and ever so needily, begin to undo them. All the while, your pussy continues to torture itself by grinding back on forth on him.

Tim's breath is ragged and he's trembling as he progresses through the buttons of your blouse with shaky digits. He's trying to be careful, he really is, but there's an urgency beneath his touch, a silent desperation that matches your own.

His kiss begins to divert from your lips. First, they start at your jaw, then over your throat, and then to your earlobe. You tilt your head back, allowing more space for him to explore as he places wet, hot, featherlight kisses along your neck.

And finally, when he reaches the last button, he tears away from you, ripping the fabric open to expose your bra.

"Jesus," Tim mutters, his blue eyes complimented beneath the lamp's golden shine, accentuating how blown-out wide they are as he scans every inch of your body. His rough fingers trace your silky skin, beginning at the lines of your waist and up to your ribs. His thumbs tease the underlining of your breasts while the other fingers curve the top where your cleavage begs for release. His heavy eyes meet yours, "You are so fucking beautiful."

A blush tints your cheeks.

He's never complimented you like this before. Ever. The words almost feel too foreign, but your brain can't seem to recall the past conversations with him, too busy soaking in the now.

"Tim..." You draw out, neediness filling your whine as you grind yourself on him again.

Thankfully, you don't need to say more- he knows exactly what you need.

"I got you," He murmurs as his touch - followed by your goosebumps - moves to the back where your bra's clasps rest. He wastes no time removing the undergarment, throwing it somewhere you'll never know.

A small growl vibrates within his throat as he admires you. And then, your breath hitches at the first initial contact when his thumbs brush over your perked nipples, a whine dragging from your agape mouth when he continues to circle them. You throw your head back, the stimulation heightening with every second he stays abusing your breasts.

And then his mouth closes over your right nipple.

"Holy shit-" He sucks your bud hard with the sensation of his wet tongue grazing your nerves and his lips wrap around it to keep his mouth there. Your other breast is not left to absence- he sweetly yet tortuously occupies it with his thumb and index finger pinching your left nipple.

Your noises are to die for, and how you look arching into his mouth may just be the hottest thing he's ever seen- he'll have it framed into his mind for the rest of eternity.

He takes his time adding a hickey or two on your cleavage just because he can. You groan, skimming down at the sight of your bruised body, and then watch as his attention goes to your other breast, attaching his mouth to your hardened nipple earnestly.

However, this time, a pant slips from you as he manhandles your body, flipping you over with such care that your head rests delicately against the mountains of pillows, the material heating your head from his previous warmth.

He finally pulls away from your breasts, and you shudder at just how much he towers over you like this with his biceps flexing beside you and his solid body shadowing much of the light that the lamp provides for the room.

With how heavily he's staring at you, and the way his lips part enough to allow air to pass by, you think he's going to kiss you again.

But then, his body lowers away from you...and then lowers some more, and then he's beginning to drag your skirt down your legs with such grace and gentleness and...oh.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about this pussy," He whispers as he widens your legs enough so that you're exposed to him.

Your breathing picks up, studying him intently as he stares at your covered core and how his pupils sparkle with something you can't even describe- pride? Satisfaction? Admiration?

But he can't help it- you are so fucking soaked for him; the colour is almost translucent with the amount of arousal he's caused you to leak.

Tim flicks his eyes up the moment you flinch at the bare brush of his thumbs against your underwear, and a wicked grin plays upon his lips. "What would you rather, sweetheart?" He asks, pressing his thumb even more to your aching clit, "Mouth? Or fingers?"

"Tim, please-" Your whine draws from how he slowly circles your clit through your underwear, adding more friction to the feeling. "Don't make me choose."

Tim smirks, his digits tucking into the sides of your underwear as he begins to trail it down your legs with elegance and precision, "Both it is, then."

Heat rushes up your spine at the vulnerability of your naked body beneath your best friend, his broad shoulders framing your vision as he lowers himself between your thighs.

And your body welcomes him with such a delight- your warmth, your wetness, your smell. You overwhelm his senses to such a point that all his mind does is repeat your name.

His fingers trace your legs, and you shiver at his teasing lines along your inner thighs before his hot breath ghosts over your aching core.

And then, his mouth is on you.

Your eyes flutter and you gasp at the very first touch of him.

You've been waiting for this moment for what has felt like forever, and now that it's happening you don't even know what to think, what to say, what to do.

But he feels like pure magic with how his tongue drags through your folds, wet from his saliva and your juices, and you arch your back away from the bed.

A hungry man is a hungry man, and so he devours you with all he has.

His tongue finds itself collecting your precious clit, hovering his mouth over it teasingly. But your frustrated groan hurries him and so he takes it into wet warmth, sucking your clit ever so gently yet vigorously in unison.

"Tim...oh fuck-"

“Stay still for me, sweetheart,” Tim mutters gruffly, his lips reluctantly tear away from your precious pussy and you can feel his calloused hands gripping your thighs just that little bit tighter. It’s nothing painful, yet, his fingers dig into your silky flesh in a way that keeps your thighs widened nicely for him.

His order of keeping still seems fairly impossible when his tongue trails down in search of your aching hole, and when he finds it, he pushes his tongue in.

Your pretty noises just might make him finish right then and there.

“I can’t- fuck…I can’t stay still,” You pant out, your hands sliding down your body to thread your digits through his hair, holding his head ever so closely to the warmth of your core, “Not when you're doing that."

That being his tongue picking up a rhythm of drawing into your wet warmth and pulling out. And every so often, when his tongue pushes in to explore each depth of your walls, his nose presses into your clit- adding just that extra friction to your pleasure.

Tim glances up, scanning to watch your face's emotions pour into him and he melts. Your eyebrows knitted and eyes screwed shut in concentration, your breathing so unsteady you might be close, and your hips rebelliously rolling into him with the greed of getting more.

You're angelic, sexy, gorgeous, and everything to him.

He's eating his best friend's pussy, and he couldn't wish for anything else in this moment.

He withdraws from your leaking hole, and you barely have a second to catch your breath before he's sucking your clit into his mouth, and then slipping his index finger into you.

Your jaw drops, heavy breaths leave your lungs without your control, and your shaky hands grip the sheets beside you tighter than ever, "Tim, please, please-"

He pumps his finger into you, hitting each and every spot that has your body spasming out of overstimulation, yet simultaneously, not enough stimulation, "Patience, my beautiful girl," He mutters against your clit, flicking his gaze quickly to find your trembling body and a sense of pride and confidence seeps straight to his aching cock.

He adds another finger.

You cry out.

His tongue flicks at your clit with precision and ease, your bud only exposing itself to his wetness the more he attacks it, and your pussy is still recovering from the added finger- revelling in the stretch and fullness. All the while, he swiftly moves in and out of you, gathering even more of your sticky juices each time he fucks them into you.

"That's it, sweetheart. You're such a good girl," He coaxes, pumping into you deep, his tongue still relentless on your throbbing clit, "taking me so fucking well."

So fucking well that you're close.

But you don't need to tell Tim that. He knows in the way you stop talking to him, and how your breath quietens out of concentration, your hands find their journey back to his hair with a tight hold on his strands to keep him in place- God, as if he'd ever leave you.

"M'gonna cum," You force yourself to whisper out amidst one of your exhales.

Tim smirks, curling his fingers - hitting that perfect spot inside you - and that's all it takes.

A wave of pleasure washes over you, all your nerves once bundled up now releasing in sync throughout your system. A longing moan rips from you as your thighs squeeze around his head. Your orgasm crashes so intensely into your shaking body that you can barely breathe, can barely see- dark stars sparkle across you and blackness vignettes your peripheral vision.

And Tim fingers you through it all.

His tongue has moved away - too in awe of watching you finish - but his digits stay inside you, milking out every single drop of pleasure until you're a writhing, overstimulated mess with sweat beading on your forehead and your body going limp against the bed.

"Shit," You choke out, your voice wrecked and hoarse as you try to catch your breath that has been long left back at the door frame of this room. Your eyes flutter open, lifting your head a little to look back at your best friend who just fucking ate you out. You scan down to spot the juices that shine on his chin, and your translucent cum sticking to the very two fingers that were just inside you.

Then, you watch when he brings one of said fingers - his middle finger - up to his mouth, sucking it clean and oh my God you might cum just by looking at him. You can't hold back yourself from cursing at the sight, your pussy throbbing and screaming more.

Tim - none other than the gentleman you've always known him to be - cups your chin with his clean hand as he hovers completely over you. With a delicate tug down on your chin, your jaw goes slack under his desire, and then he's bringing the other cum-soaked finger to your lips.

Tim; a gentleman, and yet, in this very moment, the filthiest fucking man you've had the pleasure to be with.

Another ache of arousal itches as you wrap your lips around his index finger, holding eye contact with his dark wide eyes as you taste your own metallic sweetness. A low groan rumbles from him at the feeling of your plush, wet tongue gliding around his digit, wondering that if you feel so good on his fingers, what would you feel like on his-

His impatient cock twitches in interest.

"Look at you..." He murmurs, and your heart flutters at those words. His finger slips from your mouth, glossy with your spit and he cups his hand on your jaw. He holds you there, his thumb stroking your cheek as you peek up at him with half-lidded desire, "So pretty for me, aren't you?"

There it is again- his praise, his voice, his tone. Your cheeks heat up and your heart palpitates with every word that rolls off his tongue.

Tim's never been one to use praise in the workplace, but the closer you two got, the more it slipped from him sometimes- good job, you did great, well done were just a few.

And sure, they made you blush because Tim never spoke kindly or affirmatively, so when he did, you held it highly and with pride.

Though now, as he grips your thighs and pulls you closer to him and he's telling you how pretty you are and that you're a good girl, it's different in so many ways that are wrong yet right.

They make you spiral, make you so aroused.

You wrap your legs around his back as he towers over you, watching his leaking cock from between you two and how it's so red- begging for release. You clasp your arms around to hold his back as he guides his cock to your entrance.

And the moment you feel his tip touching your hole, you both glance at each other.

As much as the moment is heated and heavy, you notice how Tim pauses, a knit growing on his eyebrows as he looks down at you.

Then, rawness grows onto his gaze and a tremble manoeuvres throughout his body, "I need you so fucking bad, for what feels like forever," He whispers to you, a plead in his tone as he exhales shakily, "Don't ever think that I never wanted you...I do- I always have."

"Tim..." Your breath hitches and your chest tightens, your eyes staring up at his vulnerable ones. You soften, and somewhere within your heart, a piece of you tugs from his admittance, "But, you went to someone else-"

"-And it was one of the biggest mistakes I've made," He cuts you off, and his voice cracks as his eyes never leave yours, "I promise, sweetheart, I am yours- now and forever."

And then, like an oath to his confession, he's sliding in, claiming yours as his, and his as yours.

He's stretching you so slowly that you can't help but gasp, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as he keeps pushing through.

"Fuck," He grunts, dropping his forehead to your shoulder the moment he bottoms out. His breath is ragged and hot against your skin, and you can feel the way he shudders as he stays inside you- awaiting your pussy to stretch around him.

You grip him tightly, thinking for those aching seconds that he may have just split you in half with his cock. You screw your eyes shut, feeling all the sensations of pain and pleasure and how perfectly fucked they feel together. The stretch is impossible, yet so overwhelmingly good, and all you can do is moan as you engulf him.

Lifting away from the stickiness your sweats mixed together have made on your shoulder, Tim's dazed eyes find your closed ones, "Look at me, sweetheart." He whispers.

You comply.

And his pretty blue irises are the first thing you latch on to. They're so dilated, so low-lidded, so mesmerising.

So mesmerising that you don't even recognise your body slowly soothing itself from the pain of the stretch to now feeling full, feeling aroused, feeling like you need more and more.

And your fluttering eyelashes and knitted eyebrows tell Tim everything he needs to know.

He pulls out, almost too slowly.

And then drives back in, rough and deep.

You let out a cry, tightening your legs around him as he buries himself, even more, this time, "Holy shit," You shakily exhale, and that's when your walls clench around him.

His jaw tightens, your words and your clenching are all that need to be done to make him lose control.

He jerks out quicker this time, only to slam back in, setting a pace that's so hard yet thoughtful.

You're unable to stop the sounds spilling from your dirty mouth, high on ecstasy from the perfection of his thick cock - solid and veiny - and how it fills you up with every thrust he pushes into you.

And who knew he could be so loud? Grunting and groaning, whispering praises and filthy sweet nothings into your ear like it's his Mother's tongue.

Tim's cock slides so easily into you now, his pounding quickening yet never shallowing, "Fuck, baby," He moans out into the heated air of skin slapping on skin and your heavy breaths. His forehead presses against yours, "Feels good?"

You can't even coherently say anything, so you just nod frantically with a mm-hmm! and your hands let go of his back, maneuvering so your cupping either side of his face. Eagerly, you're dragging him down for a heated, sloppy kiss, both of your lips quietening each other's noises.

Begging for air, you two part, and Tim moves to sit up a little more. Then, he lifts your right leg up and gives your calf a gentle kiss before moving your leg and placing it over his shoulder. With that, this new position allows his cock to pound deeper inside you.

And oh, do you both fall apart.

Every time his cock hits your walls, your pussy's juices squelch in a loud delight.

Tim's eyes look down at your lower abdomen and he hoarsely chokes on a curse.

From where he watches, a bulge comes into view on your abdomen every time he fucks into you, "Holy shit, sweetheart- taking me...shit- taking me so well." And then he presses a hand to your lower belly, and you gasp yourself, feeling every inch of his cock inside you, "You feel that? You're stuffed full of me- Like when I fuck you deep enough to feel me here?"

"Tim," You squeeze his shoulders, feeling that undeniable hinge of an orgasm stirring inside you as he pushes down on the bulge more, "Too much- gonna cum if you keep doing that."

Smugly, your best friend listens to you as his hand withers away from the bulge, only for his hand to start brushing down to where your clit awaits impatiently.

You squirm the moment his thumb meets your bud, a sharp inhale swallowing your words as you feel the way your body thanks Tim with another wave of overstimulation trembling your body.

You glimpse up at him.

And Tim goes feral. His cock twitches as he examines your teary eyes wettening your mascara, your cheeks flushed with a ruby red, your lips swollen and wet from his saliva and your hair a complete mess.

"Look at you," He groans, voice thick and low as he continues the pleasure on your clit, never slowing down, "Fucked my pretty girl dumb, haven't I?"

Your breath hitches, a whimper releasing from you as you hold him close to you, "Please, please- need to cum so badly-"

His circles on your clit fasten, applying more pressure at the hearing of your ruined, needy voice, "You can cum, sweetheart. I won't stop you." He murmurs, kissing your forehead.

And then he does it- he presses his hips down, grinding so deep inside your trembling body that you can feel everything.

"Fuckin' hell," He chokes out, staring at you as your orgasm hits you hard. A raw scream escapes your throat as you clench down around his cock as your hips convulse with overstimulation.

You look so God damn good that Tim can barely hold himself together; he's shaking and he's becoming sloppier the closer he nears his own climax.

He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, making the warm colours in the room iridescent as your vision marbles and you lay limp under his Godly amazing torture.

And then, with one last thrust, he's spilling. White thick ropes of cum warming inside of you as he leans forward and rests his forehead upon your shoulder.

The both of you catch your erratic breaths.

You don't even know how long you two stay like this, but Tim has softened inside of you and you're just getting back to a steady heartbeat.

He lifts his head slightly, offering lazy open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, collarbone and neck as one of his hands runs figure eights into your waist. The other? Cradling your head.

He can't stop touching you. Perhaps if he does, reality will come down on him, or maybe you'll disappear and never see him again. Things his anxiety has only just slowly started to itch him as he lifts his head up, darting down at your shut eyes and still face.

But you look so...satisfied, so complete, so happy.

He holds you like you're fragile, delicately tracing his thumb over your strands to brush away your frizz, "You okay?" He finally asks, voice gravelly and raw.

You blink open, watching the way his blue eyes search yours and he still looks so handsome like this; flushed, sweaty, panting, strands of hair messy, completely undone and destroyed because of you.

A nod comes your way, your arms lowering down to tighten around his chest as you hold him close to you, "Yeah," You whisper, though your voice cracks, "I don't know how I'm going to walk."

A quiet, breathless chuckle escapes him as he nuzzles into your neck, "You'll be okay," He murmurs into your skin. And then, for reassurance to his heart, he follows with, "We'll be okay."

And maybe you two will be okay.

Because when the next day comes, Tim will wake up in your comfy, soft bed under your warm and freshly cleaned sheets. And he'll grab his phone off of the bedside table, seeing the missed text he received from Ashley at 3am that will read don't worry about picking me up. staying at a friend's house.

He'll glance over at your sleeping figure that lay peacefully yet physically ruined from the multiple rounds you two will do.

And seeing your precious, familiar face will ease Tim's heart for the first time in what feels like forever.

Then, he'll reply with we're done before putting his phone away and bringing your warm, naked body closer to his.

[sleepymissy]

━ 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 2 come into my bedroom (18+)

( tim bradford x girl!reader )

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

SUMMARY: it’s been a week since you stayed at tim bradford’s house and it’s all you can think about. so, when LA's heatwave rolls in again - and your apartment loses power in the midst of it - there’s only one place you find yourself seeking refuge. AUTHOR'S NOTE: y'all asked, i deliveredddd 🤪 nothing to explain here just that it's part 2 hehe hope this lives up to any expectations. i'm sorry i lowkey HATE IT it's not the best work i've done so i've repaid my shit writing with having tim as a filthy man in this. enjoy! MDNI PLEASE xoxo INCLUDES: enemies to fuck buddies lovers, swearing, pet names, praise, dirty talk, fingering, spooning sex, author regrets her shit writing, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap that willy!), no use of Y/N, orgasm denial (he does it once), dom!tim, sub!reader WORDS: 7K+ TAGS: @srjksr @theendofthematerialgworl

It's been a week since you stayed at Tim Bradford's house.

And let's be real, since that following morning when you snuck out of his bed, removing his arms from your waist and detangling his legs from yours, work has been absolute torture.

It's not the type of torture that includes pesky criminals fighting against their restraints, or the piles of paperwork handed to you just as you are to clock out.

No, this is different- torturous in a way that you feel like if you don't sleep with Tim again soon, you might just die.

In all honesty, it's been like this all week; your mind can't seem to shake off what memories intoxicate your brain from that very night and how much it has impacted not just your heart, but your fucking ovaries too. Because with how he spoke to you with softened eyes, looking you up and down when you wore his t-shirt and how he touched you with all of his warmth like a personal heated blanket, you really can't go back to the way things used to be.

Apparently, you're not the only one feeling like this.

Things have been...different between you two. Sure, you're back to being work colleagues- professional ones, at most, but the arguments you used to have aren't there anymore. Instead, a simmering of tension fills the loss of words shared amongst the two of you, along with other things.

You catch one another in a lingering stare. Your hands brush when you pass each other. Your shoulders touch when you stand too close together. Your conversations are charged enough to feel and know that there's energy between you too, and yet, they're too small that you find yourself chasing after it the more that days go by.

The hardest part of your shifts is when you share the shop.

Every ride on patrol since staying at Tim's has been quiet but so fucking loud that your heart pounds through your ears. Often, when your mind dazes back to that night - his muscly arms around you, his breath tickling the back of your neck - you glance at him, only to find his knuckles clenching hard on the steering wheel with a focused stare as he looks onwards...like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

A week of this- of tension and desire.

And at this rate? You aren't sure you can survive another one.

Though it seems neither can he.

Like right now, as you currently sit at one of the desks, your gaze watching him from afar as you've completely disregarded whatever paperwork is sprawled in front of you.

Tim stands a few feet away, with the Sun's awakening catching his hair against it's stream, his jaw tight and brows furrowed as he listens to the officer speaking to him. He's unreadable to the majority of the crowd, but to you, he's focused and serious.

Your eyes drift down to his arms. His biceps, with no room for space, flex against the thin fabric of his uniform, and a twitch in your veins palpitates your heartbeat.

You falter lower to his hands.

Large, steady hands. Capable hands.

The hands that pulled you into his body by grabbing your waist.

His index finger idly traces the outline of his coffee lid in slow circles and your lips part slightly, thoughts spiralling at the gentle motion of his finger.

If he can circle a coffee lid that nicely, what would he be like circling your...

Fuck.

You shake your head.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't be thinking like this, especially about your superior. What happened to your disdain? Your irritation? Your solid belief that he's a pain in your ass?

Do you even remember what you were like before he cuddled you?

Then, he moves.

Tim gives a small thanks to the officer before parting ways with him, though it appears your presence has - once again - caught his attention.

Because he finds himself skimming the busy room with a small squint to his eyelids and ah, there you are.

Once his baby blues attach themselves to yours, there's that same flicker within them that has a small blush tinting your cheeks and your heartbeat quickening with every second that passes.

This time, he doesn't look away.

You...do.

You drop your gaze, diverting back to the paperwork that had been long forgotten from you. You run a hand through the loose strands of your hair in its ponytail, hoping that to others, your blush is a reflection of the blazing heatwave currently outside, and not because of a specific sergeant you've slowly grown fond of who still has his eyes on you.

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

Los Angeles’ heatwave did not let down today.

The scorching of air sticking to your uniform was relentless, pressing down on you like a weight- thick and suffocating. Even your consumption of water couldn't catch up to the amount of sweat you released today, ultimately wearing you thin with fatigue and emotional sensitivity.

And it doesn't help a certain someone's presence had been playing with your heart- your arrays of nerves throbbing in an imbalance amongst the heat of the day.

You have been counting down the hours until you could get home, imagining the sweet relief of your newly purchased portable fan blasting cool air onto your overheated skin. However, the second you had stepped through your front door, dumped your keys on the counter and kicked your shoes off with a huff, something didn't feel right.

You remember frowning at the sight of your fan and how from afar where it stood ominously in your bedroom, it appeared...motionless.

Stepping closer, you trained your gaze onto the cord where it was clearly plugged into the wall.

Then, a flicker to your light switch confirmed all that you needed to know when it didn't turn on.

A blackout.

"Fuck me." You had cursed yourself, a groan gravelling your throat as you darted your sight from the light bulb to the switch in disbelief.

Then, you pulled the curtains from your bedroom's window aside, peeking your head out. Only to notice that the rest of the city was alive- a sea of warm and cold home lights, neon signs and dim streetlights flickering across your eyes' exposure. It wasn't a neighbourhood outage, just you.

It's nothing out of the new- with how old the building is, yet the rent being so affordably cheap, unforeseen electrical issues that force an emergency shut-off are quite the reoccurrence. You just hadn't expected it to happen during a heatwave.

Currently, your clock reads 11:05pm.

And you can't sleep.

Laying wide awake in your bed, the sweat you've collected from your skin sticks to your tank top and mini shorts, wishing for nothing but fucking death. The window beside you doesn't bring any chill of Mother Nature's breath and your mind is hazy, overheated- it's too much.

Even the thin sheet that once draped over your legs has been discarded onto the floor, and your pillow has become far too uncomfortable, radiating what you least want to feel in this sudden moment...heat.

You glare at your fan and how it pointlessly stands on the floorboards, aiming directly at you and yet, offering not a single ounce of support to your sweltering body.

Absolutely. Fucking. Useless.

As you slam your head back down onto your pillow, an overwhelming sense of nausea withers deep inside of your gut and you try to blink away the pain you endure from it, hoping that there's any other way you can beat this heatwave just for tonight.

Trust in that you've thought of every possible situation: Sleeping in the fridge? But you're too small. Sleeping on the kitchen tiles? They may be cooler, but uncomfortable as hell. Lying in the bathtub? You’d still be boiling. Driving around all night with the AC on? You'll waste so much petrol.

You could crash at Lucy's...but- fuck, it'd be too late to call her.

But it wouldn't be too late to go to Tim's.

The thought slams into you like a train and you widen your eyes, stunned by the audacity of your own subconscious.

Tim.

Shit. Seriously?

You shut your eyes tightly, hoping to rid any thought of your superior.

But, to your dismay, the idea seems to have rooted itself within your brain. Because the more you think about it, the more you realise it's...actually not a bad idea.

He's got air conditioning, and a really big, comfortable bed. And you hate to admit it but, his body felt really fucking good wrapped around you.

And before the logistic side of your brain can even muster up a list of all reasons why you shouldn't go to his house, you're already swinging your legs over to edge of the bed, feet sliding into your slippers.

Your keys are right where you left them- awaiting impatiently on your kitchen bench.

Snatching them up, along with your phone, you're pushing yourself out the door and into your car.

Your car hums into it's awakening, and before you know it, you're already leaving your street with the AC damn not as cold enough as you need it to be. You can't even bring yourself to turn the radio on, too busy listening to the silence of your surroundings and, better yet, the overwhelming outbursts of your thoughts that fill said silence.

Thoughts like what the fuck you're doing, why you're doing this, and if you're making the right decision or not.

There's also thoughts of a phantom touch, illuminating his very large hands cascading around your waist, spooning you into his embrace once again.

You can feel yourself fluttering at the expense of your own imagination.

By the time you reach the familiar-looking home, your heart rate has exceeded the usual average rate and your hands shake on the gear stick as you pull it into park.

Your body supposes there's no time to waste as you yank yourself out from your car seat, closing the door ever so quietly as if anyone in the station will even notice you. But, with one last shaky breath, you reach one of your hands up and knock.

A tree's sway fills the silence, followed by the echo of your own heartbeat.

Then, a mockingbird's call can be faintly heard from afar and you inhale sharply.

The longer your skin stays out here, the worse it's reacting to the ever growing heat in the air...and deep in your core.

You go to raise your hand again.

However, before your knuckles can even clash with the lukewarm wood of the front door, it swings open.

You freeze with your hand mid-air.

Your superior, your sergeant stands there, his hand still holds onto the door's knob while the other rests by his side.

His hair is messy, the type that yells volumes of restlessness and tossing and turning, and his pyjamas - or should it be mentioned, just his blue plaid pants - are crinkled with the obvious-

...Oh.

The obvious tent in his pants staring right at you.

Your gaze quickly moves up, your attention desperate to just peek some more at the size of him, but you know you're better than that.

He's also shirtless.

Of course he is, it's fucking hot.

Yet, you seem to struggle to even look away from that too.

So, as you reel your hand back to your side, you train instead on his face and how his eyes are just barely open as he looks you up and down- a squint to his focus as it takes him a mere few seconds to realise the knock he heard amidst his dreams wasn't fake, but very, very real.

And you're standing there, true and authentic and raw and...flushed in the cheeks, trying your best to not look down there.

But it appears your appearance has him surprised too, swallowing hard as he finds that he's never seen you with such an absence of clothes on- a low-neckline tank top and mini pyjama shorts that might just leave even less to the imagination than when you wore his t-shirt (though, for personal reasons, he'd rather you wear the latter).

Noticing as you're too stunned to speak, he begins, "What the fuck are you doing here?" And oh, is his voice just so crisp and raspy. He whips his head to the left, searching for a clock to reassure his confusion, "Jesus- it's 11:30pm."

Your mouth opens immediately to speak, but then you close it, only to open it up against once your brain forms a coherent sentence, "I can't sleep," You mutter out, your fingers reaching for each other out of comfort as they fiddle together, "It's um- It's stupid, I know, but my apartment has a blackout so it's just too hot to even sleep in my bed-" You move your eyes away from his stare, embarrassed of your admittance, "and I thought about you and your air-con and your bed and how nice it was sleeping in it."

Tim takes a few seconds to process your ramble, but then he cocks his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips, "You thought about me?"

You look up at him, a blush heavy on your cheeks as you roll your eyes, "Don't get too excited now," You huff out, but you don't tell him he's wrong. "...Can I stay at yours for the night?"

Yes, fuck yes! is what Tim immediately yells out inside his head as his mind registers the fact that his colleague; you - out of all people - have asked to sleep with him. And while the smarter decision would be to say no and keep the professionalism between you two at a respectful level, he can't seem to pull himself to say that.

So he just shrugs, "Sure," And then he's opening the door even wider to allow space for you to enter, "Come in."

Relief washes over you, and so your feet carry you as they step past him and into the living room you've often found yourself dreaming about within this week.

Immediately, your body embraces the stark difference in temperature as the air conditioning glazes a fine layer of chillness to your skin. It's not too cold that your teeth clatter in response, but instead, it's a refresher to your situation and it's almost like you've completely forgotten the immense heat your apartment once cascaded on you.

The door behind you shuts with a click.

A waft of deja vu tingles throughout you when Tim walks past you while you stand and look around at his living room. Except this time, rather than coming up and greeting you, Kojo gives a sleepy nod of acknowledgement towards your way as he stays rested on his bed.

And the house itself does not feel foreign, it feels...familiar.

You're still yet to decide on whether that's a good feeling or not.

Tim is making his way to the kitchen while you're left overlooking the same couch you once struggled to sleep on, the same floorboards that have a creak when stepped in specific locations and the same homely furniture (though hard to spot in this dark room with only the moonlight to provide a source of light).

He looks over his shoulder at your statue of a figure, "Water?" He asks, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

You flicker your attention over to him and you nod, "Please."

He disappears into the kitchen, and you're left to be alone. Though, this time, your curiosity of looking at the living room instead trains right on the very room your mind has thought about every fucking second of every fucking day.

His bedroom.

It's been left open, and while you can't exactly see anything from where you stand, you need not be told for what is inside.

You know where his bed is, you know the side he sleeps on.

You. Know.

Apparently, this whole night has been caused by the abruptness of your body (and ovaries) because while your brain has been left searching for sanity far, far away, you begin to stroll over to his bedroom door.

Inhaling heavily, you step inside.

Your feet are no longer cool against the floorboards but instead, the soft carpet tickles your toes and heels. And just like last time, it smells of everything of goodness; a certain masculine earthy scent...a scent of him.

You can't help but shiver- the sensations you once felt last week all settle back into you.

"I'm guessing no couch tonight, then?"

You whip around to the sudden voice of your sergeant from where he leans against his bedroom's doorframe, a glass of water beading in condensation in his hand and his eyes are unwavering on yours.

"No! No...no, thank you." You exhale, a shaky laugh escaping your throat as you cross your arms over your chest and look away, memorising how awfully uncomfortable that couch was especially in contrast to the bed that awaits your body. You look back up at him, the urge for his reassurance rushing through your subconscious, "If...that's okay?"

He puffs out a little chuckle as he steps away from the frame, shutting the door behind him as one foot goes in front of the other until he's in front of you. He reaches out the glass of water to you, "More than okay."

You try to not take his words to heart, though it's hard when there's a sense of softness and genuity to his hoarse voice. Your chest can't stop pounding at the warm touch of his fingers as you brush over them to accept the glass.

There's a glint of heaviness in his eyes as he looks at you when you bring the glass to your lips, and while his stare is overwhelmingly hard to hold, you find that you're maintaining eye contact.

The cool liquid cascading down your throat does nothing to stop how hot your veins feel- a different kind that isn't blaring from the heatwave, but more of a response to the sudden closure between you and your superior.

You both can feel it.

And Tim...fuck, the moment he opened the door and saw you there, he knew he was done for. Even now, as you drink your glass of water, his eyes can't help but wander as they follow some of the condensation's droplets landing on your black tank top.

Your nipples harden through the thin fabric beneath his stare.

Holy shit.

He quickly looks back up at you just in time for you to lower your glass, your lips red and wet and it's taking him all of his strength to not pull you into him just to feel how plush they are against his own.

Instead of acting upon his primal instincts, he ignores his animalistic thoughts and his cock twitching within his pants by nodding at the inviting mattress with a small smile, "Shall we?" He asks quietly.

You swallow hard, flickering between Tim and the bed before you reciprocate his smile, "Let's do this." As if the innocence in your voice can secretly hide how fucking luringly sinful this whole situation is.

You don't wait for his response, already turning around to where the bed lies, and walking to the left side as you drop the empty glass on the bedside table.

Deja vu comes once again.

Except...it's not really this time. Because you know you've done this before; you've been here before, you know what his bed sheets feel like.

And whether Tim decides to cuddle you again, well, that's up to him.

(Your heart and core are begging he does)

As you slide into the sheets, you ponder on how many times you've fucking dreamt of this moment. And it only makes you shudder more when you realise that up until this point, as you pull the sheets over your waist and roll onto your side, usually your dreams tweak this scene.

Some dreams have ended that Tim embraces you, his warm hands skimming everywhere on your smooth skin and putting you in all sorts of different cuddling positions.

The other dreams? Oh...

You blush heavily at your mind's illustrations, your wet dreams only worsening the desire you feel in this tension-filled moment.

But right now, with your eyes oblivious to what is happening behind you, your ears perk up to the sounds of Tim's shuffling as he also gets into bed; his exhale is loud when he glides beneath the duvet with the friction of skin against sheets as he moves around to find a comfortable position, and then...

Silence.

Your heart pounds and your eyes widen as you grip the sheets tighter, hoping that perhaps he might grab you right...now.

You wait.

But all that you feel is the phantom touch your mind has often tricked you with.

He's very much there, alive and well, on the other side of the bed- you can fucking hear his breathing.

But, why isn't he touching you?

Why isn't he doing anything?

You frown.

It’s ridiculous, pathetic even, the way disappointment creeps in despite how insanely close you already are. But, of course, your body doesn't understand logic- it only understands desire and the electricity crackling in the mere inches of space between you and him.

Half an hour passes, and you feel like you might just die.

You're starving for him, and while your body screams at him to fucking do something, to do anything, he's just...lying there.

But, from what you can hear, his breathing doesn't exhibit that of a sleeping man; rather than deep and relaxed, it's steady and controlled.

Which can only mean that he's just as awake as you.

You sigh quietly, a dilemma coursing throughout your brain as a part of you thinks it's best to just stay still and wait it out.

Like you said to him at the front door, you just need a place to sleep and nothing more.

But then the other duality of your persona - your irrational side - can't handle the fast pacing of your heartbeat, and the amount of control you're trying to suppress against your temptations.

God, you want to turn around, to look him in the eyes, to fucking kiss him and take him as yours.

The battle of your inner psyche is too much to handle at this point.

The worst part about this? You can't even fucking sleep because of how much your mind races.

You can't close your eyes-

-Or breathe properly.

The sheets are too uncomfortable, too hot, too-

Tim moves.

Your thoughts stop.

And then finally- a hand.

His rough, large hand grasps your waist, and he's pulling you into him.

Your breath hitches at the familiar warmth of his chest. Except this time, you can feel every flex of his muscles that his t-shirt lacked to expose last week. He's so solid, so warm, so good. And rather than making a home within the dent of your waist's side, his arm tucks around your body in a way that feels protective and possessive- his palm warms your stomach.

"It's like I can fucking hear your thoughts," He murmurs, his lips so close to your ear that you shiver from his hot breath, "Those pretty eyes don't lie, sweetheart- I know what you've been thinking about."

"Tim." You flush in embarrassment because, no, you haven't been subtle with how you've been looking at him and acting around him.

But he continues, a tease to his tone as his hand suddenly begins to move upwards to your chest, "You can say all you want, but I don't think someone who doesn't like me would think the way you have."

You grip the sheets tightly as his hand reaches underneath your tank top, and the soft touch of his index finger as it traces up and down your sternum has you squirming. Breathlessly, you reply, "Could say the same about you."

Tim stops the motion of his finger.

He hums, "But I'm not the one denying my interest in you, am I?"

Your breath catches.

Fuck.

Your voice, weakened, tries to fight back, "Well, I'm sure you've been reminding yourself how much you hate me."

He chuckles lowly.

"You think I'm reminding myself right now?"

And then, with a gentle pull, you're pressed flushed against him and your lips part for a sharp inhale when you realise you can feel his hard cock digging into the curve of your ass.

Your pulse quickens at just the mere realisation of how fucking big he is, and you'd rather give up on sleep just to feel the sensations of him inside of you all night.

You whisper quietly in confession, "I...suppose not."

Suddenly, his hand leaves the enclosure of your tank top, and at first, you can't stop feeling disappointment from how close he was to touching your breasts- your perked nipples yearning for his attention.

But, any ounce of that emotion dissipates the moment his hand holds onto your chin, and he's moving your head to face his with a whispered c'mere.

By the time your head is angled to face him and your eyes attach to his own, there's a glint you find within them- a darkened sparkle reflecting off the Moonlight's shine and he looks needy and hungry.

You engrave those baby blues into your brain when he leans his lips into yours, and the first kiss is mesmerising.

Maybe it's all the pent-up emotions you have towards each other or the fact that you've thought about this moment for a long fucking week- whatever it is, it's what makes the kiss just that bit hotter.

Your sergeant is kissing you with an intense passion while his throbbing cock is pressed up against you, and it's so much better than any wet dream or maladaptive dream you've had for the last seven days.

His lips are wet against your own from the mixture of both of your saliva as you kiss, and you can't stop craving more as you grind your ass further into him.

He groans into the kiss, and oh, you melt.

But, Tim is a smart man for he gives you exactly what you want; his hand leaves the grip on your chin as he brushes his fingers down your warm, silky skin, and he's crawling back underneath your tank top as he lands right where you need him.

He doesn't tease either, immediately taking his thumb to flick your nipple, one, two, three times. And when you gasp at the first touch of Tim's rough digits, he takes that as the perfect opportunity to invite his tongue into your mouth.

You crumble at the velvet sensations of his tongue dominating your own mouth and the exploration he takes upon himself while his index finger meets with his thumb, rolling your nipple within their embrace.

"Fuck," You moan against his lips when he pinches your bud with just that right amount of pressure- playing on the lines of pain and pleasure.

"So sensitive, sweetheart," He murmurs, and you can feel his smirk against your mouth when you whine even more as he pinches your other breast, then circles it slowly and deliberately, "Wanna touch you more, though." To which his rough fingers skim ever so slowly down from your breasts, and as you bring your lips to interlock with his again, you can't stop your breath from hitching when you know exactly where he's going.

Because even in this chilled room with no bright lights to picture your current scene, with every curve he feels as he lowers down your waist, tracing a line on your pubic bone, his hands have already found your shorts and oh, his fingers perfectly slip beneath the clothing.

"Fuck me," He curses the moment he notices he's touching your skin, "No underwear?"

"Don't feel special," You gruffly reply, turning your head away from his face and back to facing the window as you hold onto his bicep and push yourself more into his hardened cock, "With this heatwave, less clothing is better."

"Oh, I couldn't agree more," His index finger continues its journey down further until he finds himself touching your begging clit and you flinch at the initial contact, "The moment I opened my door to you, all I wanted to do was rip these fucking pyjamas off you."

"Tim-" You groan out of frustration when he doesn't let on any more pressure or stimulation to your clit- just pressing his finger on top of your bundle of nerves.

"You know," He kisses your shoulder, his whisper breathy and warm, "For someone who hates me so much, you sure aren't acting like it right now."

"Says the one who invited me to his bed last week," You scoff, then moan quietly when he pushes down on your clit, his middle and ring finger joining as well.

Amidst the ambience of your heavy breaths and the moans that often followed, Tim's quiet chuckle breaks through, his lips vibrating against your shoulder as he begins to move his three fingers in a gentle circular motion, "Well, I don't think you'll be complaining once I fuck this pretty pussy, will you?"

But he's not looking for an answer, and you gasp at the mixture of both his dirty talk and how his fingers have just started to pick up a pace directly on your clit.

It feels so good- too good.

How can his fingers feel better than your own? How is he going to make you cum quicker than you can to yourself?

You arch more into him, and instinctively, your legs part just that bit wider for him- your body's way of pleading for more. And it seems Tim is satisfied by how well you're reacting to him, because his lips ghost hot, wet kisses on the back of your neck, whispering, "That's it, be greedy."

His fingers work your clit with a rhythm that's good enough that you can feel yourself growing more breathless by the second, but it's too slow that your impatience is wearing thin. And he knows what he's doing- it's like a test to see how far he can push you until you're begging.

From this angle, with his body flush against yours from behind, he's able to look down at you, watching every sharp inhale and shaky moan that escapes your lips. He notices how your eyes flutter in pure ecstasy and yet, never shut tight- caught in the push and pull of pleasure, unable to focus.

"Tim," You whine, your thighs trembling as you turn to meet his cocky gaze, "Please, I need more."

He tilts his head, his smirk audible, "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Your-" Your moan cuts you off as he begins to fasten his pace on your clit, and you nearly sob as you stare up at him with pleading eyes, "Fuck- I need your fingers, please."

God, if only you begged for him like this before you stayed at his that first night would he be blessed with the sounds of your noises earlier in his life.

"But I am using my fingers..." He muses, amusement dripping off his tongue. And the bastard proves his evidence by quickening his circular motion on your bundle of nerves.

"Tim," You groan out in frustration, "Inside me. Now."

He stifles a laugh and he murmurs quietly, "I got you," before his fingers hook into your shorts, pulling them down inch by inch until they pool around your lower thighs. Then, from behind, the very same index finger that he was using to tease you before, trails up the back of your thigh, to the swell of your ass, before sliding down to where your leaking core is.

You both gasp when his finger glides through your slick folds.

"Jesus," He curses, his own breathing a little heavier as he gathers your juices onto his finger by continuously moving from your hole to your clit, "So fucking wet for me, aren't you?"

You don't reply- you can't, not when his thick finger pushes inside of you.

Your mouth falls open as he stills, letting you adjust, to ease into his touch, to allow your walls to stretch around you.

Then, he starts moving slowly, pumping in and out of you.

A chorus of moans spills from your lips as his finger squelches inside of you, and it feels so fucking good.

But, his pace is too slow, too teasing- it doesn't feel enough.

Your breath exhales, and you're about to tell him more, more! Give me more!

But it seems, yet again, he's listened to your wishes because he unexpectedly adds another finger into your pussy.

You cry out.

Tim's other hand, once rested underneath his pillow, clamps over your mouth quickly, muffling the noises that follow once he starts to fuck you open with both of his fingers. "Shhh," he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, "You don’t want the neighbours hearing you, do you?"

You whimper when he stops moving entirely, awaiting your answer.

Desperately, you shake your head.

"Attagirl," He praises lowly.

And then, he's thrusting his fingers back into you, hard, and you tighten your grip on his flexing bicep while your whole body shudders.

The room fills with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into you, your muffled cries vibrating against his palm. But even with his hand covering your mouth, it does nothing to suppress the sounds you can hear- the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, the slick noise of him fingering you open, the breathy groans he lets out every time he feels you get even tighter around his digits.

Without warning, Tim leaves the hand once covering your mouth- only to push his index and middle finger inside your mouth.

And oh, does Tim moan in your ear when you obeyingly wrap your lips around his fingers, wettening them with your tongue.

"Fuck, such a good girl," He shudders from behind, rewarding you by adding a third finger to the mix and quickening his pace.

You're so overwhelmed by the difference in speed and the stretching of a third finger that you're seeing stars gently sparkling within the corners of your vision.

You're already so close, so embarrassingly close, and with his large fingers getting soaked by the saliva in your mouth, you can't notify Tim about it either.

But, it seems you don't need to anyway.

Because just as the pleasure builds to its peak, and that inner bubble within you is just about to burst-

Tim pulls his fingers out of you.

It takes a few seconds to realise that you actually didn't achieve your orgasm, and the weight of an unsatisfying pause to your moment has you pulling your mouth away from his fingers.

"Tim!" You cry out, anger and desperation leaking in your voice as you turn to him, "You dickhead- I was so close!"

But when you look at him, there's no hint of sympathy or guilt for the mistake he's made-

Because it wasn't a mistake.

Tim, the fucking asshole, curated that plan purposely to deny your orgasm. And by the feeling of his cock twitching beneath you, it seems he liked it too.

"Like I give a shit," He murmurs, his voice thick with arrogance, "You're cumming on my cock."

And then, contrasting to his ego, he's giving you a gentle, sweet, caring kiss on your lips- as if what he just said and did wasn't the filthiest and meanest thing a man has ever done to you.

There are no seconds to recover from what just happened before you can feel shuffling behind you while his lips lock with yours. And you don't realise it's his pants that he's pulling down until you feel his hardness leaking between your thighs.

You inhale sharply, the feeling of his thickness being enough proof of his massive size.

Tim pulls away from the kiss to brush his lips against your temple, and you're completely under his control with the way his hands move down to grip your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants.

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted this," His whisper is low, but the words are still clear to your ear as he moves the head of his cock to the entrance to your slick pussy, "Gonna feel how good we fit together."

And perhaps, out of the many interactions you've had with your superior, this might be the only thing that you two work well in- not that you're upset about it, or anything.

(Neither is he)

The way you're so pressed up against him gives you no room to do anything but just accept the warmth of his body, and - of course - the heat of his cock once he begins to push the tip in.

You cry out at this new sensation engulfing you and Tim shudders, releasing a low groan too. But, there's no room to stop, not when you feel this fucking good.

So, in one long thrust, he's pushing himself in, filling you so deep you swear you can feel him everywhere. Once he bottoms out you clench around his girth, his veins engraving within your walls and his breath is shaky from behind.

"Holy shit," You exhale when he takes a moment for your body to adjust. Your eyes search for his own and it's like looking into his dark, wide-blown ones make your juices cascade around him even more.

He doesn't give you enough time to adapt, for he's already pulling out just enough to thrust back in.

The angle is exhilarating and Tim might just cum at the sight of you arching into his embrace, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

So he turns your head away to the other side with the soft manoeuvre of your chin.

Your noises are uncontrollably loud when he sets a pace that’s deep, deliberate, and dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. But, this time, Tim can't find it in his heart to clamp your mouth again- your sounds are too precious, too pretty to silence. In fact, he joins you with his own groans and erratic breaths, his praises flourishing you every time he says something.

"That's it, baby. Take it." He mutters, his hips slapping against your body with every thrust, the feeling only overwhelming both of your senses the more he keeps up with his rough pace. "Being a good fucking girl now, aren't you?"

You can't respond, not when his hand slides down your stomach and his digits find your needy clit again, rubbing in gentle circles that have you gasping.

"Hmm?" He hums, his mouth breathing into your shoulder as he continues to thrust up into you, "Where's that loud mouth now, pretty girl?"

Your groan mixes with your whimper when he pushes down a specifically perfect amount of pressure on your clit, and his cock hits that spot, "Shut- oh my God. Shut the fuck up, you asshole."

You earn a chuckle from him, and he kisses the space between your shoulder and neck. He whispers, "Yes Ma'am." followed by his relentless concentration on fucking you into oblivion.

And, oh, does he keep to his word. His cock pounding into you so roughly your core squelches in delight, and your hot walls coat his dick with your juices so much that Tim knows he won't be able to last with how good it feels.

But, neither will you.

Because once he does actually shut his mouth, he's left to pant and blabber small words like so good and so close and you're able to focus on everything; how attentive his digits are to your clit as if he's listening to what your body wants, how close he's holding you to him like he doesn't want to let you go, how he's fucking you senselessly- like this means just as much to him as it means to you.

Maybe that's why you came back.

Not just for his bed, or his air conditioning, but because you felt safe in your sergeant's arms...because being with Tim under this moonlight in comparison to the hatred that once filtered the air between you two feels good to your heart.

And, well, when Tim quickens the pace on your clit and his thrusts grow deeper and he mumbles, "I got you, baby. I got you," when you gasp that you're going to cum, a part of you knows he feels the same way.

Soon enough, your orgasm crashes over you, sending you to Heaven and back with the amount of carbon dioxide it steals from your lungs.

Hearing his name sobbing from your throat is what sends Tim over, his hips stuttering as he burrows himself one last time inside of you, allowing his hot cum to spill within your walls.

A heartbeat of silence follows.

Then...another.

And it appears neither of you move- neither of you want to move. Not when the space you've created between your bodies is so warm, so comforting, so real.

You know you should get up, already feeling his cock softening inside of you and his cum escaping you drip-by-drip.

You know you should get up and clean yourself- but you can't.

Tim wraps his arms around you, tightening his grip in a way that's telling you also to not get up, to not leave him.

To just stay like this until tomorrow comes when he'll probably wake you up and fuck you again, whispering promises and sweet nothings that differentiate from what you two will be like at the station- back to work colleagues, to him being in your chain of command.

But, as Tim kisses your cheek, his breath warm and inviting as he then nuzzles his head against yours and whispers to you: "Goodnight, sweetheart.", you're left to your imagination's picturesque of the future, hoping that maybe things will work out for you outside of work when you go to stay at his for another night or two.

At least for those next times, it won't just be for his air conditioning.

[sleepymissy]

━ 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 1 come into my bedroom

( tim bradford x girl!reader )

SUMMARY: spending the night at tim bradford’s place was never part of the plan- but, neither was ending up in his bed, feeling emotions you'd never imagine you'd feel towards him. AUTHOR'S NOTE: guys i swore to myself that this was supposed to be a short fluffy fic but h2g i got carried away. THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SM!! I SEE YOUR REQUESTS I PROMISE I DO. THEY'RE ALWAYS OPEN SO FEEL FREE TO SPAM IT WITH IDEAS OR FEEDBACK OR LOVE IN GENERAL!! also this is SOOOO INSPIRED by champagne coast by blood orange. should i do a part 2 for this? idk hehe enjoy! INCLUDES: enemies to...cuddle buddies? a little bit of swearing, LOTS of tension, smitty WORDS: 5.6K+

You couldn't have expected your night to go like this, never in a million years.

Yet, your hands still grip the wheel, and your focus never wavers away from the vehicle that moves in front of you as you follow it.

Though your eyes are steady as they study your surroundings of the peaceful neighbourhood with its warm street lights and clean gardens, it seems as if your entire body has much catching up to do.

For starters, your foot is shaky on the accelerator, your knees are endlessly bouncing, your fingertips constantly tap against the steering wheel and your mouth is...unsatisfyingly dry.

However, most importantly, you feel as though your heart has been left behind palpitating back at the station awing at Tim's lips and the way he effortlessly said to you stay at mine for the night.

There were so many things he could've said at that moment. And yet, the grumpy ass had you fumbling over your own footsteps from his choice to invite you to stay at his. His home.

It baffled you because…well, you and Tim aren’t the closest of friends. 

You two are on opposite ends of the spectrum in regards to your personas; his rigid, by-the-book, scruff never seemed to mix well with your instinctive, kind, free-spirited one...so you two never saw a reason to be friends. Apart from Tim, you’ve gotten along extremely well with the other officers in your department since spending the past few years there. 

To keep it short and sweet, you two are just work colleagues.

But fuck, did the guy really have it out to get you.

Conversing with Tim means you will never get your way, ever. Sure, maybe his superiority in conversations comes also from the fact that he's your Sergeant, but it's as if he does it because Tim Bradford is hell-bent on making sure you feel like you can never live up to his impossibly undesirable standards. His nitpicking, his overprotectiveness, his nasty attitude and those fucking death glares sent your way drives you up the wall like no other. 

But unlike everyone else, Tim is the one person who can simultaneously make you want to rip your hair out and make your pulse race in the same breath- because, really, the way he crosses his arms sets your focus on his bulging biceps, his death glares means he's staring at you and only you, and his protectiveness makes your heart skip, especially when he places himself before the criminal and in front of you.

Sure, you’d never admit it and later you’d find that your ‘thank you’ to him is you giving him a mouthful of I had it under control!

Say what you want, but you're no angel, especially not in Tim’s eyes. To him, you are everything of a pain in his ass. You’re stubborn to his orders, you’re grumpy only towards him and even on the last hour of a late-night shift where you both want nothing but to hit the hay, you’re willing to fight with him on everything and anything. He’s only ever seen you smile at others and maybe once...maybe never towards him.

But it’s not like your endless arguments in the shop have ever gone to waste because, surprisingly, it’s easy for Tim to pick up on things when the only thing you two can talk about is your differences. Think of it how you want, but for Tim, he now knows everything about you- you prefer the aircon on at all times in the shop, you're picky with your coffee, and worse of all, your intelligence has you nailing every single Tim test he has ever dared to throw out at you; and with that, you are the bane of his existence.

So you can understand your confusion as to why 10 minutes ago, at the station just before you left, Tim offered his place to stay for the night.

To take you back, it all began when you were releasing your body camera off your uniform and onto its respected place on the wall. You and Smitty were creating a casual conversation when the old fella asked about your plans for the night. You groaned and grumbled:

“Fuck, Smitty, would shops be open still?”

“Hate to bear bad news to you, kid, but it’s 11pm,” He shrugs, “What’s the matter? Need something that badly?”

You remember sighing frustratingly as you unclip your radio, “Something like that- my apartment doesn’t have an AC…or fans and I’ve been meaning to get myself one of those portable ones but with work getting in the way, I haven’t had time.”

“No AC? No fans?” Smitty blinks at you, hard, though he follows after you to the equipment locker, “What are you doing? Sleeping in a hot oven?”

You chuckle quietly, rolling your eyes at him jokingly as you store your duty belt away, “Something like that.” Then, a thought flickers into your mind and so you turn to look at him, trying your best to hypnotise him with softened eyes and raised eyebrows, “Smitty…would you be such a gentleman and perhaps let me borrow one of yours? Knowing you, I’m sure your caravan has a whole set-up in there.”

Your question results in Smitty throwing his head back and laughing (you weren’t actually joking), “Not a chance. You’re a great negotiator, I’ll give that to you,” And then his hand is clapping your shoulder as he begins his departure, “Good luck with that, kid, and drink lots of water!”

You sigh, scrunching your face up in defeat as you watch him walk off, trying your best to plaster as real of a smile as possible, “Will do, thanks Smitty…always fucking helpful.” You whisper that last part to yourself as you grab your logbook and flip it open, jotting down a quick entry for the shift.

Though across the room near the weapons locker, you haven't noticed the large presence of a familiar Sergeant where his gaze was flicking between you and Smitty. He clenches his jaw as he unloads his weapon with practised ease, swearing to himself that he isn't that interested in eavesdropping on you and Smitty, instead, blaming it on that your conversation was loudly shared in public.

“You’re seriously sleeping in this heat with no fan or air-con?” He finds his voice cutting through the air before he can even realise it's his own, catching you off guard from where you stand writing in your logbook.

You stop writing mid-sentence and look up to meet his eyes that are entirely focused on you. You frown, “Were you eavesdroppi-“

“-No, and if I did, it’s a free country,” He cuts you off, moving his body to turn to you with his arms crossing, “…So?”

You drop your pen- any thoughts that once buzzed your mind clearly have shrivelled away at the expense of Tim’s interruption, “I am. Is that a personal problem with you, Sir?”

His eyes narrow harshly down at you, “It is when you come into work tomorrow morning and pass out from dehydration, resulting in me wasting my time writing up an incident report about your lack of care and negligence towards yourself.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” You shut the logbook with a sharp snap, the knit in your eyebrows deepening at his sudden intrusion into your living situation, “But thanks for being so concerned about my wellbeing- didn’t think you had it in you.” 

There's a twitch in Tim's eye, a small lack of control that you don't seem to notice as he looks your figure up and down. He'll give it to you- you have a witty mouth.

He covers himself up immediately, walls built upon walls as he exhales, “You shouldn’t be trying to sleep in these conditions.” He mutters, “It’s not safe.” 

Fuck, here he goes with the overprotectiveness.

You find yourself opening your mouth, eager to bite back at him with a flush of attitude and you don’t know whether it’s because of him, or the heat, or both. But, you decide to clench your jaw shut tightly, brushing past him to head towards the locker room, “I’ll get a fan when I have the time to.” You grumble anyway.

“Maybe you’d have time if you weren’t wasting it arguing with me,” He shoots back and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Your jaw goes slack and you whip your head around, warmth burning in your chest, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Say all you want, Officer Y/L/N, but you know I’m right.” He counters against you, his tone even but pointed.

And he is, which is what you hate about this conversation the most. How are you going to survive this heatwave- especially with the lack of airflow in your apartment?

You consider maybe it's best you sleep in the fridge tonight.

You're too irritated to notice the way his eyes linger on you just for a tad longer than you did on him- his thoughts revelling in so many things to say to you but they never quite slip off his tongue, and so he watches as you turn on your heel and storm into the showers.

Praying that's the end of the encounter with Tim, you take your sweet time having a cool shower in the locker room, not allowing an inch of heat to hit your skin.

By the time you change back into your normal clothes, and you've exchanged small goodbyes to your fellow colleagues, you're dawdling your way through the station, to outside where your car is and...oh, Tim's leaning against your car.

His presence instantly brings a sense of irritation to your brain, your heart dropping at what the issue could possibly be. You sigh heavily, "What now?"

"You're not going back to your apartment tonight." Is all he states, his voice the usual rasp but it's stern. He tightens the grip on his backpack, though his wandering eyes don't leave yours as he stares you down.

Throwing your hands up, you scoff into the air, "Wow, thanks. So where am I supposed to go, huh?" Your frown can be seen a mile away as you look back at him, "You got any ideas for me?"

And...well, he does.

“Stay at mine for the night.”

Your heart misses a beat. Then another. And it echoes into the thick, excruciatingly hot air of Los Angeles. 

You double-take at him, eyes locked onto his figure- steady, unwavering. There’s not a single sign that he’s joking right now; no teasing smirk, nor a smile, his voice doesn’t mock you and his eyebrows aren’t raised. 

His lips are firm and his face is neutral. He’s just…standing there, awaiting your answer.

You scramble over words, your lips failing to form a coherent sentence, “I’m sorry…what?”

Tim doesn’t wait for a second to reply, “I’d be neglecting my duty of care as your Sergeant if I allow you to go back to your apartment,” And fuck, there he goes again. 

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes, “Tim, seriously I-“

“-I don’t think you’re hearing me correctly, Officer Y/L/N,” He interrupts, voice dropping into something firm. A tone that lures your pulse into a frantic flutter and you’re collapsing under his gaze as his eyes pin you down, “I wasn’t suggesting- I was ordering. It’s too damn hot for you to go back to your apartment. You’re sleeping at mine tonight, and that’s final.”

A breath escapes you, shaky and reluctant, “Fine,” You groan, stepping closer to your car, “But I’m taking the couch.”

Which is how you find yourself here- in your car, following his truck down dim streetlights with your body trembling and your heart chasing after you.

By the time you turn the corner to a peaceful street, you curb-side park next to a house that looks like any kind of architectural home- ordinary, simple, unassuming. You’ve probably driven past it a dozen times on patrol and never knew it belonged to the man who curated your headaches. 

You inhale deeply, your fingers tightening around your steering wheel as you try to ground yourself from the adrenaline that sizzles within you. But, your body betrays you as it moves before your mind can catch up. You step out of your car, the night’s air blazing your already overheated skin and you meet Tim’s waiting gaze. 

As you catch up to him, and with one more glance your way, he turns towards the wooden front door. You follow.

Upon entering, the first thing you notice is how…homely it looks.

It’s not what you expected- although you’ve never put a thought into what Tim’s home would've looked like anyway. Maybe his rough-edged, mean persona may have put your guesses to the more stereotypical Mojo Dojo Casa house where each corner of every room is filled with testosterone and messiness. 

But this? This is different. 

It's the type of masculine home that softens you inside, a comforting hug despite the already blaring heat- a safe space, as you'd call it. Aside from Kojo's welcoming nudge from his snout to your leg (of course you give him a pet), there's a warm lighting that casts a soft glow to your surroundings, highlighting the earthy tones of the necessary-but-enough furniture. His dark couch has a few paw scratches on the lower parts of the cushioning, but the extra cushions gently placed on the couch pulls your attention away. Though, lingering in the air is a faint earthy and woody masculine scent of him that intoxicates you every now and then. With every waft of it, your nerves settle more and more.

The metal click of Tim locking the front door from behind you immediately snaps your attention to face him, only to find that he’s already looking at you with an expression you can’t read, can’t translate, can’t understand. You shift your stance under his stare, swallowing hard at the awkwardness that begins to seep through between you two.

Tim is the first to break as he clears his throat, “I’ll grab you a blanket,” Then he’s eyeing you up and down, “…and some clothes,” He states, though he sounds less strict. It's softer- like he’s allowing himself to loosen the grip now that he’s home- just a little. 

“I-” you hesitate, then shake your head, “Tim, I don’t want to be an inconvenience.” 

“You’re not.”

How he gives a simple order like that should infuriate you, but instead, it has your chest ridiculously pounding. And plus, you hate to admit it but he’s right; you skim down at your own clothes and your blouse and pants don’t exactly scream comfort, especially when you'll be sleeping on a couch tonight and not your bed.

Without awaiting your agreement, he passes you to the other side of the house where his bedroom probably lies yearning for his body, leaving you to be by yourself in his lounge room. 

Trying to ignore your palpitating heart or how your fingers can’t stop fidgeting, you instead divert your attention to how the cool air feels luxurious on your skin’s pores, scanning around at how lively everything seems to be; an empty glass left abandoned on his coffee table, a pair of boots kicked off by the door, Kojo resting on his dog bed near where the kitchen meets the dining room and…oh, his boxers hanging off one of the dining chairs.

You quickly draw your head away from the sight, your cheeks once hot from the heat now redden from something else- exposure to his vulnerability? Intrusion to his home? His privacy? Is it even ethically right that you’re here right now, all by yourself with your Sergeant who you supposedly can’t stand a single thing he does and yet, you blush at the sight of his underwear? Your mind wrestles with your heart, and it’s like you need to remind yourself that this isn’t a big deal. It’s just for one night. It won't mean anything.

Before you can linger on for too long, an oblivious Tim returns with a large navy blanket, a folded t-shirt and sweatpants, tossing the clothes your way. Perhaps Summer’s blaze hasn’t fogged your brain too much because you still have hyped and aware reflexes, catching them on instinct where your hands embrace the heat of the fabric from his touch.

A second passes, then two, and then he scratches the back of his neck, “Look, I don’t know whether the pants will fit you but I just thought they’d be better than what you’re wearing,” He mutters.

You can’t believe the words escaping your throat but, in this awkward yet content moment you find yourself whispering: “Thank you,” And your eyes are genuine as you look up at him, your voice a replica of the warm, gentle breeze outside and ever so quickly and shyly, Tim catches your lips curving into...a smile? 

Fuck, he wishes he could photograph you right now because the way you’re looking at him makes him regret entirely ever giving you trouble since the two of you met.

But he doesn’t bring himself to mention it, so he redirects his gaze on you to anywhere else but, and he clears his throat, “Bathroom’s down the hall,” He nods in the direction of where a hallway begins from his bedroom door.

Blinking at him, you nod back before slipping past, your footsteps growing fainter as you near the bathroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath- long and unsteady, like you didn’t realise you had held it in this whole time. The air rushes out of your lungs in a way that feels like it carries more than just your breath. Confusion, overwhelm, awkwardness, nerves, eagerness…but for what? For sleep? For more? For him?

It all seems too real in this beat of the night as you drop the clothes on the sink’s widened bench and grasp either side of the cool porcelain sink tightly, your reflection staring back at you with knitted eyebrows and a heavy breath.

Get it together. It’s just Tim.

But that’s the problem- it is just Tim.

The one who gets under your skin and is infuriating and impossible to get along with. Who you've butted heads with more than anyone else in the department. But, no matter how many inches of hatred can float within your bloodstream, the strict, hard-headed man has opened his home just for you to sleep in.

You grip the sink tighter.

He can say all he wants about protocol and duty of care, and you can say all you want about this not changing anything.

But deep down inside both of your bodies, a seed has started growing.

You press your lips together and shake the thoughts away, turning your attention to getting out of these clothes and into something comfier.

But when you pull Tim’s t-shirt over your head, and his scent immediately soaks your senses, all it does is make your pulse race faster.

Damn it.

You don’t bother with the sweatpants. From one glance at the waistband and pressing it up to your hips, you know they won't stay up. The t-shirt is long enough to cover you- enough to be decent, but definitely not enough to leave much room to the imagination.

You inhale...then exhale, and you step out of the bathroom.

The house is quieter and darker than before- the only light that shines is the stars that complement the Moon from outside.

Tim is by your designated sleeping area, gently laying the blanket over the couch and adjusting it ever so gently.

You still your movements, soaking in what your heart never knew it yearned for as you watch his every gesture; how his long digits smooth out the fabric, pressing out any crinkles or creases that appear, making sure it's perfectly prepared just for you. It's so meticulous, unnecessary and yet caring that you can't help but stand still and stare at him.

At first, he doesn't notice your presence. But then, the floorboards beneath your cold feet betray you.

When he turns, and when his gaze fixates on you, that's when you feel it.

A shift in both of your emotions, a spark, a tug in your chest. He's no longer looking at you like you're a thorn's prick, a red light to a busy day, or shitty weather.

He lowers his eyes, taking you in.

You in his t-shirt.

The black fabric hangs loosely on you, stopping mid-thigh, and it takes everything in his restraint to not stare for too long because fuck, with you looking at him like that wearing his t-shirt like that, it makes him feel all things primal and irrational.

Underneath the glow of the moonlight, you are a force to be reckoned with- a free-spirit, and one that owns her own mind, something that Tim has no control over yet admires.

And in this very moment where you’re standing there like a daydream, you are a pain to his heart, his head and...something else. You go against everything he is for and yet, none of that counts right now. You could lure him in, like a siren to a pirate, and he'd chase after your kiss into the depths of the ocean's water.

His jaw tenses. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, forcing himself to look away.

But he can't, not that it would matter anyway.

The heat from outside no longer stresses you, just the warming presence of one another from where you stand, wishing the other person could act upon their thoughts suddenly, to push all past negative feelings for the other and take the risk, to take that step closer, to just do something, anythi-

“Thanks for…the couch.”

You break the trance, your voice slicing through whatever tension you two were enticed in and snapping you back into reality.

Your arms that are crossed over your chest tighten the embrace like you're putting up that barrier between your instincts and his body. You flicker your eyes from his baby blues to your makeshift bed, searching for something to latch onto. “It definitely beats what the apartment would’ve been like.”

Thanking Tim for his couch is one thing, but quietly admitting he was right? That's something else entirely.

This time, however, Tim doesn’t tease you upon it, doesn’t say I told you so with a smug smirk.

But, then something happens.

His eyes soften.

It's subtle, but you catch it before it can slip from your mind. He slowly breathes out, a small shift in his stance, and then ever so kindly, he gives you an almost imperceptible smile.

“Anytime,” He whispers, like a quiet oath that stays in your head.

It almost feels like an invitation. Like maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't mind if you forgot to buy that portable fan once again.

With one more look your way, he nods, his voice rough when he says: “Goodnight.”

And then he's gone.

The bedroom door shuts, and suddenly his house feels different again. Almost like you wished for the Summer air to heat you up just to replace his presence.

You look over your shoulder, double-checking to make sure he really is in his room before you let out a shaky exhale. 

As you get under the blanket on the couch, you shut your eyes tightly, wishing upon anything that this night won’t mean anything...just as much as you hope it would mean something.

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

It's 2am.

The couch, as you’d expected, is awful.

Sure, Tim had done his best to make it look presentable, even going so far as perfecting all the faults, but none of that changed the reality of your situation- you couldn’t get to sleep. Not here, not right now, and especially not with him in your head.

The cushions are lumpy, offering no support for your back, and it’s far too small for you to even stretch your legs out. You’ve twisted and turned, each and every position feeling worse than the last. And it doesn’t help at your begging expense that your brain and heart can’t seem to shut off either, feeding into whatever thoughts were already crazing your brain.

You want to scream, to swear, to yell at the man who holds such a power over you that he probably doesn’t know he has. His lingering presence is unshakable- it’s in your mind, in the air, in the fabric of his damn t-shirt that still carries his scent. You can’t close your eyes because every time you do, all you can think about is him. The way he looked at you when you stepped out of the bathroom. The way his voice softened when he said goodnight to you. The way he let you in.

Overstimulated to the brim, you huff, searching for any source of comfort within where you lay. Everything has become so unbearable beneath your skin that it, too, can’t calm you down- like his baggy t-shirt clinging to your body, your baby hairs that stick to your forehead, and this stupid blanket that once was flattened beautifully and is now just tangled messily around your legs.

It’s dark, it’s cold, and it’s fucking lonely- a combination you can’t handle right now. Because all you want to do is go into his room and kiss the night away. 

After what feels like hours, you give up. 

Sitting up abruptly, you rub your hands over your face out of exhaustion and a yawn escapes your throat. 

You quietly thank the heavens above that you don’t have work tomorrow.

You don’t even bother fixing up the mess you’ve made on the couch. Instead, you swing your legs over the side, letting them hit the hardwood floor with a soft thud.

Maybe a glass of water will help.

But as your feet carry you down the hallway, your steps slow. Not because of fatigue, but because you find yourself pausing outside his bedroom door, your fingers ghosting over the wood that stares back at you teasingly. 

Do you knock? Do you open the door and tell him you can’t sleep? Do you demand he take the couch so you can have his bed? Or…God, do you kiss him just to put yourself out of your misery? 

Or…do you do nothing? Do you just grab that glass of water and leave? Do you just shake your head at your own delusions, turn around, and pretend this never happened?

You don’t realise you’ve been pacing until the door swings open.

Your breath catches your throat.

There he is, leaning on the doorframe with his white t-shirt crinkled and his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is a little frazzled, sticking up in numerous ways that suggest he’s been tossing and turning just as much as you. And the bags under his eyes are dark and heavy, proof that he isn’t sleeping either.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and husky as he looks down at you.

You freeze, shock seeping into your veins as you look up at him.

“I…” Your throat is dry. You force yourself to swallow, slowly wrapping your arms around yourself, “I can’t sleep.”

Tim exhales, his eyes softening as he tilts his head, “The couch sucks, huh?”

You shift under his gaze, feeling small and you sheepishly nod your head, “I’m too used to sleeping in my bed,” You don’t mention that he’s the reason you can’t sleep- that he’s been the poison in your bloodstream tonight.

Tim watches you for a beat longer, then sighs, “Get in here,” He mutters, stepping back to allow space for your entrance.

Your eyes widen, “…What?”

He raises an eyebrow as if daring you to argue, “I’m not repeating myself.” He nods towards his bed, “It’s big enough for the both of us. I’m not letting you suffer out there all night.” And he’s looking at you in a way that means business…like he’s serious.

…Oh.

Oh.

He is serious. 

He, Tim Bradford - the man you hate the most - wants you in his bed.

You hesitate, trying to ignore the way your heart hammers so quickly in your chest that you can hear it in your ears. You step inside.

His room is hard to study in the darkness, but from what you can see from the Moonlight’s glow that seeps through the curtains, it’s clean, tidy, and smells even more like him. But when the door clicks shut behind you, the room suddenly feels smaller like the walls have drawn in, and the air, though cold, is thicker…charged with something you don’t want to name yet. 

Tim moves first, his body on auto-pilot as he climbs into the left side of the bed- the side clearly being titled his from where the mattress is already dipped in the shape of him.

Your chest tightens. You only sleep on the right.

You follow, slipping beneath the covers, sighing in relief at how warm the sheets are- not like the scorching air outside or what your apartment’s bed would’ve been like, but the kind of warmth that makes you want to sink in and never leave. You make sure to keep a solid foot of space between you and him as you lay flat on your back, arms pinned to your sides, eyes locked on the ceiling. 

You beg yourself to not even breathe- hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, every heartbeat to the point that you can't speak.

30 minutes...maybe 1 hour passes and fuck, you don’t know which is worse to sleep in: the couch or his bed. 

Because just like out there, you aren’t falling asleep anytime soon. 

Not when he’s right there, his body heating the space between you two, his steady, sleepy breaths filling the silence. 

Carefully, you turn your head, just to get a glimpse of him. And the moment your eyes land on him, your heart stumbles over itself.

He’s the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him. 

Lying on his side, facing you, the usual sternness in his features has softened, his narrowed frown no longer exists in this night. As if sleep has peeled back a layer of him you’ve never seen before, you notice he looks younger like this…innocent, if anything. Breathing in and out through his nose, one of his hands is tucked under his pillow, the other, outreached just beside you.

You turn away, a blush rushing to your cheeks.

You shift. 

It’s not intentional- you just can’t lie on your back any longer. And if Tim’s comfortable, then maybe you can be too. Maybe, this doesn’t have to be a big deal, despite the tension in your body still being unbearable. 

So, as naturally as you can, you roll over, turning onto your side, your back facing him. 

And that’s when it happens. 

Your foot brushes against his.

It’s the lightest, most fleeting touch, but it’s enough to send a violent shiver up your spine and steal the air from your lungs, rooting you in place.

“Fuck, I am so sorry-“

Expecting him to be asleep, your heart lurches forward when he exhales sharply, in a way that’s exasperated and amused, “You need to relax,” He grumbles, his voice gravelly low, feeling his eyes staring into the back of your head.

You scoff quietly, forcing your muscles to unclench, “Yeah, well, how would you like me to do that? It’s not everyday you sleep with someone as insufferable as y-“

He shuffles, a shift in his weight…and then his hand finds your waist. 

It happens in one swift, effortless motion, like it’s the most natural thing in the world he could’ve done to you-

He pulls you into him.

You barely have time to process it before your back is pressed against his radiating solid body, his arm locked securely around your waist. 

And God. You. Feel. Everything. 

Starting from the heat of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath and how his exhales ghost onto the nape of your neck, gentle yet ticklish enough to make you shudder.

“Jesus,” He mutters, his voice still raspy yet breathy enough that you shiver from the warmth directly blowing in your ear. “You are so damn tense.” 

Then, like it’s nothing, like it’s normal- his fingers ever so gracefully trace circles into your waist. He dips his head closer to your mess of hair, though that’s the last of his worries. “Stop fighting it.”

It’s not a command, not really- it’s something else. Something raw. Something vulnerable. And it wrecks you. It’s like he’s just as tired of this push and pull as you are.

Like he’s been fighting it as much as you have, since tonight…maybe since the station where he invited you…perhaps, since the day he met you.

You swallow hard and your fingers grip the sheets, your chest hammering so loudly you’re sure he can feel it against his own. 

Despite your thoughts demanding you pull away, you find your body pressing against him, craving more of his comfort, “This doesn’t mean I like you.” You mutter, your voice embarrassingly unsteady.

Behind you, Tim huffs a quiet laugh, almost smug, “Yeah,” His embrace tightens and he nuzzles closer to where his lips graze your hair, lingering- tempted, but waiting. Instead, he allows for the warmth of your figure under his arms to take him back to a place of home he hasn’t quite felt in a long time. “Me neither.”

A grin plays upon your lips, and finally, you feel your eyes give way.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son Navigation | A Regulus Black Series

Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

Warnings: Story is not canon compliant. Includes time jumps. Magic lore is altered/not compliant with canon HP series.

Status: Completed (03.14.23 - 04.24.23)

Main Masterlist

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX (Epilogue)

[caileeflavoured]

nothing but the night, the fire, and our burning desire

ser criston cole x fem!reader

© glodessa 2022, do not repost, modify or translate!

synopsis: The last night before your wedding with the man you were promised to turns out to be spend in the arms of another.

a/n: i hate how this turned out but whatever. also i got this idea before ep 4 so this isn’t me rewriting the scene, this is my mind being connected to that of the writers lol i lost it when i saw that scene. anyways, hope you like this better than i do. enjoy! <3

warnings: SMUT, piv (no protection), fingering, handjob, very sensual tbh idk how to feel about it

wc: 3k

HOTD MASTERLIST • MAIN MASTERLIST

The soft glow of dusk slowly disappearing beneath the horizon far behind the great walls of Dragonstone cast your lonely bedroom in dim yet warm light. And so your last day as an unwed woman would come to an end sooner than you’d expected it to. Sooner than you’d wanted it to.

The last day of your freedom. And yet it felt so strangely mundane.

Lees verder

[djohours]

Hi lovely. How about billy in the middle of the night breathing into your ear moaning about how horny he is for you. You end up riding Billy’s HUGE dick. You are trying to ride him but he’s so huge, eventually he’s becomes impatient and he grabs your hips and pushes you fully onto his cock, it feels so good that you instantly squirt on his cock. He becomes so feral after that that he takes matters into his own hands and fucks up into you till you squirting again and again trying to his release😮‍💨

sorry this took so long to fill 🙈

Billy’s painfully hard. He was trying to fall asleep but his mind kept flooding with dirty thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes he’s picturing you riding him, tits bouncing and your head thrown back with unbelievably obscene sounds pouring out if you. He peers over to see you sleeping soundly on your back and he can’t help himself, he just has to wake you up.

He turns on his side and starts kissing your shoulder, up your neck and then biting your earlobe. You stir slightly so he wraps his arm around your waist and presses his boner against your side. Billy groans lowly at the bit of relief, right in your ear.

“Babe,” he breathes, squeezing your hip. “Wake up.”

You sleepily moan, turning on your side and pressing your ass against him. He groans again, unable to help his hips from writhing against you. You are awake but you know it would be much more fun to get Billy as desperate as possible. He bleeds frustration, grabbing onto your waist and grinds harder against your ass. You bite your lip to hold back the eruption of giggles bubbling up your throat, bringing your hand to your face.

Billy groans into your ear, “I’m so fucking hard for you, baby…”

His words excite you and you’re unable to stifle the flattered moan, reaching your hand back to knot your fingers in his curls. You feel him smile against your ear, and now he knows you’re awake, he slips his hand into your underwear. He lets out a husky laugh, right in your ear, as he feels how soaking wet you are.

“Such a little tease,” he growls, pulling your panties down. You help kick them off and turn around to face him, grabbing a hold of his jaw and pulling his lips to yours. He lays on his back, pulling you on top of him as he licks into your mouth. Billy’s making all kinds of pretty noises, they make you feel giddy and proud. You wanna hear him make those noises all day.

“I need you on my cock,” he pleads, grabbing onto your ass and pathetically rocks his hips up at you.

“I can’t say no to you,” you purr from above him, raising up on your knees to get his underwear off of him.

His cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. He grunts out softly, his hands gripping onto your thighs and squeezing the flesh. You giggle, taking him in your hands and attempting to line him up with your entrance. You always struggled with this part, Billy was just too big and you couldn’t ever get the angle right. You stick your tongue out to the corner of your mouth, lowering yourself slowly but it’s not quite right so you lift your hips again. You hear how Billy exhales in frustration, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying again and this time you’re more successful. You slide a few inches of him in, gasping as you do so and Billy groans lowly.

“Come on, baby,” he purrs, “you can take more.”

You whine back, “I’m trying. You’re so big.”

Billy’s giving you more patience than his body wants, he stills his hips and keeps his hands on your ankles. It’s taking everything in him not to grab a hold of your hips and slam his entire cock inside you. He bites his lip as you bounce slowly on top of him, barely taking any of his length as you continuously falter and have to readjust yourself. It’s doesn’t help that you’re not that athletic, your thighs and calves ache already and you’ve barely done anything.

“Try harder,” he orders, moving his hands to your hips so he can help guide you better. It’s no use though, you make little frustrated humphs each time you lose your rhythm. Billy might actually be upset if you weren’t so adorable. He moves his hand up so he can start playing with your clit in attempt to see if that’ll encourage you further. It works briefly but you get a little too distracted by it and the pace you were riding his cock at dwindles down until your leaning back, absolutely still with just his tip inside you.

“Fuck it,” Billy curses, he’s been patient enough and can’t take anymore. He grabs onto your hips firmly and pulls you back down until he’s balls deep. The sudden sensation causes you to yelp and shocking you both, you squirt all over him. The two of you stare at each other wide-eyed for a moment until lust completely takes him over, holding you steady while he thrusts up, relentlessly fucking into your hole. You cry out and it seems like an endless stream, pouring out on his stomach. Billy grunts, eyes taking in the sight of you repeatedly coming undone atop him. He’s a little shocked watching in awe as his thrusts slow to a stop and your eyes open again, looking down at him offended.

“Don’t stop, Billy,” you whimper out, writhing against him to satisfy your desires.

He smirks up at you but doesn’t move his hips. No, he wants you to do the work, wants to see you desperate on his cock. He places his hands on your thighs and beams up at you, “If you want it so bad then take it.”

You give a small whine of protest but you do listen to him, bouncing up and down on him but it’s not the same, it doesn’t feel as good as when he does it. You can never get the angle just right. Nevertheless, you keep trying as you place your hands on his chest and ignore the burning in your thighs.

“Help me,” you beg, pouting your lower lip out.

Billy can’t say no to you, plus the way your tits move with you and the feeling of your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock bring his own orgasm closer and he can’t really control himself anymore. He grabs onto your ass and holds you up, bucking his hips up so he can drill into your hole as hard and fast as he wants. His breathing increases, little moans falling out of his lips as he nears his climax. Simultaneously, he shoots his load up into you as you squirt all over him again.

You collapse on his chest in a heap of pants and cries, grabbing onto his sweat soaked curls. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes tight, finally able to fall asleep.

[cabinofimagines]

The Only Choice

Fluff | Smut | Angst

Warnings: Explicit sex scenes, Spanking, Swearing (as always bc it’s me).

Summary:

You’ve been best friends with Percy Jackson for as long as you can remember. But when your former friend Annabeth gains feelings for him, it affects your relationship with each of them greatly.

Part one

.

.

13 days. It had been 13 godforsaken days since you spoke to your best friend Percy Jackson. Two weeks since you got in an argument about said boy always putting you second in everything when you have always put him first. You had actively been ignoring him since that evening, partly because you were embarrassed on how you handled your outburst and partly because you knew his answer already. You had caught him off guard and he failed to produce an answer in a situation like that, he didn’t even try to form an explanation. So you left.

He had tried to talk to you various times, at dinner, in your cabin, when you hung out with your friends, and even at your mandatory duties when you couldn’t run away and leave your post. Each time you managed to evade him in the weirdest of ways, at one point you almost sprained your ankle when you tried to dart out of an escape hatch in bunker nine after he found you hanging with Leo. You didn’t want to talk to him anymore, hoping that the longer you were away from him the faster your feelings would disappear into thin air, but it only got worse.

Your heart was hurting you couldn’t stand the thought of him with Annabeth. There was no point in him talking to you, you knew he would only try to explain how he wasn’t replacing you with Annabeth and how they’d been friends since they were 12, but you weren’t blind. You saw the way she looked at him with longing, you saw how much she wanted him, how much she wanted him to be hers. Just like you.

You couldn’t stand it, you’d been in love with him way longer, but she just comes in and kisses him like it’s no big deal. You thought the two of you were friends, she knew about your crush on your best friend and she still kissed him.

It was now two weeks after that argument when you went to find her, only wanting to know why she did what she did. You trusted her, she was your friend once before and you trusted her not to go after the one guy you told her you genuinely like. You were getting heated just thinking about it, especially since she acted on it and took the one joy you had in this sad life as a demigod.

You found her at the arena, marching right up to her as she was strapping on armor to spar with her sibling Malcolm. You didn’t bother to ask if you could borrow her for a moment, but instead, you pulled her to the side, asking her calmly, “Why did you kiss Percy?”.

Annabeth looked at you with sorry eyes, “Y/n… “ she spoke softly, “I thought you’d understand. I- I thought you understand how much I want to be with him. I thought you’d want him to be happy, that you’d want me to be happy.”

You laughed at her, “You fucking precious bitch.” You gave her a deadpan stare, tonguing the inside of your cheek in irritation. You enunciated her exact words back to her in an unbelieving tone, “You thought I’d understand how happy you’d be with him?” You didn’t wait for an answer, “The only thing I’m understanding is the fact that you’re a two-faced cunt who went after the only guy I actually cared for.”

She winced at your tone, trying to shush you while trying to defuse the situation before someone else caught on and began spreading rumors. She shook her head at you, eyebrows scrunched together as she tried to remain calm, but her cool was cracking quickly, “I’m sorry, I can’t control how I feel–”

“Fuck you,” you spat with fire in your eyes, “You knew how much I love him and you still chased after him.” You took a deep and shaky breath, “We used to be such good friends before this, what the hell, Annie?”

She looked away at the mention of her nickname, almost as if she were ashamed of what she has done.

You didn’t even notice how close you were getting until you were right in her face, faces only a few inches apart from one another, “Had I known that you’d be such a lying miserable little bitch–”

“Hey!” She shouted in your face, hand coming up to grab your shirt and jerk you forward. She glared at you like you were one of the monsters that attack your kind, she was getting ready to throw you around right when someone intervened.

Percy jumped in between you both, pushing you both away from each other and exchanging cautious looks with both you and Annabeth. He locked eyes with you, sea green eyes searching your own, but you hadn’t stopped glaring back at the blonde girl across from you. He reached over to you, grabbing both of your arms and quietly saying your name in order to break your concentration on the other female. You attempted to jerk away from him, but he tightened his hold on you, focused on getting you out of this situation before it escalated further.

“Let go of me, Perseus.” You growled lowly, craning your head to give Annabeth one last hateful glare.

He ignored you and instead tugged you along to the closest place of solitude, his cabin. You fought him the entire way there, shoving and kicking to get away from him and back to the arena to take out all of your pent up frustrations on Annabeth. It wasn’t until he shut the door behind him when you stopped fighting so much, a little tired from all of your struggles.

You glanced up at him quickly to see him rubbing his temples with closed eyes, clearly trying to clear his mind in order to form a coherent thought. You felt a part of yourself wanting to go ask him how you could help and if he wanted to drown his worries with popcorn and Finding Nemo. But then you realized that you were the reason he was massaging his temples right now.

He opened his eyes to find you staring at him just before you averted your gaze to the old floorboards beneath you. He watched with sad eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest defensively. Percy quietly shuffled over to you, both hands coming up to cup your face and thumbs smoothing over the apples of your cheeks.

“Please… talk to me.”

You pulled your face away from his grasp, pushing him away from you silently and turning to leave. You couldn’t stay like this, your emotions were close to detonation and Percy should not be in range, he couldn’t be.

He reacted swiftly, reaching out to grab your hand in desperation, “Y/n at least look at me!” He cried out, “Just please… please.”

You halted for a moment, chest aching at the sound of his broken voice pleading with you to stay. You couldn’t stay though, you just couldn’t.

You jerked away from him once more without further interference, hand successfully wrapping around the doorknob. Then you were tugged back to him, his big hand wrapped around yours as you collided into his broad chest. You let out a growl of frustration, pushing him off of you almost immediately, effectively throwing him backward a few steps.

“What’s your problem, Y/n?” He yelled, his anger peeking through finally.

You retaliate instantly, ”The fact that you always choose your fucking backstabbing girlfriend over me who you’ve known since gods know when!”

His eyes flashed dangerously, “She’s not my fucking girlfriend.”

You scoff and jerk your hand away from him, hating how much you longed for his touch. All you really wanted to do was to cling on to him, to cry out and ask him, beg him not to leave you behind, but you were so much better than that. “Might as well be,” your own voice was faltering now, ”I’m sure she makes you pretty damn happy.”

He shook his head, fingers trailing up to his scalp and tugging at the ebony strands, “Fuck Y/n, you have it all wrong!” You rolled your eyes, “I think it’s crystal clear how you both feel so I’ll just leave you both alone from now on.”

You turn to leave once more without anyone stopping you, but right as your hand was about to touch the doorknob you heard him yell in frustration, “Gods fucking dammit.”

Next thing you know you were pinned against the door of cabin three.

His ebony hair was in messy disarray, sea green eyes dark with lust, and hot breath fanning over you. His chest was heaving and occasionally brushing against your own. His eyes were searching your eyes for any discomfort before they trailed down to your lips and lingered there.

“Sometimes you really piss me off.”

You didn’t say a word back to him, still in shock that you were in this position, hands pinned above your head as Percy Jackson stared down at your lips with dark eyes. You gulped, waiting for his eyes to come back to your own, but they never did.

He smashed his lips against your own, teeth grazing your bottom lip causing you to shudder involuntarily. He withdrew for a moment, gauging your reaction before he continued, this time pressing his body against your own and wedging his thigh between your own legs. One of his hands let one of your own go, trailing down your side to your hip, massaging the skin there tenderly.

You gasped, his lips leaving your own and going towards your jawline and trailing up to your ear, “Percy…” You whimpered out, his lips attaching to your jugular and leaving what is sure to be prominent marks.

He growled out, pecking the marks he left, “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mumbled while he moved to your collarbones, “gods I want to know what you taste like.” This caused you to groan out, freehand coming to the hairs and the nape of his neck, tangling with them.

He broke away from you completely and removed your shirt in haste, your polka dot bra didn’t faze him in the slightest. One hand went behind your back to unlatch your bra while the other played with your covered breast, “I tried to fucking tell you how I felt but you just didn’t want to hear it.”

You arched your back to accommodate him, scoffing and rolling your eyes at his words, “You can’t blame me.” Your bra came undone with a click, lowering your arms so that it tapered off into the floor. This was one of your many fantasies with him, his hands wandering over your skin, his mouth leaving many different marks of all shapes and sizes across your skin, showing everyone in camp who you were to the son of the sea god.

He bit his lip, hoisting both of your legs around his waist like it was nothing but a paperweight, “Shut up and kiss me.” He grunted, slamming his mouth back to your own, grinding against you so much that you began to feel his bulge rubbing against your core. A confident smirk slipped across his swollen lips just as he pulled away just long enough to find the button of your jean shorts, popping them open and dragging the zipper down quickly.

You leaned forward to capture his lips once more, your heart pounding out of your chest, you wondered if he could hear it. The sweet but salty taste of his lips was incredibly intoxicating, each taste you got only left you wanting more, wondering how anything could ever taste this good.

His slender fingers drifted underneath the elastic of your underwear and found their way to your core, his chilling touch leaving goosebumps across your skin. His kisses grew deeper as trailed his fingers over your slit, collecting all of your arousal and releasing a low groan. His forehead rested against your own, both of you panting from the lack of air. His eyes were hazy with lust, biting his bottom lip, letting a single digit dip into your heat quickly to test out how wet you really were, “Fuck baby girl,” he cooed at you, the pet name sounding so right rolling off of his tongue, “all of this for me?”

You watch with hooded eyes as he retracted his hand slowly, inserting the finger in his mouth and tasting you all while he looked straight into your eyes. You whined quietly, the sight shooting heat straight to your core, gods you needed some type of friction. You press your hips into his, collecting a hiss from him, his finger slipping out of his mouth with a pop.

He dropped you suddenly, your legs falling from their place around his hips and to the floor beneath. You probably would have fallen had it not been for the strong arm he had latched around your waist, tugging you upright and toward his chest. He cocked his head to the side signaling the bed which was a few strides away, “Go spread your pretty legs for me, huh?”

You did as told, almost running to the bed and leaping onto it because you were so excited. Your eyes connected with his approaching form, large hands removing his shirt and revealing a toned work of art. You bit your lip at the sight, parting your legs for the male before you. His hands then moved to the hem of his sweats, stepping out of them and casting them aside before he pushed your shoulders back into the bed, mouth coming to your nipples and sucking harshly.

You arched your back and let out a low moan, fingers threading through his dark hair and gripping the roots for support. He playfully nipped at your sensitive bud, toying the other between his calloused fingers. He released with a pop only a few moments later, the chill air making sudden contact with the wet skin caused you to flinch slightly. He trailed his lips down your stomach, sucking marks into the skin above your pelvis as he pulled your shorts and underwear down your legs before discarding them to some unknown corner of the room.

As he raised his head to look down at the new bits of skin, he paused. He played with his bottom lip, licking it quickly before biting down, his gaze never leaving your slick lips while his hand continued massaging your breast. You began to feel nervous underneath his gaze, both hands coming down quickly to cover your most intimate parts up. He was shocked to say the least, glancing back up at you swiftly before removing your hands with own, intertwining one of your hands with his, “I want to see all of you.” He stated simply.

He leaned up and gave you a quick pick on the lips, taking you completely off guard. Before you could further question his actions he was between your thighs, lapping at your core hungrily. You gripped the navy bedspread beneath you, moaning out his name loudly between pants. If Percy hadn’t taken your breath away before this encounter, he was making absolutely sure that he was now. He traced a slender digit around your entrance teasingly just before he dipped it inside of your heat. Your breath hitched, stuttering madly as he pushed in and out of you slowly, outlining your clit with the tip of his tongue and attaching his lips to the bundle of nerves.

You hiss and sputter out curses, “Dammit Perce stop teasing me.” You were so needy for his touch. You hadn’t been able to touch him for weeks, thinking you’ll never get to see him again after Annabeth stole him from you, or she tried at least. In the midst of your actions you felt yourself grow smug because here was the boy, you two were fighting over, fucking you.

He chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body and eliciting yet another hum of pleasure from you. Your plea, however, did not faze him one bit as he only added in another finger, stretching you out while licking stripes over your core.

“You taste even sweeter than I imagined, damn I could get used to this.” He mused to himself, suckling on your clit and causing your mouth to form an ‘o’ shape. In goes another finger, curling up and brushing your g-spot in the most euphoric way, winding up the coil in your stomach. You couldn’t even get a word out, choking on your moans as he relentlessly thrust in and out of you, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive clit.

You were getting close to your climax, getting more and more vocal the more he pushed you to the edge. He sped up intentionally, wanting to get you as close as possible just so he could pull away and deny you your orgasm. Just as you whimpered out a warning, he pulled away with a lopsided smirk covering his tan features, “You’re not coming until I’m inside you, I wanna feel that pretty pussy around me when you come.”

HIs dirty words softened your anger towards him, still upset that he pulled away right when you were about to fall over the edge. You went to crawl towards him, fingertips brushing over the strained material of his black boxer briefs ad palming his length through them. He let out a hiss, hand catching your wrist and meeting your lustful gaze with a hazy but warning look.

You pressed on, jerking your hand free and pulling down the elastic to free his erection, springing free and slapping against his stomach. He let out a throaty groan, sea green eyes squeezed shut as the cold air of the cabin made contact with his throbbing member. You took him in your hands, spreading the precum leaking out over his tip, moving your hands up and down the member.

His eyes flashed open, pushing you back onto the sheets suddenly, he positioned himself at your entrance, connecting his lips with yours just as he pushed himself inside of you slowly. You whimpered and gripped onto his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his hips, urging him to keep moving. You could taste yourself on his lips as he kissed you, but you couldn’t understand what he was talking about when he was talking about your taste.

He started off slow and only began picking up the pace when you hissed at him to move faster, your hooded eyes flashing with need. You ran your hands over the panels of his chest, years of training has proven to work, all the proof is right under your fingertips. He ground into you, one arm supporting himself above you while the other slipped underneath your back, embracing you flush against him. You met each of his thrusts with your own, wanting more than he was currently giving you.

You growled and twisted your hips so that you were riding him, further turning him on when you started to bounce on him as fast as your body would allow. His hands went straight to your ass, fondling the skin while he assisted you in your mission to set the pace you needed. Your hands were stilling exploring his chest, one occasionally slipping up to his neck to his ebony locks.

He felt so good inside of you, brushing your walls in such a euphoric way it was intoxicating. You clenched around him, causing him to hiss and leave a stinging sensation on your ass. He spanked you a few more times, gripping the flesh and soothing it afterward, causing a stream of swears to leave your lips. When you began growing tired, slowing your pace and slowly slipping down to his chest, he halted your movements and pulled out momentarily.

He flipped you over, pushing your upper body into the mattress and lifting your backside upwards. He stood in his knees behind you, wasting no more time by slipping in and continuing at the original fast pace you had set. You let out a gasp, turning your head to watch him pound into from behind, his thick brows scrunched together while he focused explicitly on pleasing you.

He met your own eyes, watching you intently as he leaned forwards and snaked an arm beneath your stomach, fingers finding your clit once more and playing with it roughly. You couldn’t help the needy whimpers that escaped your mouth, “P-Percy, I’m getting–” He interrupted with his own grunts, the way you were squeezing him was bringing him to the edge as well, “Fuck, I know baby.”

His thrusts grew erratic as he began losing control over himself, wanting to reach that high alongside you. With a few more thrusts you came undone with him following shortly after, both of you moaning out the others names save for a few swears here and there. Percy hadn’t pulled out though, he was milking this feeling, the feeling of your walls contracting around him as his seed began to drip out of your entrance.

You pulled away from him, wobbly legs making the attempt to turn around so much harder. Once finally facing him you gripped his bicep, catching his attention right away, “Does this mean we can go back to talking?” He asked innocently, drastically different from how he was just acting. You were stunned and slightly hurt, thinking that he just slept with you to get you to talk to him.

“Go back…?”

He nodded, eyes wide as he reached out to wrap your naked body in his embrace, “I missed you so much…” when he noticed how tense you were he sighed deeply, “It was always you, y’know. I never even considered Annabeth as a girlfriend.” You relaxed a little, cocking your brow curiously, urging him to go on with a nod of your head.

“I distanced myself because I didn’t think you felt the same way, but when you got mad at me that day for putting you second… I was…stunned speechless.” He paused, nuzzling his nose into your neck, “I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

You sighed, hand coming up to stroke his hair comfortingly, choosing your words carefully, “I felt like I wasn’t important to you, Perce.” You closed your eyes as he peppered your neck with more kisses, the front of his messy locks brushing your neck softly. You never wanted to feel like you weren’t important again because you were just as valid as everyone else. There was no reason for him to make you feel that way.

“Let’s try out ‘us’,” You spoke slowly, watching as his head lifted up swiftly and his eyes twinkling in hope, “But I’m not a second choice, I won’t ever be second again, okay?”

He grinned widely, letting out a chuckle as he kissed you deeply, “Never again, promise!” You smiled at his words, pecking his nose softly as he continued, “You’re the only choice.”

.

.

.

.

.

-Day

[twitchydownfall]

The Glory Hole

5.5k words worth pure smut over 'ere, get yer smut over 'ere!

Summary: NEWTS are coming and all she wanted was to have a little alone time in the chaos of everyone preparing for the exams, no matter how exhausted she was.

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC x Sebastian Sallow

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit af, semi-public, oral sex(men recieving), unprotected PiV sex, rough sex, untranslated parseltongue

Unfortunately for every student within Hogwarts, a time would come in which one would be drowning underneath the increased workload and of course, incoming NEWTS. 

And the Hero of Hogwarts, with all her experiences against Ashwinders, acromantulas, and squashing a Goblin Rebellion under her belt at the very least, was not exempt from following the others in cramming and outright stressing. All previous exams being child splay compared to the final tests in standardized schooling, the facts spilled from teachers' lips about how long their own exams were to be as they outright spat out questions that she was definitely sure she wasn't there for from earlier years, she was burdened with finally catching up to the rest on practicals. 

And she was so tired, words swimming across the pages as her hand attempted to permanently ache from the notes, at least nobody was awake enough to tease when she was caught tripping over those camping around her Common Room, her dorm, and in the library too often from little sleep and resisting food comas in the few moments many experienced pretending to not worry in the Great Hall. 

It was officially the longest she had sat at a desk without stretching her legs, not even during the double periods in class did anyone remain sitting perfectly still as she had been, hunched over donated notes and old textbooks. Excusing herself for the bathroom, earning a scrape across her knee from tripping over a sleeping Ominis that had been half-hidden behind a neglected shelf in the Library nearby, she left Sebastian to continue his attempts to cast the blasting curse with only his eyes at his papers and heaved a sigh of relief as the library doors went out of view. 

Curtains on her poster bed ripped open by equally sleep-deprived dormmates at all hours as they asked for something or threw their recently used notes at her, the bathrooms were frequently used for breakdowns or motivational speeches in the mirror. 

She had been waiting for this all week, scheduled and researched thoroughly. 

With a completely free morning on Thursday for those taking double Charms and then Arthimacy with so many else still in classes elsewhere an hour before lunch, a majority of her Arthimacy class had been camped out in the Library or probably hiding in the crannies of their Common Room for silence, bathrooms left empty for her to finally not feel her mood be ruined by how savage she had to rip her hand out of pajamas or by sobbing in the next stall over. 

Even though she hoped that this would be the ultimate pick-me-up, stress disappearing as she felt refreshed, realistically she'd probably be slumped over the toilet for a surprise nap afterward like her name was Leander. 

Sluggishly grasping at the door handle as she rubbed at her blearily eyes still adjusting in the dark dungeon, the door with its outline swung shut behind her. Nobody would go this far, at least.

Choosing the stall second from last and knocking the seat down to sit perfectly, her head awkwardly laying back onto the back of the clump of ceramic, there was no teasing build up as she merely popped a finger into her mouth, legs spreading as she went down the waistband of her tight pants and bloomers to rub slow small circles on her poor neglected clit. 

Too exhausted to even check the sizing of her clothes that morning in the mess that made up her dresser, these ones were too tight and she wiggled helplessly to push them down further. 

Usual fire dulled by her tiredness but she could feel the tension leaving her shoulders as time went on, soft sighs as her fingers brushed against her hole in their long strokes, her need growing finally without being ruined and she only could just find the energy to fantasize about her favorite two oblivious darlings and best friends. Terrorized by their closeness and easily distracted by their nature, she was tired and confident enough to not have her ears prickled for footsteps or for the whooshing of a troublesome poltergeist, their names about to slip from her mouth as the bathroom door opened. 

"She probably went to go nap in her own bed after using the restroom, Ominis. Stop being such a grump," Sebastian's voice echoed off the tiles, tap water running as he immediately went to the sink and splashed water on his own sleepy face. 

Freezing completely in the stall, her body unfortunately responding as her mind attempted to go wild at what would happen if she was found, she held her breath as the blond Slytherin sighed in aggravation and she watched hypnotized, his shadow pacing back and forth along the stalls. Silently panicking and her skin outright feeling on fire for the proximity with her hand buried between her legs, the realization had her stifling a groan. 

She was so tired that she walked right into the boys bathroom. 

"She could have at least said something to me." 

"Said sorry, didn't she?" 

"That's not what I meant and you know it," the Ominis sniffed indignantly, Sebastian huffing a sigh of his own. She could picture him perfectly rolling his eyes, half a smirk stretched across his face as he debated causing trouble. 

"Either way, I don't believe you've ever been so unlucky in your life. I had to sit on the other side of the table, else I'd have been staring at her legs all morning. You could've had a perfect view pretending to nap from your little hiding spot if you could see." 

"What do you mean?" Suspicious and pausing in his pacing, his curiosity had been piqued and both parties could hear Sebastian's grin alone. 

"Must've been her old uniform from fifth year, because her pants were almost skin tight. I could see the outline of her little bloomers when she'd go to the bookshelves," he crowed, the sound of him being slapped never coming when he typically revealed his lecherous side to her surprise. "I wish you could have seen it too, she has really filled out." 

Holding her breath as she awaited for at least a lecture, it never came. Instead, Ominis hummed thoughtfully, his voice quiet as though they were whispering conspiracies. "Describe it to me?" 

And it felt as though ice cubes were sliding down her shirt in her shock, her veins electrified. Slightly humiliated from being spoken of in such a manner by her dearest friends and very much turned on by what will be their true thoughts, some sort of barrier between her and the two for what she assumed was simply for being opposite genders was in fact between from their lust, the hitch at the end of the Gaunt's question being followed by a deep chuckle from Sebastian.

"She's all woman, Ominis. Her calves are so shapely that I'm not sure if they'd be firm or soft from all her running around, but her thighs? Oh merlin, her thighs. They're properly thick and look so soft. She was bouncing her leg at one point and all I could think of was if either of us could imitate that pace without her screaming, and how they'd look covered in little marks." 

She could hear the pure lust in his voice, the blind friend letting out a little strangle from the back of his throat as he returned to his pacing. 

"Do you want me to hide your wand this weekend? I can pretend to be busy so she'll escort you around for some last-minute errands you forgot about, and maybe you can accidentally sit too close to her, search for the table at the Three Broomsticks and accidentally grab her thigh?" The sputtered strangle was much louder this time, Sebastian chuckling and relishing in the flushed appearance of his dormmate and friend, who was still struggling to find a response as he leaned against the sink with his arms crossed. "Unlike you, I can see how much you want it."

"And what, I suppose you're completely unaffected?" Sarcastic yet ignored like usual. 

"Not at all. Anything to do with her, I'm struggling to hide my hard-on from everyone. Maybe I should live in my cloak like you do, or maybe we should start putting an effort in hiding them in her."

"Sebastian, we agreed - "

"Yes yes, I know. Still going to steal your wand now." 

"Don't you dare, I will hex you into next week! Where do you think you're going!?" 

Chuckling even more as he walked past the blond to the stall at the end of the bathroom, she tensed once again. Hand over mouth tightly as her legs were lifted onto the seat and spread as far as possible, fingers eagerly attacking her hole and dying to know what they agreed on as she questioned just how many of their touches weren't so accidental over the years now, she lowered her legs back to the ground at his almost bitter sounding words. 

"To take care of my problem, of course. Unlike you, I need a release after being teased all morning." 

Her wand was pulled from her pocket before she knew it, carefully leaning to sit on the edge of the toilet to press it against the wooden divider. 

Ever so curious and justifying it by the fact that he just planned for their friend to grope her, her clothes shuffling on the floor would tell Ominis that someone else was here and if she truly ducked to sneak a peek under the stall, there was the chance he would see her. After all, someone must have snuck a felix felicis into her veins with her current lucky streak. 

Channeling her ancient magic, the talent second nature at this point for small tasks, burning a hole into the wood was easy as Sebastian busied himself with freeing himself and spitting on his hand several times, her immediately slapping a hand over it as Ominis made a noise of surprise. 

"What is that smell?" He questioned, leaning against the stalls as Sebastian took a moment to sniff the air as well.

She could only silently curse herself, standing up quietly and pressing her body against her hand just in case. Luck clearly having run out too fast, jinxing herself, she hadn't even seen a glimpse of anything besides the wallpaper. 

"Oh, somebody just made a glory hole," Sebastian almost cheered, his fingers tapping against her palm. The excitement was clear in his voice as he shuffled around in his stall to stand next to it properly, the blond Slytherin only cocking his head and questioning what it was. "Hm? Oh - uh, it is a.. hole, where - okay look, don't judge me. I've been to one in the Hogs Head before, alright? Typically in the bathroom, someone puts a hole in the stall and.. a man inserts themselves for pleasure. You never even know who is on the other side!" 

His words only sent a panicking jolt down to her loins, her free hand sliding back into her pants playing with her slit entirely as she listened and silently debated it, just as Ominis's breath hitched. "Are you certain you don't know," he asked lowly, and normally as an expert of all things about the two young men on the outside of her stall, she could recognize the dripping suspicion and pure distrust. 

But there was something else entirely in his tone at the familiar red blinking of his wand through the cracks that had her irked. 

Despite his uncomfortableness though, something had replaced Sebastian's fingers in pushing against her hand. Something with a blunt head and a touch wet on its tip that had her rubbing her legs together in nerves, heartbeat in her ears as her mouth felt too wet and dry all at once. 

"Completely. Unless they want to let you know. So stranger, would you be okay with giving me a little lick?" 

"Sebastian!" 

"I know exams are getting to you too, so just one little lick.. and then you can press yourself up against the wall." 

"Goodness me, will you take a second and - " 

"A-Ah.." Silenced by Sebastian's gasp, Ominis froze in place as she softly licked at the brunet's weeping tip. Slowly with soft smacks as she tried to compare the taste, the more focus she gave to his soft tip, the more her cunt cried out from neglect. Convinced by his filthy mouth that sounded so needy and desperate, she had agreed that it would be just one little lick. 

And then it was another. 

And another. 

Suddenly her lips were wrapped around his cock's head, her arse back half on the toilet as she tried to keep her feet on her side of the stall, listening to the soft sounds coming from his throat as his hands found the top of the divider. Wood creaking under his grip, his hips naturally bucked against it in an attempt to push more into her mouth, the barrier holding him back as he moaned pitifully for more. 

"Is she..." the blond couldn't even finish his words once more, his wand unlocking Sebastian's stall to wave over the small space in fascination. 

"Y-Yes, doing such a good job too," the brunet cooed, his words slurring as he could feel his stress ease away. "C'mon, you think you can take a little more, darling? Or are you going to press your pretty little hole to the wall for me to fuck now? Final year is so stressful, I want - want to make you feel good, too. S'good, when I stretch you out with my f-fat cock. You'll cum for me, won't you?" 

Taking a deep shuttering breath around his length as she ground against her hand, face burning, she decided right then that he at least wouldn't leave until he couldn't say anything filthy anymore. 

"Such a good little thing, aren't you?" He moaned when she began to slowly bob her head, taking her time with a swipe of her tongue over the tip each time she drew back and when her mouth was filled again, going a little further than before. "Fuck, I - I really needed this.. thank you, thank you! That's it, take it all baby - "

And with a sudden yelp, he was pulled out of her mouth, a scuffle on the other side of the divider with half jabs and choked laughs until finally, something was pushed through the hole once more. This time instead of a tanned and very thick cock, this one was pale and longer with a bright pink head. Head weeping faster and twitching with need, she understood perfectly. 

"Please," Ominis whispered so pitifully, a thunk following as he planted his head against the divider. "I need you." 

He whimpered at every touch, his hips responding instinctively each time she pulled back to breathe, Sebastian watching with half-lidded eyes as he patiently waited for his turn again, amused at the way his friend was falling apart for something so improper, and a stranger of all things. 

"They're good at it, aren't they?" He'd tease. "Remember to thank them, Ominis." 

Face flushed a bright red as his hands painfully gripped at the edge of the divider as the brunet did before with the occasional choke from the one on their knees, his moans echoed loudly off the wallpaper and tiles. Unable to form a coherent thought through the sensation as his mind clouded with want and need as she continued her slow experimenting, the same technique she used on the brunet picking up in speed as it came second nature, she ignored the soreness of her jaw and the dripping mess down her chin as the words finally formed on his lips. "Th-thank you, nnh.."

Clearly though, Sebastian must have come tired of only seeing half of the show as his offer came out rather loudly and in a tone thick with need after awhile. "Can you form a hole on the other side? Please?" 

And she slid her mouth down around Ominis as much as she could without coughing, her tongue rubbing the underside of his cock as she debated his words, the blond rocking as she paused.

The stalls were small enough for her to be full of both of them, and considering it was too late to back out of them at least finishing - would she really be okay fulfilling her fantasy of both at the same time? Unknowing of her identity or even gender still though Ominis correctly guessed, walls preventing them from grabbing her hair or hips, she was having trouble thinking either way from the pale cock in her mouth and her legs being painted with her own slick. 

"Please, I promise I'll cum wherever you want."

She was pressing her wand against the other side of the stall before she even knew what she was doing, too many emotions being tapped at his tone and words, listening to Sebastian almost run to the open stall and slamming the door shut as Ominis whimpered from her missing mouth, or perhaps the idea as well. 

Nearly flinging her shoes off and ripping away her pants to sit on the toilet seat, all her doubt and insecurity disappeared at the sight of their hands tightly gripping the dividers above her head, cocks pushed through the hole, and still wet with her own spit. 

But Sebastian was thick, much thicker than her fingers and though she was dripping wet, she decided she was still in enough control to do whatever she wanted. 

Pushing her cunt against Ominis's length as he let out strangled moans at the sensation, she allowed the head of his dick to slide between her folds sloppily as she bent over and set her hands around Sebastian's hole, tongue lapping up the gathering juice as they let half begs fall from their lips, chills crawling along her skin each time the wood creaked under their grip, each time the blond brushed over her needy hole and he swore, Sallow begging for something more than little licks. 

Switching holes over what sounded like a sniffle and parseltongue from the needy Gaunt, she allowed him to thrust into her hand as she took steadying breaths, Sebastian pushing against her swollen entrance. "Fuuck, you have such a perfect pussy, darling. It feels so, so good.." he moaned almost happily and she quickly swallowed Ominis's length to turn her own moan into a choke. Ever so slowly she impaled herself onto him, wincing at the foreign feeling of feeling absolutely stretched. 

"She's so wet, Ominis," he panted when she was pressed flat against the wall, mouth only able to wrap around the head of the blond's cock. "She needs us just as much as we needed her." 

"Y-Yeah?" 

"Merlin yes! Either that.. or she was made for glory holes," breathlessly chuckling, she didn't think she could feel any warmer yet his words still brought a rise out of her regardless. Clenching around him and revealing how much she liked his filthy mouth, she slowly slid off of him and onto Ominis as he groaned in surprise. "Don't worry darling, we can do this as much you need. We can be back every week, every day, using you." 

Ominis's soft snort caught Sebastian's attention, breath otherwise shaky. "What makes you think somebody would return to be stuffed full of you every week?" 

"You're right," he nearly slurred, her mouth once more emptying of Ominis as she backed up faster than before to his surprise. "This good girl will be back every day for my cock, won't you?" 

It was easy to find a pace, rocking back and forth between the two as they attempted to remain still. Listening to the filth that poured out of Sebastian's mouth as Ominis praised her, their banter almost covering up the wet noises and her chokes as she swayed too far forward onto the long monstrosity that the blond had been hiding beneath his cloak for so long. Chasing her own orgasm was difficult, her fingers hitting the wall roughly with the needy blond only encouraging her to keep trying as the damned brunet teased her about it, feeling the way she clamped down at their words and at each failed attempt. 

It hurt each time she took too much of Ominis too suddenly and each time her arse hit the wall behind her roughly, eyes memorizing the divider and the base of one of her best friend's cocks, nothing on her mind besides wondering if it was a fevered dream and the overwhelming feeling of being too full, questions of if she could ever stop doing this for them being answered each time they made a little noise or said something through strained lips. 

No, I need them, I need this. 

She could tell Sebastian was getting closer, the way his hips instinctively tried to meet her sliding back onto him, sentences falling apart into shuttering breaths and soft noises, Ominis stepping back just a moment to let her focus on making his best friend cum. 

"Need to - m'so close, fuck. Where d'you want it, darling?" He strained to get out, voice deep and almost feral as the wood creaked underneath his thrusts meeting her. "Please, oh gods, please tell me," he begged and she completely released Ominis entirely to cover her mouth, hoping he'd understand as she couldn't stop moving just for him. 

Never needing anything more in her life, the burning in her arms and legs didn't matter. Chasing after the ultimate feeling of being theirs, all thoughts were out the window. Remaining quiet as possible out of habit, hundreds of plans being laid out in which they could repeat this again, she could feel his cock violently twitching within her, him planting himself firmly against everything as something hot flooded her core. 

Pushing back against the divider completely and feeling her limbs ache and shake, she let her tear-filled eyes close and enjoy it. Wishing that she could have seen it all at least, his face twisted in pleasure as he came with a shout, to know what he wished to say - her name maybe? - he only coughed to cover it up. Listening to him thank her once more, she opened her eyes to see Ominis's own hardness still eagerly waiting.

"You are such a good girl, darling. Taking every drop, you must have read my mind. But, thank you, truly." Sliding out as exhaustion took hold of them both, she fell to her knees properly and was proud of wrapping her lips around the blond again out of habit when Sebastian spoke once more, still so much out of breath but always the chatterbox. "Are you ready, dear friend? I don't believe you'd have to hold back, she seems to really enjoy being treated roughly." 

"O-Oh shut up," he told him breathlessly, then to her. "Stop sucking and - come on. I know you must be exhausted, so just press yourself against the hole and I shall do everything, okay?" 

Out of defiance or just exhaustion settling in once more as adrenaline faded at the fact that she had half of everything she wanted despite not finishing yet, she followed his directions slowly. Not bothering with pressing her arms against the wall again, she whispered like a mouse the simple sticking charm on her arse and tried not to call out as he slid in the mess that Sebastian left behind easily. While not as thick but much longer, there was a slight discomfort as he filled her much differently. 

Reaching depths inside that had her shivering, "Hsssah.." slipped from his mouth and she tried to resist another shiver down her spine, the cursed parseltongue that always had her hot and bothered truly coming out naturally. Unlike Sebastian when she was fully impaled who was surprisingly patient, Ominis had been completely teased listening to the lewd noises of her overly wet slick and the brunet's filthy words, cock half neglected compared to its earlier treatment with her tongue uselessly trying to make up for it. So with her wand suddenly between her teeth, fingers digging into the wood with nothing to distract her or him, she could feel her eyes gathering tears at the risk of finally being found out while Sebastian spoke up once more. 

"You going to take all his cum, too?" He whispered and all she wanted to do was tell him to shut up. "He really needs this, a good little slut to take care of all his needs, don't you, Ominis?" 

"Shut up," was all he received in return, breathlessly yet still so full of embarrassment and demanding all at once. But the brunet never listened, remaining in his stall as he sat on the floor.

"You know he's the Ominis Gaunt, right? The blind Slytherin, so he won't be able to tell who you are if you wish to invite him into your stall," said so carefully and almost casually, a soft whine ripped through her throat as said blond quickly ripped himself away from the glory hole. 

Of course it'd be the brunet who would suggest a thing, not that she knew what a glory hole was until he explained it, but nonetheless. There must be a list of unspoken rules to be polite, right? 

Would he know though, to figure her out? Would he touch her body and recognize the curves even without her clothes, or would he realize it later during one of their apparent plots in feeling her up? Mind foggy as his eyes as she remained stuck to the hole, Sebastian finally shut up long enough for Ominis's voice to pierce her thoughts. 

"Knock once for no, twice for yes. Obviously, you don't have to if you aren't uncomfortable with it, no matter what." Spoken so softly but still so needy, her silence left him continuing on in an attempt to convince her, the sound of him pumping his soaked cock filling the bathroom otherwise. "I'll leave my wand on the floor, so nothing will reveal yourself to me? After I cast a silencio, I mean, I swear on my honor that I'll release it as soon as -" 

Knock knock

Blood rushing to her head as she felt cold, as though impending doom was coming as she dispersed the sticky charm on her arse listening to his footsteps, a shuttering breath being the last noise as his wand was pointed above the stalls, her sigh of relief feeling strange with no sound made. Deciding to bend over the toilet this time to limit where he'd touch her and figure her out, she still jumped when he finally bumped into her. 

Hands reaching out to explore her exposed skin, her blouse still on at least, he kept his hands away from her covered areas, his cock rubbing gently against her arse. Gentler than she would have expected at the hints of him preferring to be rough, it was Sebastian that scoffed. "Come on, Ominis. Just fuck her already, you're probably killing her." 

Almost miserably, he sighed, his fingers quickly finding the source of her sopping wet lower half, pushing the mess back to where it came from for a moment until finally, the blunt head of his cock was impaling her slowly again. 

Pushing into her until her head was bumping the actual wall, his knees against the closed toilet bowl, she clawed at the wall as he was unforgiving. Beautiful hands digging into her hips with a tight grip that sent gooseflesh across her body, all of his patience gone. Screaming with no sound as her face was pressed into the wall else she'd slam against it constantly, each of his punishing thrusts landing with loud smacks followed by gasps for air. Sebastian's earlier words replayed in her head, the humiliation of him being absolutely right leaving her clenching around Ominis, hurriedly reaching down to play with her own clit.

"She was bouncing her leg at one point and all I could think of was if either of us could imitate that pace without her screaming.."

He paused when he realized it, a hand releasing her to rub her back for a moment, catching his breath and remembering to speak English before he returned to taking her apart. "Sebastian was right, you are such a good girl for us, aren't you?" 

"Told you so." 

Not even bothering to grace the brunet with a response, his hand returned to marking her hips with his nails, time didn't feel like it existed as he returned to making his own mark on her. Already having felt ruined by their friendship, nothing ever feeling the same compared to others for her feelings, she didn't know how else to be theirs and have it be known now without revealing this moment to them later. 

Afraid to look behind her even as her stomach tightened, eyesight going blurry with stars, Ominis announcing for her that she was finishing as her hands smacked at the wall, unable to scream how much she loved them for what they've done to her, promises to forever be good for them unheard of as unlike Sebastian, he actively pumped her full of his own seed. Hands clawing into her sides, a mix of parseltongue and english coming out in incomprehensible stutters and loud moans, she nearly fell over when his grip slackened. 

"Gods, thank you, thank you so much for that," he slurred, exhaustion and pleasure still thick in his voice, back hitting the stall door as his manhood was put away. "Is there anything I can do -" 

"C'mon Ominis, release the spell." Thanking her lucky stars, hearing the brunet shuffle in the stall beside them and make himself known again, so quiet to let his dear friend finish just as he had earlier. Soft but forced jokes about proper glory hole etiquette to fill the silence and to politely shame the other into not pressing boundaries, she felt pretty sure most people didn't go on the other side of a glory hole, but nonetheless. 

Watching the blond practically be pulled out of the stall by one hand after a tanned arm wildly released the silencio, her eyes only focused on their shoes at least as he searched for confirmation that she was okay, she waited until the bathroom door was shut before blowing a heavy sigh, an almost drunken tired smirk. 

Despite her exhaustion and the warm weather outside, the tiles were cold and gross enough to keep her awake. Feeling so full and empty all at once, she waited until their footsteps faded away before redressing, plans in mind to go hide in her actual dorm and skip lunch. To process and think it all through, to find the strength to look them in the eyes again without blurting out her demand for more with nothing between them next time, it was better than she would have expected. 

An orgasm by her hand or having one fucked out of her anonymously by the two she craved most? 

The latter, now and forever. 

She remained there, unable to entertain the thought of visiting the restroom without aching in embarrassment at her mistake of walking into the boys bathroom, no matter how much of a happy ending it had, laying on her side and focused for too long on the feeling of their seed still attempting to flood her bloomers each time she moved, slowly falling asleep. 

At least until she awoke once more, a flood of enchanted origami entering the room as one of her dormmates returned after their first afternoon class to allow them in, bombarding her with the notes of the two Slytherin's wondering where she was, plans to meet up in the kitchen for a snack after the class she just missed. 

"Sorry, I slept right through lunch and Potions," not even faking the yawn as she plopped on the other side of the table from them in the kitchens, Transfiguration was in twenty minutes. Fighting down the blush as she made eye contact with Sebastian, Ominis's head was lowered toward the table. Both looking more awake and relaxed than ever, gooseflesh broke out knowing why. "Your little spell nearly knocked me off the bed, you bastards!"

Tearing into the roast beef sandwich left for her and swiping some carrots off the kind platter the House elves had created with their favorites, it was easy to pretend as though she wasn't just double-teamed in the boys bathroom two hours before, that her legs and jaw weren't still sore. That she wasn't sitting there, bloomers still a mess from what they spilled into her, her rushing to meet them.

At least it was until Sebastian got up to politely return an empty plate to the house elves that Ominis properly turned towards her.

"Why is it that you always try to lie to me?" 

"What? When did I -" 

"Did you fall asleep before making the hole or after?" 

[saintmurd0ck]

just the tip, princess | matt murdock x f!reader | one-shot

masterlist | art | thoughts | more thoughts

summary: it's finals week. maybe a study night turn truth-or-dare is the one thing you need to finally relax.

warnings: college matt murdock, drinking (only a little), religious references (BLASPHEMY), matt's cocky personality, oral m and f receiving, protected p in v, orgasm denial, penetration denial (i think?), look there's a lot in this

a/n: in honour of all the recent dd news, i give you this: an unholy anthology of self-indulgence. that is all.

accompanying songs: so it goes… (taylor swift) & false god (taylor swift)

Matt’s voice breaks your concentration, tearing you away from your short-response test booklet. “One more practice question, and then we’ll take a break, deal?” 

You fling a hand out to the side, swatting at him absentmindedly until your finger finds its mark against his lips. “Shh, Matty, one sec, let me finish this.”

He gives you a reluctant sigh as your pencil scratches away at the paper, movement flickering in the corner of your eye as he waves his hand around his feet. His fingers close around something quietly tucked away to the side of your desk, liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it up to his lips.

“Matthew Murdock,” you mock-gasp, eyeing him with a mix of awe and disdain, “we have a final in two days and you’re supposed to be studying.”

He shrugs, taking another big sip.

“Oh, give me that,” you chastise, reaching forward for the bottle, but he swerves out of the way haphazardly, wheels rattling as his chair thumps against the side of your bed. You turn to face him as he’s knocked off balance by the impact, tapping your pencil on your chin as you watch him feel for the mattress behind him, then as he hoists himself up on the bed.

“Foggy said we could have this to ourselves,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows, then the bottle – “so I brought it with me.”

Your lips press together in disbelief before curling into a wry smile. “Fireball, Matthew? You’re drinking straight Fireball.” You shake your head as he tips the bottle into his mouth. “You’re sick.”

“It tastes go–” he rasps, fist coming up to his face as he coughs. “It tastes good!”

You set your pencil down on the paper, eyes quickly scanning over what’s been written, curt nod affirming your satisfaction of the response. “Okay then,” you lean forward on your knees, interlacing your fingers under your chin, “are you gonna share any? Since, y’know, it’s for the both of us.”

He tilts his head to the side, hand coming up to wipe his mouth before nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You want some?”

You shrug indifferently. “Yeah, I’ll indulge.” 

You reach forward for the bottle but he yanks it backwards, head tipping back with roaring laughter.

“Matt, give it to me!”

He flashes you a shit-eating smirk as he raises his eyebrows. “You want it that badly?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You hide your flustered face in your hands. “You little sh–”

He holds out the bottle in front of him, head cocked, intently listening to the shuffle of your feet against the carpet. “Well? Are you gonna come and get it?”

You huff, hand beginning to close around the bottleneck, brushing against the slippery glass where the whiskey’s spilled down the side, but he pulls backwards again. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock!” you bellow, watching him clutch his side as he breaks out into an infectious fit of laughter.

A sound of bewilderment. “How do you know my middle name?!”

You scrunch your nose, slapping his knee. “I’m your best friend, silly. It’s my job to find out.”

“Foggy told you, didn’t he?”

Silence from you.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Foggy looked at my state ID and told you, right?” 

“Maybe!” you yelp, suddenly very interested in your essay.

“You both looked at my ID?! You pickpocketed me?!”

You throw out a measly insult as you avert your gaze, face hot with embarrassment. “Don’t get all preachy on me now, Murdock.” 

He gasps with feigned disbelief, hand curling tighter around the bottleneck as the other points to the ceiling. “Don’t bring the big guy into this.” 

“You– oh! God, now I need a drink.”

Without second thought, you lunge at him, but as if he can predict your every movement, he sticks his foot out to trip you as you reach for the bottle. Suddenly, you’re a flurry of arms, movement and profanities, tumbling forward into something that breaks your fall… something warm, comforting, surprisingly muscular.

Not something.

Matt.

The world stops for a second as you hover on top of him, his Fireball-tinged breath mixing with yours, chest growing taut as your mouths are mere centimetres apart. It feels as if your heartbeat completely vanishes for a second, thick silence accompanied with only the sound of your stuttered breathing and the blood roaring in your head. You study the deep rise and fall of his chest, ignoring the unfamiliar feeling coursing through your veins as his arm wraps around your waist, holding you steady. 

His tongue snakes out to wet his lips, and that movement alone sends you down to hell. Your stomach falls through your body, dampening your panties with a sudden desire you didn’t think you possessed. Sure, Matt’s attractive and all, and he knows it – well, surely he has to, considering the number of people in your cohort alone who wanted to take him to bed – but you’ve never looked at him that way. He’s always been your friend, your support system. Insufferable at times.

You flick your gaze downwards to where your legs are, straddled over his hips. You’re hovering over him, but with one little movement, just one… you’d be pressed up entirely against him. You’re suspended here, unaware of how heavy your breathing has become, consumed with thoughts about your best friend that friends just… aren’t supposed to have.

This can’t happen.

It’s an awkward shuffle as you push off him and shoot straight back into your chair, but it’s followed by the exchanging of gently stifled laughter, ice quickly broken as you take advantage of his stupor, snatching the bottle off him. 

The liquor goes down easy. Easier than expected.

“Damn Murdock,” you say in between mouthfuls, “you’re lucky you didn’t spill any on my bed, or I would’ve kicked your ass.”

His retort comes out fast. “I kinda wanna see you try, but you’d get in trouble.” Your eyebrow arches at the cheeky grin that proceeds. “Y’know, for beating up a blind person.”

The opportunity to stick your tongue out at him is a moment rarely passed up, and this situation changes nothing. 

He grabs the bottle off you. “Hey, stop making faces at me. I can tell by the way your mouth moves.” His attempt to mimic you falls flat, and all he has to show for it is the cutest frown.

“Not even close, Murdock.”

Nothing prepares you for the effect his resounding snort has on you; the way it makes itself home in the centre of your chest, the sweet sound sending your brain into overdrive. You’re looking at him, big shiny eyes and all, flitting over his every breath, his every action. Fuck, it’s like he’s laced the atmosphere or something, drawing you to him like a moth to flame. 

God fucking damn it. He always knew how to tease you, how to leave you biting back a smile, but this time, the feeling isn’t irksome. He’s getting your heartrate up, making you cross your legs, leaving you wanting to twirl your hair and kick your fucking feet together.

Thank God your roommate is away, even if for a few nights. You’re thanking your lucky stars, because if she were here, she would’ve made at least ten comments about how you two needed to fuck already. You can hear her voice, clear as day, echoing in your mind. ‘Stop flirting and just do it already. It’ll probably be the best of your life.”

You clench at her latter comment, at the way she’s so nonchalantly arrived at that conclusion. Your spine tingles at the thought, at the way you secretly want to find out for yourself. 

Maybe all this is the result of the universe telling you to get laid.

By him.

No! Not by him. 

You know you want it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, ignoring the angel and devil sitting on your shoulders, “I cannot believe you asked me for a break, Matt. I didn’t think the word was in your vocabulary.”

Amusement glints in his laugh.

“Ahh,” you start, nodding, “it’s because you’re drunk. I so knew ordinary Matty wouldn’t ask for a break.”

He reaches for your hand, which you give him without a second thought, to pull you and your chair towards him, wheels turning against the carpet. Suddenly you’re close to him again, knees touching as he shakes the bottle from side-to-side. “More drinking, less observing?” 

A giggle eases from your lips as you lean forwards, forehead touching against Matt’s. His skin is warm against yours, presumably from the alcohol in his system, and your lips flicker into a smile.

“What uh… what are you thinkin’ about?” he asks, tilting his chin downwards as he pushes harder against your forehead.

You bite back a yelp, fighting every instinct within you to keep your composure as his hands creep forward to interlace his fingers with yours. Every nerve in your body is firing at rates beyond your comprehension as his breath fans over your face, pearly grin tugging at the knot building behind your stomach.

“I… um–” The growing smile on your face does little to hide your thoughts, and you can only muster a few words as your voice comes out in a squeak. “Um… drink, please?” 

Matt lets out a breathy laugh as he pulls away, reaching down to retrieve the bottle by his feet. He brings it up to your face, nudging the lip of the bottle towards your mouth. Your toes curl at the action, thighs snapping together to curb the building throbbing between your legs, but you quickly polish off what little remains in the bottle, praying that the burn of the whiskey is distraction enough from your feelings.

It works well enough.

“So,” Matt asks, listening to the creak in your chair as you set the empty bottle on the ground, “what do you wanna do?”

“Hmm?” 

“C’mon, let’s do something. What about a game? Do you wanna play a game?”

You squint your eyes as you examine your nails, picking at invisible dirt along your cuticles. “A game, Matthew?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ like… I dunno, truth or dare?”

“What are you, sixteen?”

Matt scoffs, slapping his hands on his knees. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

That whiskey-burn “distraction” lasted all of thirty seconds.

The little whine in his voice widens your eyes, more so as you notice Matt’s growing smirk, and the way he tries to hide it in his hands as he waits for your answer. You’re not sure if it’s the liquor talking or well, just you, but your answer rolls off your tongue.

“Alright Matt,” you say, getting up off your chair to sit across him on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “Care to go first?”

The bed dips as he shuffles towards you, nestling his head in your lap. “Nothing would bring me a greater honour,” – a comment that makes you roll your eyes –  “truth or dare?”

“Wait a second, is there a punishment if we don’t want to do something?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, if you ask me something and I don’t wanna answer it.”

“Oh! I mean yeah, I guess you don’t have to.”

You flash a smile at him as he relaxes his body, bending one knee as he straightens his other leg. “Truth.”

“Hmm… lemme see.” He purses his lips together as he thinks of a question. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

A wistful look dances across your face as you contemplate his question. “That’s– that’s surprisingly a good question. Alright, well, still close to you and Foggy, of course. And, I dunno, maybe have my own law firm. Ooh! And I wanna travel. Europe, especially.”

Matt hums at your answer. “That’s a lot of things.” He waits a moment before adding, “I like that about you. You’re ambitious.”

You swallow thickly as his words brand themselves in your head. “Y-your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“The same question then. Where are you in ten years?

Matt grins. “Still here, in the city. And… I have a law firm. It’s called Nelson and Murdock” – he brandishes an invisible sign in the air before continuing – “Attorneys at Law.” Your heart skips a beat at his earnest confession.

He goes quiet. “I, uh, I just wanna do what’s right, y’know?”

“Yeah, Matt,” you whisper. “I’m excited to see where this all takes you. And it’s sweet that you and Foggy picked that out already.”

Matt beams, in no particular direction. “Alright. Your turn again. Truth or dare?”

You hesitate for a second. “Dare.”

“Aw, but I’m so comfy lying here.” 

You hiss at him as you pinch his shoulder. 

“Fine, fine. Okay. I dare you to… tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone.”

“Matthew Murdock, is that not a thinly veiled truth?”

He reaches behind him to pat your thigh, biting his lip at your discovery.

Oh, you’re gonna make him regret being lazy. You contort yourself over him, leaning down into his ear. “When I was in high school, I snuck a friend of mine in through the window and we…” you drop your voice, whispering the rest of your story, dragging out every syllable so the words stick in his mind.

His face reddens at your admission, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to find the words, but they don't come out. Your next words are laced with the smugness of your previous efforts. “You go now.”

“I choose dare.”

“I dare you to call Foggy and say you’re madly in love with him.”

Matt erupts into laughter. “You’re not serious.”

“Feel my heartbeat, Matthew.” You pick up a hand from where they’re folded on his chest, lifting his palm towards you. Your eyes lull back in your head as he flattens his hand against the left side of your chest, voice shaking as you speak. “See, Matthew? Steady.”

He sits up in a flash, holding his palm outstretched as you hand him his phone, Foggy’s number already dialling. 

Loud music blares over the phone speaker. ‘Hello? Matt? You okay?’

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, um–”

“Matt, you’re gonna have to speak up a little.” A woman’s voice calls out Foggy’s name.

Matt clears his throat, raising his voice just a little. He bites his lip, tilting his head away from your snicker. “I love you, Foggy.”

“Oh man! I love you too, buddy.”

You nudge Matt to say the words. “No, no, I mean, I love you.”

“I love you too!”

“No!” Matt pushes his hair back, exasperated. “I mean, I’m in love with you.”

A moment of silence fills the air.

That woman’s voice again. “Foggy, is everything okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” – Foggy says to the woman, before focusing back on Matt. “Um… everything alright with you, Matt?”

“Yes! I lo– Everything’s fine. I’ll just… I'll see you tomorrow.” 

The phone clicks off without another word.

“Oops,” you tease, words slurring a little, “sounds like someone has some explaining to do.”

Matt cracks his knuckles before placing his phone back on your desk. “Oh I am definitely going to get you back.”

.

Sprawled vertically on the bed with your legs hanging off the edge, you lay shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt, the contents of the Fireball bottle already long gone. Your hands are clasped together on your chest as your eyelids flutter closed, content in Matt’s presence. The last couple hours were the most fun you had in a long time, and God knows you deserve it, especially after this semester.

Matt is the first to break your temporary silence, words quiet as he directs them towards the ceiling. “So, you think Foggy and Marci are gonna last?” 

“I dunno Matt, I think your little confession there might’ve broken them for good.”

A half-smile blossoms across his lips. “You know what? I wouldn’t blame Foggy for picking me. I am loveable after all.”

“You are very loveable. Even my roommate thinks so.”

“Really? Her? I didn’t think she could love anyone.”

“Yep,” you sigh, stretching your arms out and putting your hands behind your head. “She loves you so much she thinks that we should get together. Sorry, I mean, that we should” – you lower your voice – “hook up, for lack of a better… less rude… word.” A shiver runs through your body at what you’ve just said.

Matt’s on his side in a nanosecond, facing you as he props himself up on one elbow. His expression is unreadable, mouth tight-lipped as he cocks his head to the side.

You take it as a cue to keep going. “She’s always saying it, seriously. I think she tells people in the hallway, too. And I think Foggy knows? But I haven’t really given it much th–”

“Would that… would that be the worst thing?”

Your eyebrows furrow together, face flooding with confusion. “Huh?”

Matt goes on. “I mean, people don’t really say stuff like that if they don’t mean it, right?”

It takes a full minute for you to register what he’s saying, and you move quickly to respond as the heat begins to bloom in your chest again. “Oh trust me, she says a lot of things she doesn’t mean.”

“No, but, would it really be the worst thing in the world?”

You shudder, every subsequent breath getting heavier. “What are you asking me?”

You watch as Matt’s nostrils flare, as his tongue peeks out to lick his lips again. You’re mirroring him, in the same position that he is, propped up and lying on your side. He lifts a finger to your arm on top, tracing your skin from elbow to shoulder with a featherlight touch. It loosens a gasp that comes from your chest.

“I’m asking you… if it would be the worst thing in the world.” Something shifts in Matt’s face, and he looks uneasy now. “What if…” – he lowers his voice to a whisper – “I wanted to… do that with you?”

No fucking way.

“Do… what? Matt, where is this coming from?”

He tentatively shuffles closer to you, but still keeping a far enough distance that you can roll away if you need to. “Your roommate’s right. I think we should stop pretending.”

No. Fucking. Way.

“Matt, of course it would be the worst thing in the world. I mean, okay, not the worst thing, but sex can ruin friendships. And c’mon, I’m not ready to lose you.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you get the words out. “Besides, I’ve– I’ve never thought of you like that.”

“That’s a lie.”

You suck your cheeks in, the silence louder than anything you could’ve said to defend yourself. A shit-eating grin appears on his face. “You’ve been thinking about me like that tonight, haven’t you?”

Damn you, Matthew Murdock. “Fine. I have. Is that what you want to hear?”

He sits upright now, smirk disappearing, tilting his chin towards the ground as he plays off a nervous chuckle. It’s as if your answer isn’t what he was expecting. “Look, I just– I like you, okay? I’ve had a really great night, and I– I don’t want to do anything to ruin that. Or our friendship. So, it’s– don’t worry about it.”

He reaches for his cane, neatly folded on your desk, but you make a split-second decision, feeling your heartbeat race as you grab his wrist and tug him back onto the bed. “What if…” 

He raises his eyebrows, beckoning you to continue. “What if we, um, I don’t know, this is gonna sound stupid but, what if we explored this using the game? Using truth or dare?” You wait a moment to read his expression. “That way it’s just a game right? And it won’t mean anything, unless we want it to.”

“That’s– that’s good. That’s smart. I like that,” he nods. “And we can end the game at any time.”

You affirm what he’s saying. “Yes, if there’s something either of us don’t want to do, we can say the word.”

“Wait,” you pause. “I– maybe that was stupid. I think we’re both drunk.”

Matt furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not drunk.”

You bite your lip, answering him quietly. “Neither am I.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

“You wanna… go first?” Matt gulps.

Your chest caves inwards, heart thundering so hard it feels like it could burst out of your ribcage. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Your knees go weak at the word. “I dare you to… come closer to me.”

Matt pauses for a moment to take his glasses off, setting them down on your desk. Then, he turns towards your voice, laying down to face you where you’re still propped up, where you’ve been this entire time. The only difference is that he’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and the way his breath flutters against your lips. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you murmur.

“When was the first time you… thought of me like that?”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you recall the memory. “It was the first year of college, when Foggy tried to hit on me and you apologised for his behaviour.”

Matt grimaces. “I’m sorry about that… again, and so is Foggy. But that’s… wait a minute,” his eyes narrow, “that was forever ago!” He presses his lips into a choked laugh as you punch his arm.

Ignoring him, your stomach starts to flip as you ask Matt the next question. “Truth or dare?”

His mouth moves into a cheeky grin. “Dare.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck– “I dare you to kiss me.”

The butterflies roil in your stomach as he smiles at you earnestly, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw. His grip is firm, melding to the contours of your face with a surprising ease. He holds you there for a second as he blows a soft chuckle your way, flooding your face with a heat that crawls up your body. He leans forward, slowly, melting his lips against yours, so softly that you can’t fight the moan that slips from your mouth. 

The kiss is everything you ever imagined it would be, his mouth moulding to yours in a way that turns your legs to jelly. He nips affectionately at your bottom lip, using your slight surprise to slip his tongue against yours; the taste of Fireball so, so faint. 

“Oh my God,” you breathe, breaking the kiss, your foreheads still touching, his hand still on your jaw. 

“Oh my God,” Matt affirms, eyes squeezed shut as he loosens a breath. 

“I pick dare,” you whisper, biting your lip as Matt reciprocates your shy smile. 

“Okay, I dare you to…,” he pauses for a second, pursing his lips, “tell me what you want.”

“That isn’t a dare.”

He’s insistent. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Matt. I want you.”

His nostrils flare in response, tips of his ears going pink as he nods, leaning in to kiss you again. Tangling one hand in your hair, he flattens his other palm against your collarbone, mouth roving over your jaw, then trailing down your neck, sucking on a sensitive spot near your shoulder that makes you moan. Your hands press against his chest, relishing in the way he grunts at your touch. 

“Matthew,” you groan into his hair, as he soothes the bruise on your neck with his tongue, “I want to take your clothes off.”

“You wanna take my clothes off?” 

“Mmhm.” And another moan as he guides you to lay flat on your back. 

“That’s not a dare either.”

“I know what I said.”

He doesn’t waste any time in tugging his shirt over his head, leaving only his leather-corded crucifix hanging around his neck, metal cross dangling off his chest as he moves down to kiss you. You’re breathless, unable to speak, utterly incoherent as he grinds himself into your core, the evidence of his growing arousal straining against his sweatpants.

“Damn you, Matthew,” you exhale, pulling your own shirt over your head, unhooking your bra and throwing it to the side. 

“What?” he moans, hands moving over your skin, your breasts now bare to him. 

You yelp as he rolls your nipples in his fingers, expression darkening as he acquaints himself with your body, the way you buck your hips up into his. “You’re so—“

“Loveable?”

Your head tips back with a cry as his mouth seals around your nipple, tongue flicking against the hardened peak. “No— well, yes, but fuck you’re just… how long have you been hiding that… body underneath those pullovers? Has anyone told you how good you look?”

“I may or may not have heard that a few times.”

You smirk as his mouth meets yours. “Foggy doesn’t count.”

“In that case,” he rasps in your ear, deft fingers trailing up your inner thigh to then unclasp the button of your jeans, “you can be my first.”

Your lips move over his chest as the words flutter into his skin, catching the cross in your teeth. You yank at it lightly, the strained breath he gives you music to your ears. “Oh Matthew, now you’re giving me the honour.” 

Mouth curving upwards, Matt hooks his hands into the waistband of your jeans and panties simultaneously, taking his sweet time in dragging the fabric down your legs, exposing you, inch-by-inch until you’re completely bare for him. 

Even though the two of you were close before this, closer than most friends were, it feels… jarring to expose yourself like this. With other guys, you wouldn’t hesitate; you’d keep going, get them undressed, have your fun and be done with it, but it’s not like that with Matt. 

He’s one of the few people that makes you nervous.

Your legs instinctively move closer to cover yourself but he wedges a hand in between your knees. 

Oh, he’s good. He knows, somehow, what you’re feeling.

So he says something that knocks any semblance of your apprehension on its head, something that makes you throb.

“Keep ‘em open. I want you spread for me.”

You surge upwards, the intensity of his words spurring you on, pressing wet kisses down his chest. One to his crucifix, one to his sternum, one in the middle of his– Jesus Christ, those abs. He cards his fingers through your hair at the sensation of your tongue dragging up his navel before nipping at his jaw, stubble scratching at your mouth. Your pussy floods at the guttural moan he makes as your fingers graze over the outline of his cock, the idle circle you trace on his head making him twitch. Your lips meet his as you replace your fingers with your palm, shuddering at the string of dirty curses he groans into your mouth. 

You pull away only to marvel at the size of him under your hand, every thick inch of him tenting painfully against his sweatpants. Foggy had mentioned in passing that Matt was packing, but this? Oh, you didn’t expect this. 

“Matty,” you exhale, “let me taste you.”

He raises a hand to your chin, tilting your head back with his grip to deepen his next kiss. “Anything you want.”

You latch your fingers onto the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and his boxers underneath, pulling it down to his mid-thighs, unable to contain your gasp as his cock springs free. Your eyes pulsate at the sight of him, pupils completely blown as you take him in his entirety, perfection as you’ve ever seen from base to tip. 

You lick first at the precum beading at the head, the salty taste of him coating your tastebuds as he bucks his hips involuntarily onto your outstretched tongue, eyes lulling in the back of your head at the primal sound that escapes his lips. You look up at him with your doe-eyes, watching a muscle feather in his jaw as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue over his tip. He caresses your face with his hands, fingers supporting your jaw as you take all of him in. He hisses as he finds the back of your throat, throwing his head back in ecstasy as you begin to bob your head, not caring that you’re sloppy, that the spit is dribbling from your mouth all over him. From the way he’s grunting your name, you don’t think he minds either.

Matt hums your name dulcetly as you begin to use your mouth and hands in tandem, begging you to let go of his cock, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you as you pull away to wipe your mouth. 

“Lay down on your back,” he commands softly, making quick work of shedding the only pieces of clothing left on his body. He kneels for you on the bed as you shuffle back, spreading your legs for him once again. It’s from this angle that your mouth goes dry; the sight of his glistening cock, wet from your spit, ready for the taking.

He leans down to nip at your earlobe as he traces himself up and down your folds, slapping your clit with his cock once. He chuckles deeply in your ear at the mewl you make, purring for you to make the sound again. 

So you do.

“Condom, Matthew,” you whisper, breath caught in your throat as you reach over to your nightstand, but he grabs a hold of your wrist and shakes his head.

Your eyes widen at his answer. “I don’t need it just yet.”

He hovers over you for a second, just long enough for you to catch his crucifix in your teeth again, before moving down, settling in between your thighs. You’re sucking your cheeks in at his hot breath against your dripping pussy, so slick with arousal that the air is thick with it, but he doesn’t do anything. He just grins.

He tilts his chin upwards to grin at you, the gesture a little mirthless; a predator about to devour their prey. The metal cross swings with his movements, and you almost bite through your bottom lip as it hits against your clit.

“Not so much a godly man now, are you Matthew? I didn’t think you were allowed to do… this,” you smirk, squeezing your eyes shut as he pinches your clit with his thumb and forefinger.

“I get a pass, y’know, since I get to make an angel feel good.”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips. “Matty… you don’t mean–”

He cuts you off, his sweet tone darkening in an instant. “But since you bring it up, yeah, I’m no saint.” He lifts your hips, shoving his hands under your ass as he brings your pussy to his face.

“But out of all the sins in the world, all that we could’ve chosen to commit…” he clicks his tongue, nostrils flaring as he inhales your scent, “I promise, sweetheart, this one will feel the best.”

And with that, he dives into you. 

You’re a squirming mess on his tongue as he licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting all that you have to offer. He seals his lips around your clit, flicking and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, until your back is arched off the bed, until you’re gasping and unable to stop the moans breaking from within. 

Matt’s always been polite, classy, the perfect person to bring home to meet your parents, but the way he’s slurping at you like you’re his last meal on earth? 

“Naughty, naughty boy,” you purr, grabbing a fistful of his hair as he slips his tongue inside you. You’re grinding into his face at this point, desperate to be filled, to be stretched out, desperate to cum for him as many times as you can. 

Your muscles go taut as you near the edge, the threads of your willpower unravelling to one final, fraying strand. He knows it too, that sly bastard, and breaks away from you with one final kiss to your clit.

“Not yet,” he grins, licking wet circles up your thigh. 

“Goddamn you, Murdock,” you huff, pulling him up by the shoulders until he’s breathing down your face. 

He runs his thumb over the seam of your lips, nudging you for entry. He grits his teeth as you flick your tongue against the pad of his finger, while reaching into your nightstand for a condom. He smirks as you slap the foil packet against your hand a few times, groaning as he pumps himself with his fist. That shit-eating, stomach-stirring smirk grows bigger as he hears you rip the packet open, then as you slide the condom out of the wrapper. 

Matt’s hand is outstretched, beckoning for the piece of latex held between your fingers, but you smack it away, wiping all the smug off his face. The moan he murmurs as you squeeze his heavy cock in your hand makes your walls flutter; it makes you ache with the idea of him fucking up into you as deep as he can.

He shudders, sharply exhaling as you roll the condom onto him, then as you tease your slick entrance with the blunt head of his cock.

“We can’t go back from this,” you mumble, breath stuttering as you coat him in your arousal.

His chest heaves with the thought of you, wrapped around him, saying his name like a prayer. “I’m pretty sure it’s a little too late, y’know, considering what we’ve already done.” 

He coaxes the tiniest whimper from your mouth as his fingers brush over your clit.

“Hear me out, Matty…” you start, flattening your palms against his chest.

“Yes, angel?”

“What if… what if you just…” 

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just what? Whatever you want, angel. I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I dare you…” – you linger your fingertip on the curve of his jaw, before tracing his shoulder – “to put just the tip in me.”

“First of all, we’re still doing that? The game?” 

You shrug nonchalantly.

“Secondly, just the tip? You know that still counts as sex, right?”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Okay, I’ll put it in and you tell me that doesn’t count.” His smug smirk that follows spurs you to punch him in the arm.

“Alright Matthew, we’ll see about that.”

“I promise,” he rasps in your ear, teasing himself at your entrance, pushing the slightest bit of himself in, just to make you squeal, “I’ll have you begging for more.”

Your resounding yelp is poorly masked, and it only makes his coy smile grow larger. You’ve known for a long time that Matt was a bit of a manwhore, but he was always so… innocent around you. Never, never in a million years did you think he was capable of… this. 

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, chest heaving as he grunts your name, propping a pillow under your hips. “Just the tip, Matthew.” 

He leans his weight onto the forearm bracketing your head. “Just the tip, princess.”

You hiss through your teeth as he pushes into you, words transcending you in that moment at the burn of this thick cock stretching you out. You expect the burn to follow through, waiting for the sensation of being oh-so-deliciously full of him, but he moves only a little, only until just the tip of him sits inside you. Oh fucking hell. There is absolutely no way you’re going to let him win this one.

Relaxing your grip on his shoulders, you bite back the exhale that conveys your need, forcing back the urge to squirm on his cock for the friction you so desperately want. 

“God,” he grunts, “I’m barely inside you and you feel so… fucking good.” 

You allow yourself one breathy moan. Just one. 

You’re doing so well, keeping it together, showing absolutely no indication that you need him guts deep inside you, pounding at a pace that shakes the bed.

But then he starts to move.

Cock twitching in your heat, he jerks his hips so lightly, pressing his head into your warmth, before sliding out until he barely remains inside. He repeats the movement, his half-shudder half-chuckle evidence that he’s noticed the way you’re clenching around him, or the way you’re sitting upright, peering down to see where exactly he’s joined to you.

He’s painfully hard for you, latex glistening with the sheen of your arousal. You tilt your hips upwards to get a better angle, watching as he withdraws himself just that bit further, before thrusting into you; the sight of your folds enveloping his cock enough to make you curse. 

Abs contracting, and every cord of muscle in his arms going tight, you can tell he’s holding back. You can tell by the redness that blooms in his cheeks and the vast expanse of his chest that he wants more. That he needs more, needs to be deeper; so far inside you that all he could fall apart at any second. You watch where the thick head of his cock enters you, sliding in and out deliriously slow, and that’s when the silence breaks. 

All that heavy breathing, those controlled yet shaky stutters as your mouths are pulled apart by pleasure, is interrupted with your drawn out groan as he pushes the next inch into you. Only one inch. One delicious inch.

“Fuck, Matty,” you moan at the sudden fullness, tipping your head back as he flares his nostrils, grunting your name in response to your walls fluttering around him.

It – he – feels so goddamn good, but it isn’t enough. God, for someone who begged to be teased this exact way you’re impatient, so fucking impatient, but you need to find purchase. With every thrust of his hips, the hope – no, the demand – that he says ‘fuck it’ and sheathes himself fully inside you grows, from a dull ache to one that utterly throbs; one that sends reverberating shockwaves through every nerve in your body. 

He was right. Of fucking course he’d be right. Matthew, ever-clever, devastatingly handsome, Mr. ‘I just know you’ll need more of me’ was almost never wrong.

Matt slides his lips down by your ear, voice dropping to a bare whisper as he tangles his fingers in your hair. “Let me fuck you properly, please. I don’t care about the game, I just… I need you.” He lifts one of your legs up, hooking his arm around your thigh, opening you up to him even more.

“C’mon then Matty,” you smirk, flicking your tongue against his lips. “Show me what you got.”

The cry that heaves from your chest as he slams himself into you is nothing short of unholy. He moans your name sinfully as he buries himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he jerks involuntarily, nudging against that spot inside you that threatens to break you in an instant. You whine at the sudden loss of fullness as he retracts himself, to the point where only the tip of him remains, but he fills you again, the pain from his cock stretching you out giving way to ecstasy. It doesn’t take long for you to splinter around him, for your back to arch as you flood his cock with an earth-shattering orgasm.

And in between his steady thrusts and his languid kisses, he pins your legs back, placing one hand on your waist while the other grazes your throat. His pace is ruthless now, all grunts and groans as he works to bring you to the edge once… no, twice more. This must be what heaven feels like. 

Your legs turn to jelly as he lifts your legs up straight, crossing your ankles over, holding them there as he bites his lip, the new position turning your pussy into a vice. A vice that wants to milk him bone dry. “So… fuckin’.... tight for me, angel,” he musters, panting as every drag of his cock against your walls brings you both closer and closer to falling apart. 

Just as you’re about to cum for him again, he pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach, hoisting your ass up in the air. 

“Matty…” you groan, as he tangles his fingers in your hair, kissing your back as he fucks you, relishing the feeling of your sweat-slick skin on his in the most intimate way possible. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he murmurs, kneading your ass, spreading you apart so he can be as deep in you as possible. You lean back into him, arm reaching around to grab the back of his neck; the movement exposing your throat for his hand to grab. He’s getting sloppy, eyes squeezed shut as you near the edge together.

“Fuck, angel…” he pants, holding you tighter, spilling into you with a sound that turns your world to white. You pulsate around his cock as his hips stutter into yours to give you every last drop.

He collapses into you, holding you tightly, listening just to the sound of your breathing. “I know we said it wouldn’t mean anything but…” 

Your voice comes out in a squeak as he kisses your shoulder softly. “But?” 

A moment of hesitation. “I dunno, that was too good for a once-off game.”

Your mouth curves into a cheeky grin. “Matthew Murdock, pussywhipped already? I didn’t pick you for the type.”

He bites down on your shoulder, smug at your yelp that follows. “Who says it was just tonight that had me pussywhipped?”

You scoff, pushing him off you to sit upright and poke his collarbone. “Hang on a second, was this all some… twisted grand gesture of affection?”

“No! No, I swear, I didn’t plan any of this.”

“Alright, Matty, I believe you.”

He laughs nervously, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Matthew,” you start, sitting up on your knees to throw your hands around his neck. “We just had sex. You don’t have to be nervous to ask me out.”

A shy smile creeps across his face, red blooming in his cheeks. “I’m not nervous–”

You cut him off with a taunting giggle. “Yes, Matthew, I’ll go on a date with you. Of course I will.” A beat, and you poke him in the collarbone again. “So nervous and for what?”

He chuckles lowly, the sound pooling in your core, shaking your arms off him to pounce on you, to lay you flat on your back. “Do I have to do something dramatic to shut you up?”

There’s no mistaking the growing heat between your legs. “Maybe.”

He leans down to nip at your earlobe, smirking against your ear. “Alright then.”

.

You’re awoken to Matt’s elbow in your face and a string of profanities as he scrambles to get under the sheets, laying as still as possible with his head in your thigh. 

“What’s going on?” you hiss, pulling the covers up over your naked chest. 

Your eyes widen as the doorknob to your room turns, faint voices echoing in the hallway outside. “How the fuck did you hear that?” you panic, nudging Matt with your elbow. 

It’s Foggy’s voice that sounds the closest, although he’s still muffled by the door. “... Yeah, he was saying some weird stuff to me last night and he wasn’t home when I got back so I figured they’ve passed out studying together.”

Then your roommate. “Yeah, studying, sure. It’s about time they–” 

“Oh shit.” Foggy gasps dramatically as your knuckles turn white gripping the sheets, surveying the room before him. Nevermind that your thin sheets do absolutely nothing in concealing the obvious outline of Matt’s body; the multiple open condom packets on the ground and the empty bottle of Fireball is evidence enough. Matt’s head pops up from under the covers, his sheepish smile directed at no one in particular.  

Your roommate clasps her hands, smirking as she shakes her head. “I told you, Foggy.”

Foggy’s vacant expression is startled away as his eyes narrow in on the crucifix still hanging from Matt’s neck. “Do not tell me you left that on while you had sex. Why’d you have to bring the big guy into this?” He steps backwards, holding his hands up. “You know what? I’m outta here. I’ll see you” – he points at Matt – “later.”

Your roommate follows Foggy outside a second later, calling out to you as the door shuts softly. “Can you two get dressed? I have an exam in two hours.”

You giggle, pressing a tender kiss to Matt’s lips before whispering in his ear. “Surely there’s time for a little more?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he grins, “absolutely.”

[naviavu]

Beast Inside

pairing: yandere!shigaraki x reader

tags: MINORS DNI, college!au, yandere, reader is with a female body with gender neutral pronouns, corruption, dubcon, consensual nonconsent or cnc, (for safety reasons) noncon, popular!reader, naive!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, pervert!shigaraki, stalker!shigaraki, breeding kink, body worship, mating press, doggy style, oral (f receiving), creampie, pantythief!shigaraki, shigaraki is a creep and we love that about him <3

word count: 2.4k // crossposted in my ao3 // masterlist

summary: as a top student, you volunteer to help class loner shigaraki tomura to pass the semester. however, days before the exam, tomura decides to take his ultimate prize that he’s been craving for the longest time– you. 

hello! this is my first ever yandere fic to publish so i got a little rusty ahahaha. school system is based from east asia, one that i am most familiar with, so i apologize for the confusion! please heed the tags! enjoy, my fellow shiggy fuckers!

“If you don’t get your average at least a little bit higher by next semester, it’s gonna be rough for you– which is such a shame, because you have such decent grades in other subjects!” Is what his teacher Mic said before waving Tomura out of the room.

For fuck’s sake. Tomura was failing stupid Literature. Only if there was someone who could convince him to read those shitty classics–

“Hey! Shigaraki!” –It was you.

The popular and perfect class valedictorian.

Lees verder

[crazzzzzzzyyyyyyyyyy]

Uhh Hi everyone who started following me! I hope you are having a good day!

I want to post this to make sure everyone knows. I just repost some of the dirtiest and best smut I have found on tumblr. None of the fics you see are mine. So shoutout to the writers! I'll keep reposting the best smut I find and hope you enjoy it!

[breanime]

Let's say, Aemond is seeing Reader for the first time and can't help what he is feeling...lust.

When his mother invited your family to King's Landing, Aemond was less than interested. He was preoccupied with his studies and training, he had no use for frivolous ladies flouncing about the court. When your family arrived, his mother greeted them personally, accompanied by his sister--who was eager to have another young woman about the castle--and Ser Criston Cole.

Aemond, however, was locked away in the library, studying the history of the Red Keep.

Still, he couldn't avoid socializing with you and your people for long. And he wasn't that hard to find.

"You should see the Lady Y/N," Aegon swaggered into the library, clearly drunk in the middle of the day, "She's a sight," he paused when Aemond fixed his with his cold, one-eyed stare, "I meant nothing by the phrase," Aegon said weakly.

"Mm," Aemond went back to his books, "What do you want, Aegon? I'm busy."

His brother laughed, "Our presence has been requested. Mother wants us to formally introduce ourselves to Lady Y/N," he leaned forward, swaying a bit on his drunken feet, lowering his voice dramatically, "It seems my insufferable wife has asked her to stay in King's Landing as her companion, and her father has agreed."

Choosing to ignore the comment about their sister, Aemond sighed, finally standing up, "You know you are not to touch this girl," Aemond said, looking over at his older brother, "She is highborn, it would bring shame upon our house."

Aegon rolled his eyes, "Don't be boring, brother," he grinned as the two walked through the vast halls of the castle, "I won't do a thing to the girl... until she's wet and begging for it."

"Such talk is unbecoming of a prince," Aemond said back, not looking at his brother.

Aegon scoffed, but straightened up when they turned the final corner where Alicent was standing with Helaena and you, chatting about the changing seasons.

And that was when Aemond saw you.

It felt like all of the air had been stolen from his lungs. Never before had Aemond felt such a tingle, such a heat go through him. Such--

--desire.

You were more than just a "sight". You were a goddess, an angel, a temptress, a dream. Aemond barely even registered his mother introducing them, Aegon as the elder, and then presenting Aemond. You were his singular focus, and he stared at you, his one eye drinking you in, starting from your feet, up your enticing body, all the way to your perfect face. He had grown quite skilled at overcompensating for his lack of vision, he noticed things much faster than the average person, took in details and memorized them perfectly because if he did not, he would be at a disadvantage. Now, he was grateful for his hypervision, grateful that it allowed him to truly see you. He could feel his lips curl upwards without his permission, but Gods, he couldn't help it. You looked so...

...delicious.

"Pleased to meet you, Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond," you gave a perfect curtesy, and Aemond thought you'd make a lovely wife. The thought surprised him--not since he was a boy had he thought of marriage as anything more than a duty he would one day have to perform. But now, he was imagining you on his arm, and he liked the image that was swimming in his head.

"You will, of course, treat the Lady Y/N with the utmost respect," Alicent said, a smile on her face but eyes hard as she stared over at Aegon, "She is our respected guest."

"A dragon protects what is his," Helaena whispered, smiling as she played with her fingers, "and what is his knows that it belongs to a dragon."

Aemond tore his eye from you to look at his sister, she looked up and gave him a smile. When he looked back at you, you were smiling as well.

"I have heard much of your love of books, Prince Aemond. I am quite fond of reading as well," you said, and Aemond wanted to drown in the sweet tones of your voice, "Perhaps you could recommend a good book for me to read during my stay here."

Aemond felt his heart quicken in his chest, and if it weren't for his mother and siblings being present, he would have marched over and touched you.

Gods, he wanted to touch you.

Instead, he stared over at you, wondering about the softness of your plump lips. "I would much like that, my lady," he said back.

Alicent tore her eyes from Aegon to look at her son. His eye was blown wide, and he had a strange look on his face, an expression she hadn't seen before on him. It almost reminded her of Aegon, but there was no malice behind Aemond's gaze, the way he stared at you. There was interest, curiosity, and Gods help her--lust.

She watched, frozen, as Aemond slowly walked over to you, and she noted the careful tension in his body, like he holding himself back, keeping himself in control.

And you... Alicent could see now the way you lit up when Aemond had walked in, how your focus was singularly on him, and his was on you, Aegon and Helaena had fallen into the background. All there was were the two of you. Even now, as you threw pretty smiles at her favorite son, she could see a smile growing on his lips--a rare sight.

Helaena stood at her mother's side, and her light, airy voice filled the Queen's ear as she spoke, "A dragon protects what is his," Helaena said again, "and what is his knows that it belongs to a dragon."

Alicent took a deep breath. What is his. She put a hand on her daughter's shoulder, "Thank you, my dearest." Alicent turned, "Ser Criston."

The knight appeared at her side in seconds. Alicent did not take her eyes off of you and Aemond. Never before had she seen her son so animated, so singularly focused on something that wasn't his dragon or sword. "Ser Criston," Alicent said, keeping her voice low, "I want you to ensure that Aemond stays in his quarters tonight."

"My Queen?" Criston turned to her, confusion in his dark eyes. Of the three of her children, Aemond had never been a flight risk.

"I will not have my son give in to base desires," she said, inclining her chin towards you and Aemond.

Criston followed her gaze and saw the way the young prince was looking at you, the way his eye traveled up and down your frame, the tightness of his stance, as if he was fighting to keep himself from touching you. He nodded, "I understand."

"Good," she took in a breath, watching the way her son stood close to you, as if drawn into your space, "Both of their virtues must remain unquestionable...

...I intend to make a match of them."

***********************************************************************

Ok, so that was my first time writing Aemond, so pleaaaaase let me know what you think. He's my current obsession, so I am def open to writing him more if anyone is interested in reading it.

Gif drabble requests are closed for every character except Aemond, so if you'd like to send in a gif of him for me to do a drabble about, feel free!

Thank you for reading!

[theblvckvenus]

Not Gonna Happen

Summary: Billy spots you at a house party and his mind settles to have his way with you. You’re not making it home, so the guest bathroom will have to do.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem Reader

Warning: a lot of cursing, NSFW, (heavy) choking, fingering (f recieving), dubcon, sex, sub/dom

18+ ONLY

Lees verder

[h0neydewmoon-deactivated2022111]

𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧 [pyramid head]

→ pairings. pyramid head x gn!reader → genre. frenemies to lovers, fluff, suggestive, angst → warnings. ass talk, swearing, death mentions, blood, sexual references → notes. in case you can’t tell by the end, i really like this mans ass and i will not apologise for this self-indulgent work

While you wanted to claim that you had no clue why Pyramid Head was seemingly obsessed with you, you had a feeling that smacking his ass upon your first meeting was involved. It was one of your first ever rounds in the new world (the first two being with Michael and the Legion) and you were still getting a real grip on everything. Pyramid Head had surprised you and threw you over his giant fucking shoulder to hook you, and you just wanted to distract him.

So, you smacked his ass. 

Lees verder

[coff33notforme]

Masked dread

A/n: Just a Ghostface wip because I love this rat man ♥️ Also I plan to finish all my request don't worry I just had writers block and wanted to write something for me. Also gn reader ^^

Warning: Cursing, Knifes, Blood, Mention of injurys

The walls of this silent house seemed to scream in anguish. Hot blood trickled down your bruised and muddied hand, the crimson liquid spilled out tainting the polished floor beneath you. Your hair was matted together, tangled alike with blood and dirt. You knew the cloaked figure would be on to you in a matter of seconds, your trembling gaze shifted desperately to the red locker pressed against the concrete wall. You quickly limped to the locker. Your heart sped up, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the situation you now found yourself in.

Your ragged breath was going to give away your now painfully obvious position, if it wasn’t that then surely the blood trial now tracking behind you was. Suddenly your body froze, at the sound of the heavy slow footsteps getting gradually closer. Swiftly you opened the door, backing all the way up to the back of the locker in one clumsy panicked movement, you slapped your unsheathed hand over your mouth.

Eyes darting from what you could see from the small misshapen holes in the locker. Your heart-stopped, your entire body ceasing to make as much as a sound. The dreadful black robe, and taunting white mask, covering the face of a person you’ve oh so grown to hate. Every round you had with this man was fucking hell, he’d go out of his way to chase you completely ignoring the other survivors. Any chance he got he’d use it to leave some sort of wound on you, you’d never leave a match untouched.

The masked man hunched down slightly, moving his head to the locker slowly. Your face went pale, as he slowly stepped closer and closer and closer until he was pressed up against it. “I know you're in there…” he whispered, your eyes widened and the pit in your stomach twisted, as the doors flew open. You let a mangled scream fly out of your mouth as you tripped trying desperately to scatter away from the locker as quickly as possible. Your heart sunk as you felt a harsh grip take hold of your shoulder.

You felt your body being pulled back as you coiled with the wall of the building, knocking the air out of your lungs in one harsh movement. Your muscles were yelling in pain as you laid defenseless, unable to move. The man clicked his tongue solemnly, crouching down to your level, taking a hand full of your hair as you let out a pained gasp. “Aw, I really thought you were going to put up more of a fight than that” he mocked, venom dripping from his snake-like tone. You felt the cold metal of a sharp blade being placed to your completely exposed neck. “Don’t expect me to be gentle when you're the one who decided to make things difficult” he spat, his voice climbing down an octave leaving a hollow feeling in your gut.

“Now just hold still and be a good little -” he wasn’t able to finish his cooing as he was silenced with a swift punch to the face, his mask flung to the side. Revealing a raven haired man behind, now scowling at you with the fresh blood dripping from his nose. “Still got some fight for me to stomp out?” he seethed the words managing to slip out from his gritted teeth “Fuck you.” you spat at him stumbling to arise quickly from your slumped position. You didn't get a second to think before you were being lunged at, the masked man now atop of you.

He held the knife dangerously close to your throat once more except this time you could feel the stinging pain of the blade now cutting through your skin. He smirked “Tell ya what? You want to get out of here? You give me something and I’ll go easy on you, the rest of the round” he sneered, his voice oozing with confidence, he knew you couldn’t refuse he had the upper hand here and anything you tried to fight back with would be easily avoided leaving you with another bruise.

“What do you want from me?” you seethed, through gritted teeth, trying your hardest to avoid any movement that would send the blade deeper into your throat. “A kiss~” your eyes widened “What!? No!” he shrugged “Your loss” you felt the blade cut deeper. You frantically tossed your head away from the knife, only cutting your neck a little. “Fine! Fine! Just put the knife down” you shouted, eyes clenched waiting for the feeling of your throat being sliced in half, but to your surprise you felt a weight being lifted off of you.

You looked up to see the man now standing above you with a shit eating grin. You glared at him, he closed his eyes pointing to his cheek cockily. You rolled your eyes “One kiss okay?” you said taking a deep breath you hesitantly leaned in. Suddenly the dark haired man turned to you grabbing your jaw harshly, as he pulled you into him kissing you passionately. His lips were so soft, they brushed against your lips hungrily with a feather like quality to them.

As he pulled away smirking at your now flustered estate, you stuttered trying to think of something to say, anything, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to slap him across his stupid face or kiss him again with twice the force this time. He came closer to you, his hot breath tickling your bare skin leaving a shiver crawling down your spine. “Call me Danny” and with that he crept back into the shadows leaving you behind, light headed and trembling in delight. ‘Danny huh?’ perhaps he was starting to grow on you

[whimsyvixen]

Ok- I’ve had this thought in my head off a long time where Michael is destroying the coochie he takes his mask off looks you in the eye lowers his head and spits on your 🐱 like god I can imagine him pounding into me then letting spit drip onto the coochie I wanna get freaky with him

My guy... what have you done? You cannot expect me to not write something as hot as this.

Sigh... Cue in the Deftones music.

~

You've Seen The Butcher 18+ Drabble

WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, spit as lubricant, unprotected sex, size difference.

Your body jerked violently with every painful jab to your insides. A pitiful cry rang in the air when the masked man above you jackhammered away at your swollen pussy with his massive cock. The girth of him was too much for your tiny hole, your inner walls straining to accommodate a man of his size. The rough pace he set had you squirming away, hands pushing at his broad chest in a futile attempt to get him off you. Tears ran in streams down your face, realizing that not only could you not deter him from pounding away at your weak flesh, but that you had begun to mewl at his roughness.

It hurt so much, yet it felt so good.

"Please," you implored, " I-I can't!"

The grip on your hips turned bruising, the panting male pulling at you to clash with his pistoning hips. Harsh breathing could be heard underneath the mask, Michael gritting his teeth when your vaginal walls clenched tightly around him. The energy he was exerting into fucking you had him growling, his mask becoming unbearable and stuffy on his face as he continued to pummel you.

Feeling irritated at the way it clung to his skin, Michael stopped to remove his mask, a grunt leaving him when he pulled on his hair in the process. Tossing it to one side, he spread your legs once more, ready to drive inside your warm depths again. A little gasp left you, catching Michael's attention and making him look up at your stunned face.

His eyes widened momentarily, unease filling him at first with your wide eyes taking in every detail of his face. However, with a glance down your lovely shape, hunger took over and he narrowed his eyes at you. The perspiration on his temple traveled down his chiseled face, your eyes following the trail taking in his pointed nose and full lips along the way.

Never would you have thought that there was handsome face behind the monster that terrorized and killed people with no remorse.

"Wait, please." You placed a tentative hand on his chest. "It hurts when you... when it's i-inside." You couldn't look him in the eye when you whispered the last part, chills running through your body at his predatory stare shifting to your glistening lips.

Taking in your last words, Michael tilted his head down.

"Don't look at it!" A heavy blush rose in your cheeks. Removing his cock completely, your pussy was left gaping open, clenching around nothing but air. His gaze was fixated on your vulva, his chest heaving as he licked his lips at the shiny wet pussy bared in front of him. Then he did something that left you flabbergasted.

Michael accumulated enough saliva in his mouth before spitting it right on your entrance. The action made you shriek, the splash of the wet fluid taking you by surprise. Utter mortification filled you when you felt it slime its way down the crack on your ass.

As you struggled to come up with words, Michael dove right in, plunging his tongue deep in your snatch.

Grabbing on to his hair, you tugged at the strands to try stopping the onslaught of pleasure on your sensitive pussy. Breathless gasps left you, your chest heaving dramatically as you forgot to breathe when you felt his tongue wiggle inside you.

"No, no, n-nooo...!" Shaking your head in protest, you looked down at him, body jolting at the feral expression on his face. His eyes were entirely black, leaving no remnant of his eye color as he sucked harshly on your slit.

Closing your thighs around his head, you arched your back to escape his intrusive tongue. A nip to your clit was your only warning before strong hands grabbed your knees and yanked you open. Michael ignored your cry of pain, lapping up the mess between your legs before spitting directly into your pussy, a calloused finger coming up to plunge into your tight pussy. Stretching you in a come hither motion, Michael latched on to your throbbing little nub and sucked cruelly at it.

"You're... ah! You-ah! G-gonna make me-!" Arching your neck back, you saw stars when he forced you to cum with a crook of his finger.

And it wasn't going to be the last time he coaxed another one out of you tonight.