Eric Winter_jesse Soffer

Fics about Eric winter & Jesse Lee soffer

[ericwinter-jessesoffer-fanfics]

The rookie

Can anyone help me. I’m looking for all Tim or Tim/lucy scenes from season 1-8

Is there a link to a list

[ericwinter-jessesoffer-fanfics]

Title: Almost said it.

Tim Bradford x Lucy Chen

Summary: Lucy makes Tim laugh in a way he hasn’t in a long time, and he comes close to revealing the deeper feelings he’s been holding back.

The afternoon sunlight spilled across the living room, catching the dust motes and turning them into tiny dancers. Tim sat slouched in the corner of the couch, half-watching a rerun on the TV but mostly letting his mind wander. He’d had a long week at the precinct—too many calls, too many moments where he had to pretend he was unfazed.

Lucy sat across from him on the armchair, a mug of coffee in her hands, hair pulled up haphazardly, and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Tim had always liked that about her—the way she could look like she was plotting world domination and yet somehow be completely harmless.

“You know what’s hilarious?” Lucy said suddenly, leaning forward with the kind of enthusiasm that made it impossible not to lean in too. “I found this old video of myself trying to do yoga last year.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. Should I be worried?”

“You should definitely be worried,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. She pulled her phone out and clicked play. The screen lit up with the unmistakable chaos of Lucy in mid-yoga pose, limbs flailing, hair a mess, and a distinctly ungraceful attempt at balance.

Tim had seen her try yoga before, but somehow this version, caught on shaky home video, was exponentially funnier. He tried to stifle it, but the first chuckle slipped out. Then another. And another, building into a laugh he couldn’t contain.

Lucy’s eyes lit up, thrilled to have drawn it out of him. “Oh my god, you’re actually laughing! I wasn’t sure you knew how.”

“Shut up,” he said, but he wasn’t mad. Not really. He leaned back, trying to catch his breath. “That’s… that’s brutal. I didn’t know anyone could look that ridiculous.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t fall off the couch that day,” Lucy said, laughing along with him. “I was this close.” She held her fingers a tiny fraction apart. “So close, Tim. You don’t even know.”

Tim shook his head, still laughing. And then, for a moment, the laughter faded into something quieter, softer. He looked at her, sitting there, glowing in the warm afternoon light, and he felt that familiar tightness in his chest—the one that had been there ever since he realized that his feelings for Lucy were… more than friendly.

He almost said it then. Almost.

“I… uh…” he started, then stopped. The words caught in his throat. The words he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head, words that might ruin this easy, light, perfect moment between them.

Lucy tilted her head, sensing the shift. “What is it?” she asked, voice gentle. “You look… weird.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly. The truth was, he wasn’t—his chest still felt tight with the words he hadn’t said. “Just… that video. It’s… it’s something else.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes playfully. “Hmm. I don’t buy it.” She set her mug down and leaned closer. “You’re not fine, Tim. You’re trying to hide something. You always hide something.”

He groaned, partly because she was right and partly because she had that infuriating way of seeing straight through him. “I’m telling you,” he said, trying to reclaim control of the moment, “it’s nothing. Just… funny video. That’s it.”

Lucy laughed softly, but there was a knowing softness in her gaze that made him feel exposed. “You know,” she said, tilting her head, “sometimes it’s okay to tell people things. You don’t have to keep everything in.”

Tim swallowed. He wanted to. He wanted to tell her that she made him laugh in a way no one else could, that it mattered to him more than he could admit. That her smile, her voice, her laugh—it all hit him harder than he was willing to confess. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Yeah,” he said instead, letting a small smile play at his lips. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Lucy smiled back, a little triumph in her eyes. “See? You can be honest with me.”

Tim laughed again, quieter this time, shaking his head. “You make it too easy sometimes.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting with amusement. “Too easy, huh? That’s the complaint?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, leaning back into the couch, his chest tight with unsaid words. “Too easy.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the hum of the TV and the soft clink of Lucy’s mug as she set it back on the table. Tim found himself stealing glances at her, memorizing the way the sunlight caught the strands of her hair, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed at something stupid, the curve of her smile. He almost said it again. Almost.

Lucy reached over and nudged his shoulder gently with hers. “You know,” she said softly, “I like this. Us laughing like this. No pressure, no… anything else. Just… us.”

Tim nodded, swallowing hard. He wanted to tell her that “us” was everything to him, that her laughter was a lifeline on days he felt stretched too thin. But he let it go, letting the moment exist in its fragile perfection.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “Just… us.”

And for now, that was enough.

Tim stretched out on the couch, letting his back sink into the cushions. Lucy had moved over to sit beside him, curling one leg under her and resting her arm along the back of the couch. There was a comfortable quiet between them now, the kind that only comes after real laughter, when the air itself seems softer.

Without thinking, Lucy reached over and began running her fingers through Tim’s hair. Light, teasing strokes at first, just enough to make him squirm. He closed his eyes, letting the tension in his shoulders melt a little under her touch.

“You’re way too tense,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You need to relax more.”

“I’m relaxed,” he said, though his voice betrayed him. The truth was, he wasn’t—his chest still felt tight with the words he hadn’t said. But her touch… it helped, even if only a little.

Lucy laughed softly. “Relaxed, huh? Sure. If this is your version of relaxed, then I don’t know what to say.” She tugged lightly at a strand of hair near his temple. “See? You’re smiling without even trying. That’s a start.”

Tim let out a quiet chuckle. “I guess… maybe it is.” He turned his head slightly to look at her, caught off guard by how close she was. Her eyes were gentle, teasing, but there was a softness there too—a look that made his throat tighten.

“Tim,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You can tell me things, you know. You don’t always have to hide stuff.”

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. His entire chest ached with it—the things he felt for her, the way she made him feel more alive than he had in months. He opened his mouth… and closed it again. The words stuck.

Instead, he just shifted closer, letting her hand linger in his hair. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was charged, full of all the things left unsaid. Lucy tilted her head, noticing the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the little hitch in his breath.

“You’re almost telling me something,” she said quietly, a knowing smile on her lips. “I can see it in your eyes. You don’t have to, if you’re not ready. But…”

He swallowed hard. That tiny “but” she left hanging between them felt like the most important thing in the world. He wanted to fill it with his confession, to tell her that she mattered more than anyone had in years, that her laughter, her warmth, her presence—it all made him feel… whole.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a small, sheepish laugh. “I’m… not ready,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… maybe someday.”

Lucy’s smile softened. She leaned a little closer, pressing her forehead gently against his shoulder. “Someday,” she echoed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Tim closed his eyes, letting himself soak in the moment. It wasn’t a confession, but it was close enough. The laughter, the touch, the quiet understanding—they all said more than words could right now.

For the rest of the afternoon, they stayed like that. Tim on the couch, Lucy beside him, her fingers threading through his hair, his head occasionally turning toward her, just barely brushing her shoulder. No awkwardness. No pressure. Just warmth, trust, and the promise of something more, waiting patiently in the space between them.

And though he hadn’t said the words, though he hadn’t revealed the depth of what he felt, Tim felt lighter than he had in a long time. Because sometimes, almost saying it… was enough.

The sun dipped lower outside, painting the room in golden light. Lucy yawned softly and stretched, still leaning against him.

“Come on,” she whispered, voice soft and teasing. “You’re going to fall asleep on me.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he admitted, letting himself relax completely.

“Good,” she said, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Because I’m not moving either.”

And so they stayed there, quiet, close, and perfectly imperfect—laughing, touching, and letting the unspoken words linger in the golden afternoon light. Almost said, almost shared, almost felt, but somehow, that was enough. For now

[quinnsdesk]

caught off guard

tim bradford x inexperienced!reader

requested by: my lovely @sleepymissy an: yet another amazing req from my lovely Missy. this is a longer one and also not proofread, sorry but the ideas were just flowing! (join the taglist)

cw: mdni, age gap, mentions of sex work, mentions of violence, masturbation (m), hand jobs, fingering, virginity loss, p in v.

wc: 7.4k

You felt amazing. It was amazing. You were finally P2. For the longest time, it felt like your time as a rookie would never end, but finally, you'd made it. Thank goodness Grey had paired you with one of the kindest and most good-hearted men you knew. John Nolan.

John was everything you could’ve asked for in a training officer. He was patient, gentle when needed, tough when necessary, and always willing to listen. He guided you through your toughest calls and celebrated your wins like they were his own. His group of friends welcomed you easily, all warm smiles and helpful advice.

Well, all except one.

Tim Bradford.

He was stoic. Intense. Controlled. Tim was quiet in that unnerving way that made you wonder what he was thinking. His eyes, a piercing ocean blue, always seemed to be working something out that he never let anyone in on. He wasn't even part of patrol anymore. He was working metro, and yet he was always around.

At first, you didn’t understand why. He was in metro, a tight knit group who wouldn't really hang out with those outside their clique, especially not with Nolan and his easygoing friends. But Lucy had explained it one day, a little awkwardly. They used to be something. More than just partners. Because a superior dating a subordinate could put both their careers at risk, Tim had transferred to metro to make things easier. So, there was history.

And for a while, it had worked. Things between them seemed good. Solid even. But eventually, it fell apart. Lucy moved on. She went back to Chris, saying she needed something more grounded. Something stable.

"Look at you! P2." Lucy grinned as you walked into the station. She stood beside Tim, who, as always, remained composed.

"Congrats, Boot. Didn’t think you’d make it this far." His tone was dry, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. The word Boot was meant to be a jab, something to get under your skin, yet coming from him, it rolled off you like water off a duck's back.

"Thanks, sir." You smiled sweetly, catching the faint flush that crept up his neck.

Tim would be lying if he said he didn’t notice you. You were younger. Confident. Attractive. And the way you called him sir, even now that you didn’t have to, did things to him he didn’t want to admit. Maybe it was the tone you used, teasing and respectful all at once. Maybe it was the way your eyes lingered on him a second too long. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to you. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

___________

“So, any celebration plans now that you're a P2?” Aaron asks, his hands steady on the wheel as he cruises down the road, eyes flicking between the traffic and you.

You shrug, watching the city pass by through the passenger window. “Hm, not really. I mean… is it really that big of a deal?”

Aaron scoffs. “Uh, yeah! Most rookies wash out before they even get to this point. But you didn’t. That means something.”

You hum in reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you need, I know the best caviar place."

You turn to him with a smirk, but before you can fire back, a rapid pop-pop-pop shatters the rhythm of the moment. Gunshots. Close.

Aaron’s posture snaps straight, and your hand instinctively drops to your holster.

“Did you hear that?” you ask, eyes scanning the buildings, already flipping your body around in the seat.

“Yeah. That was automatic.” He flicks on the lights and sirens, making a sharp turn onto the next street.

You both move fast. No hesitation. Radios crackle as you key up. “7-Adam-19, we’ve got shots fired near 5th and Valencia. Requesting backup and an airship. Possible active shooter.”

The tires screech as you roll up to a narrow alley choked with shadow. A black SUV is parked half-on, half-off the curb, the driver’s side door still swinging open. Shell casings glitter on the pavement like cursed confetti.

“Shit,” Aaron mutters, parking at an angle for cover. “You see anyone?”

You shake your head, already stepping out, weapon drawn, scanning.

“Clear right,” you whisper, and he answers, “Clear left.”

The two of you move together, backs tight, eyes sharp. Halfway down, a steel door slams shut at the far end of the alley, and a shadow flits behind a dumpster.

Aaron lifts his radio again. “We have movement. Possible suspect fleeing eastbound. Need Metro support. Now.”

Crackling static fills the radio before Tim’s voice cuts through. “Metro en route. ETA three minutes. Hold position if you can.”

Your grip tightens on your gun at the sound of his voice. Not because you're nervous—no, because lately things between you and Tim have felt... off. Since you made P2, he’s been distant. Guarded. You don’t know what shifted, but it lingers in every interaction like smoke in the air.

You and Aaron hold the position, watching the far end of the alley until Metro arrives. Tim’s team pours in with practiced precision, clearing the buildings, chasing the trail. But the shooter’s already fled.

When the adrenaline fades, you're left staring down at the glittering casings and the bloodstain near the SUV’s tire. A reminder of how close chaos always is.

Tim finds you shortly after. He says nothing at first, just walks over, scanning you for injuries, for damage. His eyes are sharp, unreadable.

“You good?” he finally asks.

You nod. “Yeah. We held perimeter until Metro showed. Suspect’s gone.”

He studies you for a second longer than necessary. “You did good.”

It should feel like praise. It should feel like validation. But instead, it lands heavy, like there’s something he’s not saying.

"Thanks." Aaron chirps in to cut the thick air, it was meant to come out as a joke, but he only earned a smirk from you, Tim remained his usual grumpy self. Tim nods in goodbye before joining his metro buddies. "Damn, I didn't think Tim could be grumpier than he already is." Aaron turns around with you, greeting Nyla and Angela as they walk onto the scene. "Hm, I noticed that too, I mean he's always been a bit of an ass but lately he's been a huge dick." You whispered not wanting anyone to hear your conversation.

Suddenly you went quiet, it was pathetic honestly. The image of Tim flooded your mind, his cock in hand, his heavy blue eyes on you, and only you. "Hey? You good?" Aaron opens the passenger door for you to enter, being the usual gentleman he is. "Hm? Yeah, just thinking about celebration plans." You lied.

The drive back to the station was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled not from lack of things to say, but from the weight of everything that had just happened. The adrenaline was still ebbing in your bloodstream, leaving behind the telltale ache in your limbs and the faint thud in your temples. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in amber streaks of streetlight, but your mind wasn’t on the buildings or the traffic.

It was on him.

You tried not to think about it, about him, but the moment kept replaying behind your eyes like some slow-motion loop you couldn’t shake. Tim, storming into the alley with Metro, taking command like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bulletproof vest snug against his chest, sculpting his torso like a second skin. You knew the man was fit, had seen him train, seen him in uniform day in and day out, but something about him in that moment hit different.

Maybe it was the way he moved, fluid and sure, eyes scanning, body tensed for danger. Or maybe it was the way his biceps strained beneath the sleeves of his black tactical shirt, the fabric clinging and flexing with each movement like it could barely contain the power underneath. It looked like the seams were moments away from surrendering, and you hated how easily your eyes had locked there.

And his jaw, God, his jaw. Clenched in that firm, focused way, like he was holding back an entire storm of emotion, pushing it all down so he could stay sharp. Professional. In control. The muscle ticked as he gave orders, his voice calm but edged in steel, and the way he held his weapon? You’d trained for that. Practiced that. But when he did it, it wasn’t just muscle memory. It was precision, dominance, command.

You remembered the veins on his forearms, too, what a ridiculous detail to get stuck on, but they stood out, thick and pronounced as he moved with purpose. They pulsed beneath the skin, mapping a trail that had your stomach tightening in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. It was... distracting. Maddening.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly as if you could dislodge the image. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that, especially not after an active shooter scene. But the image lingered. Branded into your thoughts like heat against cold metal.

Next to you, Aaron drove in silence. Maybe he was lost in his own thoughts too, maybe he was giving you space. Either way, you were grateful. The last thing you needed right now was to talk. Especially not about what had just happened, or who had just happened to show up like a real-life action hero.

You rubbed your fingers against your thigh, trying to ground yourself, but it didn’t help much.

Because despite the calm in the car, your thoughts were anything but. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on what came next, paperwork, statements, the debrief, all you could think about was Tim Bradford. Clenched jaw. Veined forearms. Gun in hand.

___________

“Hey, I heard about the shooting. You okay?” Lucy’s voice cut through the low buzz of the station, her concern evident as she approached you and Aaron. Her brows were pulled together, eyes scanning your face for any sign of strain.

“Yeah,” Aaron replied quickly, before you could even open your mouth. “Perp got away just as Tim and his team made it to the scene.”

Lucy winced. “Shit,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting toward Grey’s office. Tim was already inside, standing tall, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he gave his debrief. His expression was unreadable, locked down and professional, but you could see the muscle twitch in his jaw as he spoke. Always in control. Always wound just a little too tight.

You were about to excuse yourself to change out of your tac gear when Grey’s voice rang out across the bullpen.

“Can I see you in my office?”

You froze for a beat, then nodded quickly, wiping your palms on your pants before crossing the floor and stepping into the office.

Tim barely looked at you as you entered, though you could feel the heat of his stare lingering just beneath the surface. He stood beside Grey, who didn’t waste time.

“We think the shooter was tipped off,” Grey began, his tone clipped and direct. “The plates on the vehicle match one of Elijah Stone’s known associates.”

You swallowed hard. That name wasn’t just any name, it carried weight. Violence. Power.

“We need someone on the inside,” Grey continued. “Someone new. Unconnected.”

Tim finally looked at you. Really looked.

“Ever worked UC, Boot?”

Your stomach tightened. Grey’s brows twitched slightly at the nickname, but he didn’t comment. Tim didn’t apologize either.

“Uh… n-no, sir.” Your voice hitched embarrassingly under their dual scrutiny. Both men stared at you like they were weighing something, like this moment mattered more than you realized.

“Chen will brief you. Get ready. Wheels up in 30,” Grey said, voice firm. Then he added, without looking up, “Unless you think you’re not ready.”

You didn’t miss the way Tim’s gaze bore into you—sharp, questioning, challenging. Like he wanted to see if you’d flinch.

“No,” you said, straighter now. Stronger. “I’m ready, sir.”

You didn’t know then what that really meant.

It hit you like a slap once you saw the outfit.

The wardrobe Lucy laid out for you was, well, it was a lot. You were being posed as a hooker.

The low-cut black tank top was tight across your chest, just barely appropriate enough to conceal the small wire and mic strapped beneath it. Over it, a cheap faux-fur jacket that reeked of desperation and stale perfume. The mini skirt was metallic gold, short enough to reveal everything with one wrong move. Paired with thigh-high black stockings that clung to your legs like a second skin, and silver platform heels that looked like they belonged on a stripper pole.

Lucy had gone full out with your hair and makeup, your ponytail was teased to high heaven, your lips glossed a sticky cherry red, and your eyes smoked out with so much liner you barely recognized your own face. The gold hoops in your ears caught the overhead lights like a beacon.

You looked… older. Edgier. Dangerous.

And, okay, hot. You couldn’t deny that. You looked like a problem.

When you stepped out of the locker room, the reaction was immediate.

Aaron let out a slow, impressed breath, shaking his head. “Damn. If the undercover gig doesn’t pan out, you could start charging entry to walk into a room like that.”

Lucy grinned with pride, arms folded like a fashion designer watching her muse strut the runway. “I told you,” she said to Angela, “this girl has range.”

Angela gave you a once-over, clearly impressed. “Lucy, you need to dress me up for date night with Wesley,” she joked, before fist-bumping Nyla.

You, on the other hand, tugged at your skirt in a useless attempt to cover more skin. “This feels like it’s… too much,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

Your hands instinctively went to your thighs, trying to smooth the fabric, but all you succeeded in doing was drawing more attention to your legs—especially the toned lines of your quads and calves, made even more pronounced by the heels.

Tim was standing off to the side, silent. You looked up at him, and that was when it hit.

He wasn’t just quiet. He was avoiding looking at you.

His jaw was tight again. His eyes flicked to you once, briefly, before darting away like your body might physically burn him if he stared too long.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s focus,” he said, but his voice was slightly hoarse, betraying him. You swore his ears had turned red. You stood a little straighter after that. Maybe the outfit was too much. But from the way Tim couldn’t meet your gaze or maybe it was just enough.

"Looking good," Grey said with a small, almost reluctant smile as he walked into the bullpen, his eyes flicking over the outfit you were reluctantly wearing.

"Thank you, sir." You gave a nod, awkwardly tugging at your tank top in a half-hearted attempt to cover a bit more cleavage. It didn’t help. The outfit was designed to draw attention, and unfortunately, it was doing exactly that. You felt the subtle stares, the quiet shift in energy from every nearby officer.

The group made their way into roll call. As the chatter died down and everyone took their seats, you remained standing near Grey at the front.

He cleared his throat. "Tonight, one of our own will be going undercover as Candy Simmons. She’s a low-level prostitute working the corner our suspect, our shooter, Luke Graham, is known to frequent."

The room tensed. The atmosphere changed in an instant, eyes sharpened, jaws set. Protective instincts quietly stirred.

“If you see her on the street, you treat her like any other working girl. Cuff her. Book her. Say it’s for solicitation. Stay in character. No exceptions,” Grey instructed firmly.

Nods went around the room, some hesitant, others grim. Lucy shot you a quick look, half support, half concern, while Lopez folded her arms with an unreadable expression, clearly not thrilled.

Tim stood up near the back and stepped forward, voice cutting clean through the quiet. “Let’s be clear. Catching Graham is the mission. But no suspect is worth losing one of our own. Her safety comes first."

His eyes flicked toward you for half a second, something unreadable behind them, controlled, but heavy.

“If she calls for backup, you respond. Immediately. And if anything starts going sideways, we pull her out. No discussion.” He barks.

You swallowed, nodding once. You weren’t a stranger to danger, but this was different. This wasn’t a vest and a badge, it was heels, makeup, and vulnerability. You were walking into this as bait.

“Understood?” Grey asked, scanning the room.

A chorus of affirmatives followed.

As roll call ended and officers filtered out, Tim caught up with you just outside the door, lowering his voice.

“You sure about this?” His tone was calm, but his eyes searched yours, clearly looking for any hint of hesitation.

You forced a confident smirk. “Candy Simmons doesn’t scare easy.”

He didn’t smile back, but you can tell he's holding one on the inside. He just gave a curt nod and walked off, shoulders tight, fists lightly clenched at his sides.

___________

"New girl! This is my corner."

The voice rang out sharp and territorial. You turned to see her, she had a short blond bob, fishnet stockings hugging long legs, and a skin-tight, hot pink dress that shimmered under the dull yellow streetlight. She looked like trouble. The kind that earned her turf.

"Plenty space for all of us," you replied, your voice dipped in a deliberately cheap Boston accent. You gave a casual smile, pulling a cigarette from the pack in your bra and handing it to her. "Candy."

She gave you a once-over, eyeing the cigarette, then you, then the cigarette again. She took it. Truce.

"Candy, huh? Bit cliché, don’t you think?" she said as she lit up.

You gave a shrug. "It sticks."

"Peach," she introduced, smoke curling from her lips. "That’s Felicity—" she nodded to a girl with dark curls and hollow eyes, "—and Nina’s the one in the silver heels."

Felicity stepped closer, arms crossed. "Where you from, Candy? You look familiar."

You blinked, maintaining your cool. “I get that a lot,” you replied with a small laugh. “Boston. Just moved down. My old man said I’d make better bag here.”

"Uh-huh," Felicity muttered, still squinting, not entirely convinced, but not ready to push either.

A car rolled up with black, tinted windows, and the window slid down with an electric hum. The man inside leaned over. “Hey, baby, wanna have a good night?”

Peach strutted forward in practiced rhythm, leaning against the car door with ease. “You’re lucky,” she cooed. “Tonight, you got options.” She winked back at you before climbing in, the door shutting with a low thump.

This was all too surreal. You shifted on your heels, cold breeze dancing up your barely-there skirt. You kept your body loose, expression indifferent. Candy Simmons might be fake, but the environment wasn’t.

You were about to reposition yourself further down the sidewalk when you felt it, a presence.

A man. Tall, wiry, with greasy hair pulled back into a thin ponytail. His clothes hung loose on his frame, and he reeked of alcohol and something more chemical. He staggered forward, eyes locked on you like you were a meal.

"Don’t think I’ve seen you around here," he slurred, stepping too close. “Fresh meat, huh?”

You forced a laugh, taking a step back, trying to remain in character. “Just workin’, baby.”

But he didn’t back off. Instead, his fingers reached out, brushing your arm, then gripping it.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” he snapped, voice low and menacing. “This corner ain’t charity. You pay to be here.”

You froze for just a second. Not from fear—you had backup close—but the sudden shift in his demeanor. He wasn’t just posturing. He meant to hurt you.

"Yo!"

The voice sliced through the night.

You turned your head to see Tim, he wore a filthy flannel, with dark jeans and his crisp white t-shirt underneath, something he obviously threw together no more than 5 minutes ago. He was storming towards the two of you.

"The hell you think you’re doin’ with my girl?" Tim barked, squaring up to the man. His voice was rough, laced with threat, and dripping with territorial menace. He was completely in character. Your so-called pimp.

The man raised his hands, backing up a step. “Hey, man, chill, didn’t know she was spoken for—”

“She’s mine,” Tim growled, shoving his way between you and the creep, now nose to nose with him. “You touch her again, I’ll bury you in a goddamn alley.”

The man stumbled back, hands shaking, and then bolted down the sidewalk like a rat scurrying into a sewer.

Tim turned, his expression still hard. He grabbed your arm—not too tight, but enough for the role—and hissed just loud enough for the mics to catch it: “You good?”

You nodded once, quick.

His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before letting go. He looked you over and muttered under his breath, "You need to sell the act, but don’t forget what’s real. I’m right here." Was Tim being genuine and caring?

Then, louder, his voice changing back to his in-character bark, he snapped, “Get your ass back on the sidewalk. You’re not here to flirt, you’re here to work.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, flipping your hair. “Whatever, baby.”

As you returned to your post, the adrenaline still buzzed under your skin. The mission was still on, but so was something else. Something hot and tense that simmered beneath the roleplay.

And you had a feeling the night wasn’t done testing you.

You watched as Tim walked away, a heavy feeling lodged deep in your chest. He didn’t look back. Not even once. You told yourself to shake it off, to focus, to stay in character. You didn’t have time to fall apart, not when the target was walking right toward you.

Graham stumbled out from the alleyway, reeking of cheap whiskey and bad decisions. His brunette hair was unkempt, eyes bloodshot, and a toothpick dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth. He scanned the sidewalk, eyes eventually landing on you like you were just another item to collect. You were playing bait, and he was taking it.

"You new?" he asked, voice slurred, eyes trailing your figure as he took a slow, cocky step closer.

"I am," you purred, smiling sweetly. "But I’m also unforgettable." You placed a flirty hand on his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his jacket.

He chuckled lowly, leaning in with a disgusting grin. "Mmm, I like that."

"Yeah?" You tilted your head.

Quick as a whip, your hand closed around his wrist while your other slammed into his chest. He staggered, caught off guard, and you used the momentum to body slam him into the hood of his car. He grunted loudly, face mashed against the dirty metal.

"LAPD," you growled, yanking his arm behind his back. "You're under arrest, Graham."

But he wasn’t going down easy.

His elbow rammed back, catching you in the ribs, making you stumble. You regained your footing just in time to dodge a wild punch. "You bitch!" he snarled.

He swung again, this time grabbing at your shirt. The fabric tore at the collar as you twisted away, but you didn’t let go. You landed a solid knee to his thigh and grabbed his hair, yanking him forward and off balance.

You slammed him into the pavement with a grunt, cuffing one wrist as he thrashed beneath you. "Stay the hell down!" you snapped, breath hot with adrenaline.

He kicked out, but Nyla arrived just then, gun drawn. "Graham, don't be stupid."

Seeing backup, Graham finally stilled. You locked the second cuff into place with a loud click, panting hard, shirt torn and sticking to your skin.

“Good work,” Nyla said, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him up. “You good?”

"Peachy," you muttered, brushing hair from your face, trying not to notice the cool air hitting your now-exposed bra as your torn shirt shifted.

You turned—just in time to see Tim approaching, eyes scanning over the scene.

But then his gaze landed on you.

He froze for a second, eyes darkening as he took in the ripped fabric across your chest, the pale strap of your bra peeking through. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and moved toward you.

"Here," he said quietly, draping it over your shoulders in one swift, protective motion before anyone else could get a good look. His fingers lingered just a second too long at the collar, eyes meeting yours, filled with concern. "You okay?"

You swallowed, nodding as you tugged the jacket tighter around yourself. It was warm, and it smelled like him.

"Yeah. Just... need a minute."

"Take it," he said, his voice gentler now. "I’ve got the scene."

And just like that, he stood between you and the rest of the world—shielding you without saying a word.

___________

As you walked back into the station, you felt every eye lock onto you like lasers. The usual buzz of the bullpen evaporated into a weighted silence. No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound echoing off the polished floors was the sharp clink of your heels.

Tim's jacket clung tightly to your chest, shielding the torn remnants of your shirt underneath. It was far too big on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, but it felt like armor, thick, warm, and safe. You kept your gaze forward, refusing to let them see the rawness in your expression.

"Back to work!" Grey barked, snapping the room out of its daze. Conversations resumed in hushed tones, but their eyes still followed you.

He stepped toward you then, placing a broad, reassuring hand on your shoulder. His touch was firm, grounding.

"How you feeling?" he asked, his voice lower now, more personal.

You gave him a tired smile, reaching up and gently touching the bandage taped just above your brow, courtesy of Graham’s flailing elbow. The area throbbed dully, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded only an hour earlier.

"Like I need a drink... or ten," you muttered dryly, earning the faintest tug of a smile from Grey.

He nodded, the concern in his eyes briefly eclipsing the usual stoic facade. "Get changed then go home. Rest—you need it," he said in that fatherly tone of his, the kind that brokered no argument but carried care underneath.

"Yes, sir," you replied softly, your voice laced with exhaustion.

You turned and walked toward the locker rooms. Your muscles were already beginning to stiffen, the ache settling in like an unwelcome guest. The bruises hadn’t fully bloomed yet, but you could feel them forming beneath your skin like slow fire. You’d be sore tomorrow, no doubt about it.

After changing back into your jeans and a soft, worn-in t-shirt, you stuffed the ruined blouse into your gym bag and zipped it shut. You paused for a moment, running your fingers down the heavy fabric of Tim’s metro jacket. It still smelled like him, faint hints of cologne, clean sweat, and the worn leather of the car seat he practically lived in. You slipped it over your arm.

Then, you headed toward his office.

As you walked down the hallway, your boots clicking softly against the tile floor, you heard faint mumbles coming from ahead. At first, they were indistinct, just low, almost rhythmic sounds, the kind your brain tries to dismiss as nothing more than background noise. But then, in the spaces between footsteps, you caught something more specific. Your name.

You stopped dead in your tracks, brows furrowed. 'Did I hear that right?' The station was quiet, unusually so. It was after hours, and most people had gone home. You’d stayed behind to finish paperwork, but now curiosity itched beneath your skin. It was probably nothing, you reasoned. Maybe you were tired, hearing things after an already stressful night.

Still, something pulled you forward, an invisible thread tugging at your gut.

As you approached Tim’s office, the muffled murmurs grew clearer, layered with something else now. Moans. Quiet, ragged moans. Your breath hitched as you stood frozen just outside his door. No way. Your heart began to pound in your chest. A dozen rational explanations raced through your mind, maybe he’d clicked on a bad ad while researching a case, or maybe some video started playing unexpectedly. Maybe he was listening to something with headphones, not realizing how loud it was.

But when you leaned in, just slightly, just enough to press your ear gently against the doorframe, you heard it again.

"Fuck… yes, baby..."

The voice was deep, raw, strained with pleasure. You recognized it instantly. Tim.

Your hand, without thought, drifted to the doorknob. Not turning it. Just resting there. Your mouth had gone dry, and you blinked hard, trying to process what the hell was happening.

It was probably a video; you told yourself again. It has to be a video. Or maybe a phone call. Maybe he’s not even alone in there.

And then you heard it. Your name. Not once. Twice. Moaned like a prayer, broken and desperate.

Every theory you had disintegrated in that moment.

You flinched back as if burned. The thought of knocking had completely slipped your mind, replaced with the dull roar of blood in your ears. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, a brutal rhythm of disbelief and something else. Something darker. Hotter.

Your name. He said your name.

You should leave. You should walk away, forget you ever heard anything, pretend none of this happened. That would be the smart thing to do. The respectful thing.

But your feet stayed planted.

Slowly, cautiously, your hand turned the knob. You didn’t even realize you were opening the door until it gave way with a soft click and swung inward just a few inches.

Enough to see.

Tim sat behind his desk, slouched back in his chair, his head tilted against the headrest. One hand gripped the armrest in a white-knuckled hold. The other disappeared beneath the edge of his desk, rhythmically moving.

You couldn’t see everything. Just enough.

His eyes were shut, brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched tight as if he were holding back groans that threatened to spill over. His chest rose and fell in staggered breaths.

"God..."

Then he said it again. Clear. Intense. Like he meant it.

You sucked in a breath and instinctively stepped back, heart thundering.

The soft scuff of your shoe must’ve been louder than you thought.

Tim’s eyes flew open.

For a second, maybe even less, you both just stared. He looked startled, flushed, pupils blown wide with shock. And then his face twisted in panic and embarrassment as he registered what was happening. His hand shot away, grabbing at his desk, a clumsy attempt at covering what couldn’t be unseen.

“Shit!” he barked, scrambling upright. “I- what the hell—why are you-?”

“I- I didn’t mean to-” you stammered, your eyes darting toward the floor, heat blooming across your cheeks. “I heard, something, I thought you needed help-” You watched as he quickly stuffed himself back into his jeans.

“You heard something?” he snapped, standing up fully now, still clearly rattled, trying desperately to regain composure. “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t l-look. I swear, oh my God I'm so sorry!" You threw your palms over your eyes as he sat back down and sighed, his hands running over his clenched jaw. "Tim... say something please..." Your throat was tight, your plea coming out softer than planned. "Get over here." He ordered. Your mouth went dry. "W-what?" You stumbled towards him, his two hands on each of his muscular thighs, you could see his hard cock straining beneath his jeans.

It was almost as if he could tell from your facial expressions that you weren't used to this, not just with him but with anyone.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked again, not out of mockery or dominance, but curiosity, laced with something softer. Something deeper. He was reading your face like a case file, dissecting your reactions, watching the way you flinched, not with shame, but with exposure.

You hesitated, then gave the smallest of nods.

You were sitting on the edge of his desk, fingers curling slightly against the polished surface, heart thundering in your chest. The air between you was thick, as if time itself had paused, stretching each second out like molasses.

And yet, his eyes didn’t waver.

A flicker passed through his expression. Something primal, restrained. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move toward you. If anything, he stayed grounded, seated, steady.

“Such a sweet, innocent girl,” he murmured, voice roughened with want, but low, measured. “No one’s ever taken their time with you, have they?”

You could barely speak. The world felt like it had shrunk to just the space between you, the weight of his gaze, and the heat building low in your stomach. You weren’t used to being looked at like this. Not with hunger, but reverence. Like you were something valuable. Worth unraveling.

His eyes dropped, trailing down your legs and back up with a purpose that made your skin flush.

You swallowed thickly. “W-what were you thinking about?”

Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how unsure it sounded. But you needed to know. You needed to understand what it was about you that had pulled this version of Tim to the surface, unguarded, raw, wanting.

He didn’t flinch.

“You,” he said. “And those perfect legs. The way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. The way you always act like you’ve got something to prove, like you’re afraid no one’s ever going to see how brilliant you are unless you burn yourself out trying.”

You weren’t sure if it was adrenaline or something else, but your hands trembled. Not from fear, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in your body right now. Just anticipation. An ache you didn’t know you’d been carrying.

His thumb traced the seam of his jeans absently as he leaned back in his chair, still watching you like you were the center of gravity in the room. And for him? You probably were.

“I shouldn’t be saying any of this,” he admitted. “You're were a rookie not too long ago."

He stood slowly, running a hand through his hair, trying to release the tension that had coiled tightly in his shoulders.

“And yet…” he looked at you, voice barely audible. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

There was silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was thick with unsaid things. The kind of silence that hums in your chest, waiting for someone to make the next move.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. You were overwhelmed, your body, your thoughts, your heart all screaming different things.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted quietly. “With any of this.”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I’m going to teach you every step of the way. And make you feel so good, if that's what you want?" He brushes a strand of hair to exposed more your neck and collarbone. "Yes... please." You whined as he sat back down on his chair. He patted on his lap for you to sit down before unbuckling his belt and releasing his cock.

You gulped nervously as he stroked himself a few times, taking a deep breath and inhaling your scent. You slowly take his cock in your hand and stroke him. "Hmm.. doing s'good baby." He hums before closing his eyes, releasing a deep breath. "You can go a bit faster if you want." His one hand gripping the armrest while the other is rubbing your back. You sped up earning a groan from Tim. "L-like this?" You peep, watching as his smirks. "Fuckin' perfect." He throws his head back.

You unintentionally let out a whine as Tim pulled your hand away, fixing himself up before making you sit on his desk. "Relax baby, I don't wanna cum just yet. Gotta savor the moment." He helped you pull your jeans down before spreading your legs.

"Tim!" You gasped as he slowly pushed one of his large digits into your soaked cunt. "That's it sweetheart." He cooed watching your big, beautiful eyes grow from pain and pleasure. You arched your back as he rubbed is thumb on your clit, you almost saw stars. Tim placed a hasty kiss on your lips as he grinned, watching your chest rise a fall from the stimulation.

You felt a coil form in your lower belly, but you hadn't recognized it, "Gonna cum baby?" He looks up at you as a little bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You nod, realizing you were approaching your orgasm.

"Hey!" You yelped as he removed his fingers, unbuckling his belt for the third time before pushing your legs back apart. "I need to be in you." He groans, gripping his desk before aligning his cock with your folds. Your eyes grew at his size, surely there was no way he was going to fit without a fight.

"We'll take it slow, okay?" He looked deep into your eyes, "We'll stop at any time." You nodded again, wrapping your legs around his lower torso. He slowly pushed himself into you, a loud whine leaving your lips as Tim stretched you out. "Shhh baby, you're bein' so loud." He placed his large palm over your mouth before continuing with his painfully slow thrust.

"God, baby yes." He groaned into the nape of your neck as he finally reached your hilt, your hymen now torn. "Thank you so much, sweetheart." He slowly pulled back out before thrusting back in, making sure to maintain a slow pace to help you adjust to his size. "Tim.." You moaned as you felt him filling you up. "Yes, c'mon, just like that." His hands were planted on his desk on the either side of you, as you held onto his shoulders and your legs maintained their grip around his torso.

"Cum baby." He panted, his head in the crook of your neck. You moved one hand to grip the back of his head, as your involuntarily clenched around him. "Tim!" You whined cumming all over him and arching your back as you felt his heavy cock pulse inside of you. "Pull ou-" You panted as Tim's thrusts got sloppier and lazier. "What?" His voice was high pitched, you swore you almost heard a voice crack. "Pull out, Sir!" You moaned a little too loud, you felt him pull out - almost too late and cum all over your lower belly and thighs.

"Shit." His body went limp on top of yours, your muscles were on fire. Hell, your whole body was on fire. "Here." He used his spare shirt to wipe you up, the gesture being more sensual than Tim had intended it to be. "Tim... you don't have to." You were still sitting on the edge of his desk; he was now kneeling in front of you. "I want to." He gently padded the swollen and painful area, feeling back every time you winced before handing you your jeans.

“Can I walk you out?” Tim asked quietly as you slung your gym bag over your shoulder, the soft hum of the nearly empty precinct wrapping around you like a late-night secret.

You glanced up, catching the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, and smiled warmly. “Of course.” You locked your phone in your bag and slipped your arm through the strap. Together, you stepped out of the bullpen, the lights dimmed to just a few overhead bulbs casting long shadows down the hall.

The station was nearly deserted now, only the night shift remaining, their murmurs and shuffles barely audible. The usual clatter and buzz of daytime activity had faded, replaced by a calm hush that seemed to hold its breath.

Tim walked beside you, his steps steady and easy, but there was a tension to him you hadn’t noticed before, something in his jaw tightening, in the way he kept his gaze low. Finally, as you reached the row of cars outside, he sighed, the sound heavy and a little vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

“For?” You looked up at him, unlocking your car doors and balancing your bag on the roof.

Tim swallowed, hesitating before he looked you in the eye. “I didn’t—well, I didn’t want your first time to be in… there.” He gestured vaguely back toward the station.

You smirked, leaning forward to place a deliberately innocent kiss on his cheek. The warmth of your lips made him shift under your touch, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“Are you kidding? I don’t regret it at all.” Your smile deepened, the playful glint in your eyes promising a little mischief.

He chuckled softly, the sound rough but genuine, and leaned casually against your car. “If you let me buy you dinner tomorrow night… maybe we can spend most of the night in my bed. I still have a few more things to teach you after all.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest as you studied him with amused disbelief. “Who are you? And what have you done with the real Tim?”

His grin widened, and he playfully punched your shoulder. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken desire and the thrill of possibilities yet to come.

You turned back to him, a mischievous smile curling your lips. “So… what you were doing in your office earlier, is that a regular occurrence?”

Tim’s face flushed a deep shade of red, his eyes darting away for a moment. “N-no, God no. Not at the office.” His voice was hurried, almost defensive.

You cocked your brow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a knowing smile. So it was a regular occurrence… just not at work.

He cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed but also a bit cocky now. “But seeing you tonight, dressed like that, the way you owned that op, the way you called me ‘baby’…” He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper. “I couldn’t wait to get home. It was only a blessing that you walked in and made my fantasy a reality.”

The confession made your heart skip. Tim, usually so controlled and composed, was nakedly honest in a way that made you want to reach out and pull him closer.

You moved toward him, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “Good,” you breathed. “I’m just getting started.” He grinned.

His eyes darkened, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Yeah?” you teased, voice thick with promise. “What else you got planned?”

He smirked, “Dinner first. Then… well, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Tim chuckled, kissing the tip of your nose. “I don’t mind waiting. As long as you’re by my side.” You smiled.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the distant sound of traffic on the street. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

You leaned your forehead against his, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your skin. “Thanks for walking me out.”

“Anytime,” he murmured. “Hell, I’ll walk you anywhere.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your smile softening into something more sincere. “Then don’t be a stranger tomorrow night.”

“I won’t,” Tim promised, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll text you the time.”

As you slid into your car, he gave you one last look, equal parts tenderness and hunger, and you knew this was only the beginning. Not just of something new, but something worth fighting for, worth savoring.

Driving away, your mind replayed the night, the feel of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered. And with a smile, you knew one thing for sure:

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

tags: @jessewesmitchellfan @w1ldf1owers @mrsmaugic @jaded222 @cosavuoi-me @winchestersbgirl @bradleybeachbabe @whatasadlittlelife @thesupersecretboyband22 @vinos-things

[quinnsdesk]

praise

tim bradford x rookie!reader

source of my filthy thoughts: @sleepymissy

cw: mdni, age gap, hand jobs, fingering, car sex, sir kink if you squeeze your eyes, masturbation (f), no use of y/n, praise kink

wc: 5.2k

You never really planned for it to go this way. Joining the LAPD felt like the next logical step, structured, demanding, noble. You weren’t naive; you expected the long nights, the stress, the near-impossible standards. But you also expected to get through it. Fast. Efficient. Professional. Your time as a rookie was supposed to be a means to an end. Get in, learn the ropes, prove yourself, and move forward.

But it didn’t go that way. It couldn’t. Not with him.

Sergeant Tim Bradford.

It wasn’t supposed to be him. Normally, sergeants didn’t train rookies, didn’t spend their days walking the fine line between mentor and ghost. But Grey had made the call, and when Grey made a call, people listened.

You didn’t complain. You knew enough to know Smitty wasn’t the right fit, not for someone who gave a damn. Grey knew that too. He wanted someone who’d push you, who’d treat the badge like the weight it really was. So, you got Bradford.

At first, it was exactly what you expected, hard lines and colder silences. He didn’t bother learning your favorite coffee order. He didn’t make jokes to cut the tension. He called you boot, always with that tone: firm, clipped, unreadable.

You responded in kind. Perfect posture. Precise reports. No questions unless they mattered. You spent your days buried in protocol and your nights second-guessing every mistake you made.

Let's be honest, you didn't do it to be a successful officer at the LAPD, or to make it to P2 in an instant. You did it for him. To earn his validation.

"Did you see that, boot?"

Tim’s voice cut through your thoughts like a switchblade, sharp and immediate. You blinked, pulled out of whatever haze you'd drifted into, and looked over at him.

"Hm?"

He didn’t glance your way. His gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead. Stern, focused, unreadable. One hand gripped the steering wheel at twelve o'clock, the other rested casually on his thigh, fingers drumming once, then going still. Calm. Controlled. Very Tim Bradford.

"Be alert. This job isn't for slacking off," he said, voice low, no-nonsense, commanding. Like always. His eyes didn’t move from the car ahead, parked in front of the corner shop. “That car just ran a stop sign. What do we do, boot?”

Your brain scrambled to catch up, but not from nerves. Not anymore. It was the voice, that particular rasp in his tone that made everything sound like a challenge and a warning all at once. Rough around the edges, in a hot, infuriating way that made it hard to tell if your heart was racing from adrenaline or something more dangerous.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, adjusting in your seat. “We initiate a stop and warn the driver.”

Tim gave a single nod. “Good. Do it.”

Just like that, back to business.

Once the sirens went off, the driver slowly pulled over to the curb. You hopped out of the shop alongside Tim, heart already picking up pace at the sudden escalation, but his face remained unreadable, stone-carved and stoic, like always.

“You be contact, I’ll be cover,” Tim instructed calmly, his voice low but firm, the quiet authority in it grounding you as the two of you stepped out of the shop.

You gave a sharp nod, steadying yourself with a breath as your fingers brushed your holster, the familiar cool of the grip a silent reassurance. Tim moved to the rear flank, his eyes scanning the perimeter like a hawk, while you approached the driver’s side window of the idling Buick.

"Sir, you know you ran that stop sign?" Your voice was firmer than usual. Not quite Tim-level serious, but enough to command attention. You barely recognized the version of yourself standing here, composed, assertive, the echo of Tim’s influence in every word.

The man in the car, early thirties maybe, leaned toward the window, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know, but I mean—c’mon, is it really that deep? Don’t you guys have real criminals to catch?”

You didn’t flinch. Neither did Tim, whose stance from behind radiated alert tension. You could feel it even without looking.

"Sir, step out of the vehicle," you ordered evenly.

His face shifted. The casual charm drained quickly, like a mask that no longer served its purpose. For a second, his jaw tensed, hesitation flickering in his eyes as if weighing the odds. You didn’t back down. You couldn’t.

"Now, sir." Your voice dropped slightly, lower, firmer, deliberate.

There was a long pause. Then, with a huff, he lifted both hands and opened the door, stepping out slowly, his movements exaggerated in mock compliance. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, clearly irritated. “Didn’t think we were doing all this over a stop sign.”

But this wasn’t about the stop sign. Not anymore.

Tim moved in closer, standing just behind the man, one hand resting near his own holster. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The presence alone was enough to silence the air around you.

“Hands where we can see them,” Tim instructed coolly.

The man obeyed, though there was something tight in his posture now. Not just annoyance maybe nervous energy. His eyes flicked between the two of you, calculating. Your gut clenched.

You caught it before Tim did. The twitch of his fingers toward his jacket pocket. Small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

"Don’t," you said quickly, your voice slicing through the air.

Tim moved in a blink, one hand clamping on the man's wrist, the other reaching for the back of his neck to guide him down onto the hood. It was quick, professional, controlled.

“Why don’t we take a look at what you were so eager to reach for?” Tim muttered, glancing your way as he patted down the man’s pockets.

You stepped in and retrieved a folded piece of paper from the inner jacket pocket, no weapon, but your eyes scanned the page quickly. Addresses. Names. Cash totals.

Tim looked over your shoulder and exhaled through his nose. “Looks like we found ourselves a runner. This guy’s not just ignoring stop signs.”

The man didn’t say anything, just glared at the pavement like it betrayed him.

Tim cuffed him and looked at you as he handed off the evidence. “Nice catch, Boot,” he said, almost offhand, like the words tasted unfamiliar in his mouth. Except you heard it. You felt it. The rare praise wrapped in his usual gravel voice, a sliver of something softer hidden underneath all that grit.

And just like that, your heart sank. Did Tim just—compliment you?

Blood shot to your cheeks. You looked away quickly, the heat crawling up your neck betraying any attempt at pretending you were unaffected.

“Thanks,” you replied, a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. You sounded like a golden retriever desperate for another pat on the head. Internally, you winced.

And of course, he noticed. He just smirked, pulling open the back door of the squad car and guiding the suspect in, refusing to bring up the elephant in the room.

__________

It only got worse after that. Or better, depending on how your heart and hormones were behaving that day.

It was firearm training today. He stood behind you, arms crossed, while you attempted to correct your stance at the range.

You sighed and reset.

“You're standing like a flamingo. Plant your feet.”

You adjusted.

“Still a flamingo. A tense one. Breathe, Boot.”

“Focus. Listen to your breathing, yeah?...” His voice dropped lower, raspier, too close to your ear now. He placed his hands over yours, helping you position yourself correctly, a jolt of electricity shooting through you. “That’s it. Doing so good, Boot.” He was devious, he knew exactly what he was doing, the way his words rolled of his tongue. You bit your lip, highly frustrated as he pulled away for you to take your shot.

"Attagirl." He smirked as you got a chest shot, just to the right of the metal suspects supposed heart. You gulped before turning to him, your chest heaving as you felt every fiber in your being catch on fire.

"I'll see you tonight?" Tim's eyes didn't leave yours as you tidied yourself up in the armory. You had forgotten that he, Nyla, Nolan and you agreed to go to a pub tonight. You didn't look up at him, you were too embarrassed, how could he make you feel like this. "I uh- I don't have a ride." You chewed on the flesh of your bottom lip before finally looking up at him.

He looked... different. His eyes were darker, maybe he was tired. "I'll give you a ride." Your eyes widened at his offer. "Oh no, I couldn't" You tried to avoid eye contact with him, but he was just so damn magnetic. "Don't be silly, it's out of my way, I'll pick you up at 9." Before you could reply, before you could even argue, he walked off. Like the asshole he is.

__________

It was currently 8:21 p.m. You were basically ready, all that was left was for you to put on your shirt. Only problem is that you can't decide which one to choose.

Red Satin Cowl Neck Blouse or Black Sheer Long-Sleeve Blouse with a slutty deep V neckline.

You looked at yourself in your mirror, your hair at your favorite length and your lacy, blue bra making your cleavage look hot. If only Tim saw you like this, he'd lose his mind.

It wasn't ten minutes before you were on your back on your bed, jeans discarded on the floor, your fingers running up and down your folds making your chest heave as a huff erupted from your throat.

"Sir..." You whined, throwing your head back as your pumped two fingers in and out of your throbbing cunt. "That's it, my perfect girl." He wasn't there but it was like you could hear him, feel him, his fingers, teasing that sweet spongy spot that sent shivers down your spine. "Fuck I'm so close, sir. Just like that..." Suddenly, before you could reach that long awaited orgasm, there was a knock on the door. And then again.

There's only one person you know that was impatient.

You got up quickly, glancing at your phone before throwing on your jeans, not having time to choose a blouse just yet. Tim was 15 minutes early.

"Hey sorry I'm early but-" He didn't finish his sentence because when he looked at you, he almost lost his mind.

Tim's a cop, he's not dumb. He's also a man, a much older man, who's been with women, and he knows what women look like frustrated and turned on. The way your nipples peaked out of your bra, your pupils dilated, your chest heaving as your hair was pretty much a mess.

"Come in." You choked before stepping aside and letting him in. "Let me just get my- uh- my shirt." This was so embarrassing for you.

He stood in your living room, quiet, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense like he was trying to keep something buried. The air felt heavier. Almost like whatever he was thinking, it wasn't something he’d ever let himself say out loud.

You rushed back to your room. This wasn’t a date. You told yourself that twice. Three times. Still, your hands hovered over two shirts like your entire evening depended on this exact decision. One red—soft and sweet, something a girl-next-door might wear. The other, black—tighter, lower, riskier.

Your bare feet padded softly back into the living room, fabric draped over each arm. He didn’t move when you walked in. Just turned his head slightly, his eyes finding yours with the kind of attention that made your breath hitch.

"Sir, which should I wear?" you asked, your tone playfully teasing, dipping into dangerous territory. It was toeing the line, hell, it was crossing it, but with Tim, it never really felt like a line existed. There was only silence and tension and whatever was simmering beneath his controlled surface.

You held each shirt against your chest, watching his eyes as they moved but not to your face, not immediately—but lower. A flicker of something darkened his gaze, then vanished just as fast.

At the academy you'd learnt how to read suspects. Observe the twitch of a brow, the clench of a jaw, the way people gave themselves away when they thought no one was watching.

But Tim Bradford? Tim was unreadable. He might as well have been carved from stone.

Still, something in the way he swallowed gave him away.

"The black one," he said finally, voice low, almost casual. But you heard the weight behind it. Saw the way his jaw flexed as he quickly looked away.

You smirked internally. The sluttier option. The one that hugged your curves like it was painted on, that dipped just low enough to make people stare, to make Tim stare, if he ever let himself.

You let the red one fall to the couch and pulled the black one over your head right there in front of him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t turn around, didn’t even blink, but you knew he saw everything. The smooth slide of fabric against skin, the way your body filled out every inch of it. You didn’t do it for his reaction. Not entirely.

It was a challenge. A dare. Say something, Tim.

He didn’t.

But he did look.

The silence stretched between you as you straightened the hem, your hands smoothing over the soft material. It clung to your chest, the swell of your breasts prominent even in the dim light, the curve of your hips drawing a silent trail for his eyes to follow.

Still composed, still quiet, Tim’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before he caught himself and looked away, as if watching you in that shirt might be the thing that snapped him in half.

"You look good." He almost smiled. His jaw was tense as you nodded in appreciation, deep down you were screaming internally. Your T.O juts told you that you looked good.

"Ready?" He asked as you grabbed your purse and keys. It felt as if you were a couple, getting ready to go out for a date, you let your delusions get the best of you as his hand brushed your lower back guiding you out of the door.

__________

In the car it was quiet, dangerously quiet. You both felt as if you were drowning in silence. The pub wasn't far, maybe 20 minutes, but to you it felt like eternity. You never wanted to leave.

"So, what are you thinking?" You asked, breaking the painfully awkward silence. "I'm thinking about you." You blushed; his eyes didn't leave the road as the words left his lips. "Oh?"

'Oh?' Is that really all you can say?

"I'm thinking about how I came to your apartment to find you heaving, your pupils dilated, shirtless." The words felt like a drug, you wanted to hear his sultry, raspy voice forever. "What were you doing before I got there, Boot?" You gulped, he knew already, he just wanted confirmation. You were driving through a quiet area as he pulled over in an alleyway. "T-touching myself." You squeaked, knowing how wrong and vile this is.

"Show me." Your eyes widened as he looked at you through hooded eyes. "Show me how good you can be for me." He ran his tongue over his lips as you bucked your hips to hastily pull down your jeans and panties. "Pretty girl." He groaned with a strained voice as he watched you rub your clit. "You like that? You like being such a good girl for me?"

You nodded, vigorously as he palmed his crotch, his eyes not leaving yours. "Atta girl." He smirked as you arched your back from the stimulation. "Sir..." You whined.

You couldn't bring yourself to say his name. And Tim loved that fact. The way the word rolled off your tongue drove him just as insane. "Yes, doll?" You rolled your eyes back to the nickname. A little 'hmph' leaving your lips as he slowly reached over to swat your hand away. Taking control, slowly pushing two fingers inside of you. "Aw you're doing so good for me, my perfect girl." Your eyes didn't leave his as he looked at you in awe.

He curled his fingers, brushing over that spongy spot that sent you into oblivion before slowly pulling back out and repeating the process. "This is so wrong." You mutter, looking down at the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. "Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?" You choked at the pet-name before not replying, no way in hell would you want him to stop. He took your silence as a no before shaking his head with a slight chuckle. "That's it, taking my fingers so well, baby."

Your legs began to shake, the ever-familiar coil forming in your belly. "Sir..." You whined as he huffed, the way you address him making it harder for him to keep his composure. "Good girl, gonna cum on my fingers?" He coos making you whine even louder. His eyes were no longer looking at your gorgeous facial expressions but at your shirt, the one he chose. The one that make your breasts look like a meal, he's watching the way your chest is rising and falling, the way your nipples are begging for attention.

You grip his shoulder as he doesn't slow down, pushing you over the edge, he was ruthless, and you loved every second of it as he gave you one of the most mind-boggling orgasms of your life. "Pretty girl." He'd whisper in your ear as a sound unfamiliar ripped through the thick air.

Tim's phone rang. It was John. Probably looking for them.

He didn't pull his fingers out, but he answered.

"Hello?" You couldn't believe it; he acted as if he wasn't knuckle deep inside his rookie. You weren't able to hear John speaking through the phone; you were basically high on Tim's fingers. You glanced at him to see him mouth 'Be quiet.' You hadn't realized how loud your huffing and puffing really was.

"Yeah no, we're running a bit late, sorry John." He lied. You felt a pang in your chest; these conflicting feelings were too much for you. On one hand you hated the thought of lying to one of your best friends and on the other hand Tim's fingers felt like heaven. "Yeah, okay will do, bye." He hung up before pulling his fingers out of you, you moaned at the loss on contact. "Fix yourself up Boot, they're waiting for us." You tried your best to catch your breath, scrambling to get your panties. "You did so good." He finally added while turning on the car's ignition.

__________

You were quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made John squint at you from across the table, his beer halfway to his lips. You avoided his gaze, hoping the dim lights and general buzz of alcohol would keep suspicion at bay. Your body was still thrumming, still coasting the edge of that high Tim had just pulled you from. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, like you could trap the ghost of his touch between them.

Your hair was ruffled, your lipstick faded at the corners, and the collar of your blouse slightly askew from where his hands had been, they were rough, possessive, and just careful enough to keep your secret intact. You gave a weak smile to Lucy as she passed you another drink, nodding like you were fine, like your insides weren’t still fluttering like they’d been rewired.

And then there was Tim.

He sat across from you, legs wide, whiskey glass nestled between two fingers, relaxed and smug in a way only you could recognize. He barely looked at you, at least not in a way anyone else would notice. But you felt his eyes. Quick flicks. Sharp glances. They landed on you like brushstrokes on canvas he was assessing, admiring, satisfied. Like he’d made something beautiful and now he was watching it unravel under the heat of his gaze.

You looked this wrecked because of him and he loved it. His jaw ticked just slightly as his mouth curled into something too smug to be innocent. Like he was cataloguing the way your legs crossed tighter, the way your fingers trembled when you reached for your glass, the way you still couldn’t quite meet his eyes without remembering the way he had looked at you when your back hit the wall ten minutes ago.

And you knew what he was thinking.

Good girl.

He hadn’t said it out loud, not here, not now, but the energy was the same. That confident, unbothered, dominant energy that had you unraveling in a locked supply closet two floors up. He was across the table now, acting like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just pulled a shameless, breathless mess from you.

You shifted in your seat, catching his smirk as he took another sip.

Fucker.

The laughter echoed through the group as Lucy launched into a story about one of her patrol shifts. You tried to focus, you really did, but Tim caught your eye again, this time with a slight tilt of his head and the kind of look that said it's time.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as casually as possible and standing up, brushing invisible lint from your pants like you weren’t trying to gather yourself. “Hey, I think I’m gonna head out,” you said, your voice soft, even.

“You okay?” Lucy asked, concern laced through the haze of her buzz.

“Yeah, just tired. Long shift tomorrow,” you lied smoothly, giving her a quick hug.

Tim stood too, stretching slightly, keys already in hand. “I’ll give her a lift.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but it carried a weight only you felt.

John raised a brow, barely hiding his suspicion. “You two live in opposite directions.”

Tim shrugged. “I gave her a lift here, makes sense that I take her home. So she's safe."

You smiled tightly, heart thudding as you waved to the rest of the group. “Night, guys. See you tomorrow.”

More goodbyes followed.

As you and Tim walked away from the group, the night air cooled your flushed skin, grounding you just a little. His hand grazed the small of your back—not quite a touch, but a reminder.

The car ride started in silence, the kind that crackled with unspoken things. The kind that made your skin feel too tight and your thoughts too loud. Tim climbed in on the driver’s side, his movements fluid, practiced, his one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his muscular thigh.

You stared out the window, pretending the streetlights were more interesting than the heat still radiating off your skin. But you could feel him looking. Not full-on staring but glancing every so often, like he was still admiring the mess he’d made of you. Like he hadn’t quite come down from it either.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said finally, his voice a low murmur, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble around you.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the dashboard. “So are you.”

He smiled, slow and deliberate, one of those grins that made your stomach clench and your thighs press tighter. “I like you better this way,” he said. “All quiet. Flushed. Still thinking about what I did to you.”

You weren't drunk, you knew where you were, what you were doing, everything you did was a conscious decision. So, as Tim drove you home, you recognized the spark of confidence as you slowly placed your hand on his throbbing crotch.

"Hm?" you replied, voice airy, laced with faux innocence. Playing dumb had never felt so delicious.

"Boot?"

God, you hated that nickname. What happened to sweetheart or doll or pretty girl? Why was it Boot again?

You didn’t answer him. Not with words. You kept your eyes forward, pretending to admire the city lights through the windshield as your fingers lightly traced the outline of his hard-on through the thick denim of his jeans. His breath hitched. Just enough for you to hear it. Just enough to know he was losing the upper hand.

"What do you think you're doing?"

His tone was low, controlled, but there was tension there, pulling tight in his voice, in the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His knuckles went white as you pressed your palm down firmer against him, your touch slow, maddening, deliberate.

“Yes,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting in his seat, his hips instinctively shifting toward your touch before he caught himself.

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘stop,’ sir,” you teased, your voice sultry now, laced with just enough sugar to make it feel dangerous.

“I swear to-” he gritted out, flicking his eyes toward you, he was 15 minutes away from your apartment, he couldn't wait that long. He began to unbuckle his belt, you help him before removing his cock from his boxers, he pulled into an abandoned parking lot. Watching you with heavy eyes as your ran your fingers up and down his length.

"Yes, so good f'me" He threw his head back to hit the headrest, watching as you look at his cock with awe. Long, and girthy, large veins, with an angry tip, leaking with precum. "What're you thinking, doll?" He looked at you, then back to your hand which was stroking his cock. "I wanna ride you." You mumbled before looking but up at him.

He helped you pull your jeans down, making sure to leave your panties somewhere he'd remember to take later on. "Yeah fuck, look at my pretty girl." He smirked with pride as he moved his seat back, giving you space to straddle him.

'His.' You were his pretty girl

You stroked his cock a few more times before slowly sinking down on him. "Sir!" You whined before gripping his shoulder for stability, his eyes rolled back. "Say it." He grunted, gripping your ass to move up and down on his cock. "Say my name with those pretty little lips of yours." You couldn't bring yourself to do it. This was already wrong, vile, heinous even, you were crossing so many lines you promised to yourself you wouldn't cross. "S-sarge..." You mumbled.

"Moan my name Boot. That's an order."

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his tip hit that spot that made your legs shake. "T-tim..." You finally mumbled, earning a moan from Tim.

A moan, from Tim motherfucking Braford. It was loud, and deep, with just the right amount of rasp to make you want to do it again. Hell, you'd say his name all the time if it meant hearing those noises erupt from him.

"Louder." He barked through gritted teeth, placing a tight smack on your ass, "Tim!" You yelped from the sharp sting. "Yes fuck, you're so perfect." You sped up, his words edging you on. "Cum on my cock, doll." He groaned, looking straight at you as he felt your clench around him. You knew he was close too, you could feel his cock throbbing, begging for release.

"Tim I want you to-" You whined breathlessly as he began fucking into you in frustration. "Want me to what sweetheart? Cum inside this pussy?" You nodded at his filthy words, your eyes squeezing shut as that coil you felt not too long ago formed in your belly. A large moan erupted from your chest, a white creamy ring forming around the base of his cock. He held you in place, his rough hands gripped on your hips as he released his load inside of you. "Fuck, sweetheart, that's it, doing so good." He slowly helped you sink back down onto him. His warm fluids, filling you up to the brink.

"Are y-you on anything?" He asked breathlessly, helping you off him and back onto the passenger's seat, your legs shaking from the stimulation. You nodded yes slowly, trying to catch your own breath.

__________

The drive back was quiet; the air was thick. Tim stashed your panties in his jeans pocket, leaving you bare in your own jeans. The hum of the car being your only distraction to what had just happened. Did he regret it? Is he going to stop you from being his rookie tomorrow? Is he going to fire you all in all?

When he had finally pulled into the parking lot of your apartment you had no idea what to do, what to say. "Do you uh- want me to walk you up?" He was such a gentleman, considering he had cum inside you no more than 10 minutes ago. "That would be great." You half-smiled as he turned the ignition off.

You stood at your door, apartment 10F. Tim stood next to you as you fumbled with your keys to open the door. You thought this was goodnight, but Tim followed you into your apartment once you had opened the door.

He stood behind you, his hands in his jean's pockets, once again stoic, contemplating. "Are we gonna talk, or are you just going to avoid the conversation?" Your eyes shot up as his words cut through the thick air that had followed you from the car. "I won't say anything I promise, I don't want to jeopardize your career." You looked at him with wide eyes, not daring to take a step closer to him, if you did, you were afraid you might pounce on him right there and then. "It's not about that sweetheart, it's about you."

"You're much younger than me, I don't want to jeopardize your career." He seemed genuine, almost as if he had feelings for you. "With all due respect, I'm a grown woman, sir." He almost seemed taken aback by your tone, it was new for him, it was even new for you. "I know, but the LAPD can be quite... sexist." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't want other officers to think you slept your way to the top." You gulped. "I didn't think we we're going to tell other officers. I mean- isn't this a one-time thing?"

"No." No?

"I won't be able to keep this as a one-time thing." He took a step closer to you, "Call me old fashioned but I don't do one-night stands." He brushed a strand of hair out of your face before placing a subtle kiss on your forehead. "You're an amazing, sweet, kind girl. I don't want you to think that I only want you for your body." You could melt right there. "Although it is a plus." You chuckled making him smile.

"You have 5 weeks left of your probationary period; I can wait, I will wait for you." He cupped your cheeks before taking a step back, going back into T.O Tim mode.

"Am I really worth the wait?"

"Yes, you are, Boot."

@sleepymissy @whatasadlittlelife @jessewesmitchellfan @w1ldf1owers @winchestersbgirl @vinos-things

[ericwinter-jessesoffer-fanfics]

🔥😈😈

[simplyhale]

Plsss we need more tim bradford fics🙏🏽💔💔

— ⋆ 𝝑𝝔˚⟡˖ ࣪.

-bed chem (18+)

i wrote the fluff and the lovely @sleepymissy wrote the smutt!

-fix your shirt (18+)

this is plot with smut and one of my favorites smut pieces i’ve written !

i hope you enjoy them, and i’m slowly working on more 🙂‍↕️

[roseandxanderfics]

“Stay With Me” — Tim Bradford x Single Mom Reader

Summary: A routine call turns personal when Tim responds to a terrified 4-year-old reporting their mom collapsed. He finds you barely conscious—and realizes you’ve been fighting alone far too long.

————————

The 911 call came in just after seven. Late enough that most emergencies were winding down, but not so late that anyone relaxed. Tim Bradford had been running paperwork, thinking about grabbing dinner, when the dispatcher’s voice clipped through the radio.

“Child caller. Four years old. Mother unresponsive. Possible medical.”

That was all it took. One word—“four”—and Tim’s blood turned cold. He barely heard the rest before snatching up his radio.

“1-Adam-07, patch me through. I’m on it.”

⸻

The kid’s voice was barely a whisper when it crackled through.

“H-hello?”

Tim inhaled sharply. “Hey, buddy… This is Officer Tim. Can you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.”

That tiny sound hit him harder than it should’ve. “Good job, Eli. I’m coming to help you and your mom right now, okay? Real fast. Can you tell me… is she breathing?”

“I dunno… I scared.”

Tim forced his voice steady. “It’s okay to be scared, kid. You’re really brave. Can you touch her? Tell me if she feels warm or cold?”

Rustling. Sniffles. Then a small, broken sound. “Cold… Tim, s’cold.”

Tim’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he flipped the sirens on. God, please…

“I’m almost there, Eli. Can you unlock the door for me?”

“I try.”

⸻

By the time he screeched to the curb, his heart was hammering. The neighborhood was quiet—too quiet. Dim porch lights. Empty driveways.

The front door creaked open a sliver. A tiny face peeked out—tears streaked, cheeks blotchy.

“There you are, buddy,” Tim murmured, crouching low. “You did so good. Where’s Mom?”

Eli didn’t answer. Just… pointed.

Tim pushed the door wide and stepped inside—one hand instinctively hovering over his holster, the other reaching back for the kid. “Stay close, okay?”

The house was small. Lived-in. Crayon drawings taped to the fridge, a stuffed bunny abandoned on the couch. And there—on the kitchen tile—was you.

You were pale. Too still.

“Shit,” Tim breathed, rushing forward. He pressed two fingers to your neck, searching—there—a faint, thready pulse.

He grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, I’ve got the subject. Female, early thirties. Pulse is weak. Roll EMS, now.”

“Copy, 1-Adam-07. EMS en route.”

Eli whimpered behind him. “Mommy?”

Tim glanced back, softening. “Hey, buddy. She’s okay. She’s breathing. I need you to be my big helper now, alright?”

The kid nodded, lip trembling.

“Can you grab me that blanket?” Tim pointed. Eli scrambled, dragging it over with tiny hands. Tim tucked it around you, jaw tight.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured—half to you, half to the kid. “Just stay with me.”

⸻

Minutes felt like hours. Tim didn’t leave your side, one hand checking your pulse over and over, the other resting protectively over Eli’s shoulder.

EMS burst through the door—young, efficient. They worked fast, lifting you onto the stretcher. Tim stayed kneeling until they moved past.

Eli’s eyes filled again. “I come?”

Tim didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, kid. You’re with me.”

⸻

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Eli sat curled in Tim’s lap, face buried in his chest, fists gripping the dark fabric of his uniform.

“She okay?” the little voice finally asked.

Tim swallowed hard. “She’s gonna be. You did good, Eli. You saved your mom.”

⸻

The ER was bright. Too bright. Tim hated hospitals. Hated the smell, the noise. But he stayed. Watched as nurses buzzed around you, checked monitors, whispered words like “dehydration” and “exhaustion” like they were medical diagnoses and not just proof that life had beaten you down.

⸻

You woke slowly. Blinking against the light, brow furrowing.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured. “You’re okay.”

You turned your head—and saw him.

The cop. Tall. Broad. Blue eyes way too gentle for a man who probably carried a gun for a living.

“Your son’s right here,” he added, voice soft. “He’s… he’s been really brave.”

Eli popped his head up, face blotchy. “Mommy!”

Your eyes welled instantly. “Eli… oh god…”

Tim helped him onto the bed, watching as tiny arms wrapped around your neck.

“I… I’m sorry,” you rasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tim cut in. “You’ve been running on empty. Doc says exhaustion, dehydration… You’ve been doing too much on your own.”

You blinked at him. “I don’t… even know your name.”

“Tim.” He smiled faintly. “Tim Bradford.”

A beat of silence.

“You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Didn’t feel right to leave.”

⸻

They discharged you hours later. Tim was still there—Eli wouldn’t let go of him.

“I’ll drive you,” he said gruffly, like it wasn’t a question. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

⸻

Your house felt colder when you returned. Tim helped you in, set Eli on the couch, and knelt in front of you one last time.

“I meant what I said. You’ve been doing too much alone.”

You stared at him, exhausted tears threatening. “That’s… just how it is.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he muttered. “I’ll… check in tomorrow. Groceries. Whatever you need.”

You tried to argue—but Eli’s head flopped onto Tim’s shoulder mid-yawn.

Tim smiled, slow and soft. “You good if I hang around until he’s out?”

You nodded, too tired to fight it.

⸻

And just like that… Tim Bradford became the first safe thing you’d known in a long, long time

[laurens-german]

ERIC WINTER as TIM BRADFORD in THE ROOKIE 4.01 'Life and Death'

[ericwinter-jessesoffer-fanfics]

🤤🤤

[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]

━ 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.

[quinnsdesk]

let me be your distraction.

tim bradford x fem!reader

request: by the lovely @sleepymissy

wc: 5.8k

(not proofread)

cw: mdni, face fucking, fingering, p in v, oral (f!recieving), praise, tim eventually being a softie then a hardass again, slight orgasm control

join my taglist!

The screen of the TV cast a soft, flickering blue light over the darkened living room, painting your skin in shadows that pulsed gently across the walls. The show playing was some rerun you’d seen before, the kind of background noise that didn’t demand attention but gave you something to focus on while the hours bled together. Curled into the corner of the couch with your blanket pulled up to your collarbone and your legs tucked beneath you, you shifted slightly, adjusting the cushions under your thighs. The warmth was welcome, but the emptiness beside you felt louder than the low hum of the TV.

Tim was still on his shift.

You bit the inside of your cheek, grabbing your phone from the armrest just as it vibrated softly in your palm. The screen lit up.

Tim: Hey baby, I might be a little late tonight. Smitty’s an incompetent ass. (8:49 p.m.)

You chuckled softly through your nose, thumbs already moving across the glass.

You: Don’t stress. I’ll be up when you’re home. (8:51 p.m.)

You stared at the little blue tick marks that confirmed he’d read it. A gentle warmth bloomed in your chest at the thought of him reading your words in the middle of whatever mess he was dealing with. Maybe he smiled. Maybe he sighed. Maybe he thought about coming home sooner.

Your gaze dropped to the neckline of your oversized T-shirt, his T-shirt. The sleeves hung nearly to your elbows, the hem brushing high along your thighs. You pulled it slightly to the side, exposing a sliver more skin as an idea sparked in your mind. You thought about snapping a picture. Just a little something. The curve of your thigh, the kiss of fabric against skin, your bottom lip caught lightly between your teeth in a look you knew he couldn’t resist.

But you paused.

He was still at work. Still in uniform. Still surrounded by men who didn’t know how to mind their own business. The last thing he needed was his phone lighting up with a NSFW lockscreen photo while interrogating some drunk idiot.

Fine, let's be a responsible girlfriend.

With a half-smile, you dropped the phone beside you and leaned back into the blanket’s cocoon, tucking your feet beneath your thighs. You tried to focus on the show again, but your eyes kept drifting to the screen. The time now read 9:22 p.m., glowing above a photo of you and Tim at Disneyland, California sun lighting up your faces, your smiles stretched wide, his arm wrapped snugly around your shoulders as you leaned into his chest. You had Minnie ears. He had aviators and the same protective expression he wore when watching you cross the street, even if you were in a crowd of a thousand people.

That day had felt like magic.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating if you should send a casual Still alive? when you heard it, the quiet jingle of keys outside your door.

You straightened instantly, heart skipping. The lock turned with a soft clunk.

A beat later, Tim stepped inside.

He looked wrecked. His hair was ruffled like he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times. His badge glinted in the faint light. His uniform was wrinkled, tension in his shoulders sharp enough to be visible even under the jacket. But when he saw you curled up on the couch, blanket to your chin and eyes wide, something in him softened. His mouth tugged upward, just a little.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

You sat up, blanket falling into your lap as you gave him a gentle smile. “Hey.”

He locked the door behind him, kicked off his boots with the tired precision of a man who’d done this routine far too many nights in a row, and dropped his keys onto the entry table.

Curious, you padded in behind him.

“I had such a shit day at work, baby.” He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenching. “Smitty left his shop window open, and he ran out for a sandwich, and someone fucking stole a whole bag of it." His voice was heavy.

“Seriously?” you blinked.

He didn’t even nod. Just stepped forward, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you. Quick. Firm. A little desperate. You leaned into it, your fingers brushing his jaw. But he pulled away too soon, walking straight past you into the bedroom.

You followed, quiet and observant, like a little puppy, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt. His shoulders were tense, every movement tight.

“And to top it off,” he muttered, “guess who I ran into today? Mark.”

Your heart sank.

Mark. Your Mark. Well, ex-Mark. The one who used to yell. The one who broke things. The one who made you scared to fall in love again until Tim showed you how love could be gentle. How it could feel like safety instead of war.

“He didn’t recognize me at first,” Tim muttered, flinging his shirt onto the bed with a flick of his wrist. “But after I booked him for punching a police officer - Nolan, by the way, took it straight to the nose - he finally remembered.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him move.

He grabbed an old hoodie from the chair and yanked it over his head, his muscles flexing beneath the cotton as he forced it down.

His eyes finally found yours.

“And now his lawyer’s accusing me of a conflict of interest. Apparently, because I’m with you, I was biased. Wants the arrest thrown out.”

You stepped closer, bare feet padding across the carpet. Your hands slid onto his shoulders from behind as he sat at the edge of the bed. The tension in his muscles made your fingers ache just touching them. You began to rub, slow, steady, thumb tracing the ridges of tight muscle.

“Tim,” you murmured. “That’s ridiculous. You didn’t go after him for me. He assaulted Nolan. That’s on him. Not you.”

He didn’t respond, but his hands rose, settling on your hips, grounding himself with the feel of you.

Then, one moved slowly up your spine, warm palm flattening between your shoulder blades before tangling gently in your hair. “You look good in my shirt,” he murmured.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss his temple. “I know. That was kind of the point.”

A chuckle finally cracked through his tension, low and tired, but genuine. It made your chest warm.

You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. Your lips brushed his jaw as you whispered, “When you’re done being pissed off at the world… I’d like to offer myself as a distraction.”

His head fell back slightly with a groan. “You know what I’d really like right now?”

You nuzzled into his neck, your voice playful. “Hm?”

“To fuck that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Your breath caught. You froze, just slightly, as heat bloomed between your thighs.

“Tim…”

You weren’t new to this. You weren’t shy. But there was something in his voice tonight, something rough, controlled, hungry.

He looked at you then, his eyes darker than before, the corners crinkling with tension and desire. “Can you do that for me?” he asked softly, thumb brushing your jaw. “Can you put that beautiful mouth to good use?”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You nodded.

Before you could speak, he stood, guiding you gently down to your knees in front of him.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he murmured, voice gravelly, fingers brushing your cheek.

You nodded again, lips parting instinctively.

But he wasn’t done.

He walked behind you, footsteps quiet, the sound of a zipper and soft rummaging following. When he returned to your side, he knelt beside you, metal glinting in his hand.

Handcuffs.

You turned your head, watching as he gently clicked the cuffs around your wrists behind your back. The steel was cool against your skin, tight but not cruel. Your breathing quickened.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “I’ll be gentle.”

You believed him. You always did.

And as he stood again, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone sent lightning through your spine.

He grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up, and the look on his face made your mouth go wet.

“Look at you,” he smirked. “Already drooling.”

He ran the head of his cock across your lips, slow and deliberate, letting you feel the weight of it, the heat.

“Open.”

You obeyed.

You parted your lips, slow, deliberate, the anticipation thick between you as your tongue flicked out to tease the tip of him. He was already warm against your mouth, already leaking slightly, that salty-slick taste hitting your tongue even before he eased inside.

Tim watched you, jaw tight, eyes dark and intent. He held your chin between his fingers, gently forcing you to take him, inch by inch, your lips wrapping around him with slow reverence. You heard the sharp intake of his breath, felt the twitch of pleasure beneath your tongue.

He filled your mouth steadily, your lips stretching wide to accommodate his size, and your breath came hot through your nose as your tongue moved instinctively, tracing the underside of him, memorizing every ridge, every pulse. You moaned softly, a sound that vibrated around him, and Tim’s fingers tightened slightly in your hair.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “That’s it. Just like that. You know how perfect you are for this?”

You hummed in response, the vibration making him groan, low and heavy. Your hands, bound behind you, clenched involuntarily as he began to roll his hips, slowly, steadily, controlling the pace. Not fast. Not punishing. But firm. Deep. Deliberate. Relieving.

He was using your mouth like he needed it, like the day had worn him down to nothing, and this was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

Your throat constricted slightly as he slid deeper. You gagged once, reflexively, your eyes watering as he held your head steady. But then he eased back, thumb stroking your cheek with tender pressure.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured. “Taking it like a fucking dream.”

You breathed through your nose, blinking away tears as he started again, this time even slower. You could taste him, feel him twitch against your tongue, every movement sending sparks through your body. Your knees were beginning to ache on the carpet, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him—his control, his pleasure, the way his breath hitched every time your tongue did something just right.

He shifted, one hand bracing on your jaw, the other slipping into your hair, gripping just tight enough to guide your movement. Not painful. Just dominant. You liked that. You liked knowing he was holding back, giving you control in the way he restrained himself.

You hollowed your cheeks, sucked hard as he pulled back, then let him slide deep again. You could feel your saliva dripping from your chin, messy, uncontained, raw. And you loved it.

He looked down at you, eyes heavy with lust, his breath coming faster. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he said, voice low and reverent.

You whimpered around him, the sound desperate and aroused, as he pressed a little deeper, your lips stretched wide, your throat swallowing around the thick heat of him.

Then he groaned, deep and guttural, as he pulled back just enough to look down at you.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

Your thighs clenched at the words.

He was unraveling above you, losing the careful control he always held, and it thrilled you. You felt powerful like this, on your knees, bound, but powerful, because you were the reason for his unraveling. You were the reason he was this desperate, this wrecked.

His hips rocked forward again, a little faster now, his grip tightening in your hair, his other hand resting gently against your throat. Not squeezing. Just feeling.

Feeling himself inside you.

You moaned again, louder, more unrestrained. The vibration dragged another curse from his lips.

“Christ,” he hissed. “That mouth is gonna be the death of me.”

You blinked up at him through tear-glossed eyes, your lips stretching farther, your tongue pressing up as you took him deeper. He groaned again, a broken sound, and you could feel the tension building in his thighs, the way his breath caught, the way his hips jerked.

“Almost there,” he muttered. “Fuck. Just- just a little more, baby…”

And then he pulled out.

You gasped, lips tingling, chest rising and falling in quick pants as he grabbed his cock, jerking it in his hand as he looked down at you.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commanded, voice tight and hoarse.

You obeyed instantly.

His hips jerked once, twice, then he came, hot and heavy, the first burst landing across your tongue, the rest painting your chin, your lips, even a stray streak across your cheek. He groaned your name as he spilled, the sound raw and ruined.

“Swallow,” he whispered.

You did.

You held his gaze the whole time, tongue still out, catching the last drops as you licked your lips slowly. The heat in his eyes flared again.

He didn’t speak right away. Just knelt down in front of you, his hand cradling your face like you were something fragile and exquisite. Then he leaned in and kissed you, deeply, hungrily, the taste of himself still lingering on your tongue as his mouth claimed yours with slow, open desperation.

His fingers fumbled with the cuffs behind you, clicking them open, your wrists tingling as the blood rushed back. He didn’t speak. He just pulled you into his lap, sitting back against the bed, and held you. His hands rubbed gentle circles over your wrists, your back, your thighs.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded into his shoulder. “More than okay.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You blow my mind, you know that?”

You giggled against his neck. “I try.”

He shifted, pressing a kiss to your temple, and then he stood, scooping you up with effortless ease. You let out a surprised squeak as he carried you the short distance to the bed and laid you down gently. Your legs dangled for a moment before he bent over, brushing a kiss against each sore knee.

“Didn’t mean to make you stay down there so long,” he murmured. “Let me make it up to you.”

You looked up at him, eyes soft. “You already did.”

He smirked, tracing a finger along your jaw. “Not yet I haven’t.”

You watched him as he stood, shirt rumpled, belt hanging open, his body still flushed from release. There was something about seeing him like this—undone, softened by pleasure and proximity—that made your chest ache with something far deeper than lust.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low as he reached for a throw blanket draped across the edge of the bed. “I’m feeding you. I don’t care how good your mouth is, I’m not letting you faint from lack of carbs after that.”

You laughed, letting him tuck the blanket gently around your legs. “You say that like you didn’t nearly black out yourself.”

He grinned, lazy and crooked and boyish, and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I definitely saw stars.”

And just like that, he vanished into the kitchen. You heard the fridge door open, the sound of a fork scraping against the side of a glass container. The smell of garlic and cheese drifted down the hall, warm and heavy and comforting. You smiled into the dim glow of the bedside lamp, your fingers running along your now-numb wrists, the sensation still tingling under your skin, not pain, not regret. Just the electric memory of surrender.

A minute later, Tim came back in with a heaping plate of lasagna in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sat beside you on the bed and lifted a bite to your mouth before you could protest.

“You’re really doing this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up and open up,” he said with a grin. “You earned this.”

So you opened.

The first bite hit your tongue and you moaned. “Okay. Fine. Worth it.”

He chuckled and fed you another forkful. Then another. The two of you fell into a rhythm—his hand steady, your chewing slow, intimate. You didn’t even realize your legs had drifted into his lap again until he began to absently stroke your calf, his thumb moving in circles over your bare skin.

“Thank you,” he said softly, not meeting your eyes.

You tilted your head. “For what?”

“For tonight. For being… you.”

There was weight in those words. More than gratitude. More than afterglow. You reached for his hand, squeezing it, your thumb brushing the back of his knuckles.

“I’m always me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he replied, lifting your hand to his lips. “But sometimes I forget how lucky I am that you’re mine.”

You kissed him then, slow and deliberate. Not frenzied, not greedy. Just full of everything that lived between you. The way your fingers slid up into his hair. The way his hand cradled your cheek like he was scared you’d disappear.

“I love you, Tim,” you whispered against his lips.

His breath caught. His fingers tightened around yours.

“I love you, too,” he said, voice thick. “So fucking much.”

The plate was long forgotten now, abandoned on the nightstand. You leaned into him, your body fitting against his like a second skin, and he guided you backward until you were lying beneath him again.

But this time was different.

There was no rush. No dominant edge. No commands.

Just hands. Mouths. Skin.

He undressed you slowly, his fingers lingering on every inch of exposed flesh. His lips followed, your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your breast. You gasped softly as his mouth found your nipple, his tongue circling it lazily before sucking it between his lips. One hand gripped the curve of your waist, grounding himself there like he didn’t want to let go.

You arched under him, your thighs parting instinctively as he moved lower. His kisses trailed down your stomach, stopping at your navel. Then further. When his tongue flicked over the seam of your sleep shorts, you felt heat rush through your entire body.

He looked up at you from between your legs, eyes dark and soft all at once.

“Can I taste you?” he asked.

The words were simple. Gentle. But they sent a shockwave through you. You nodded quickly, your breath caught in your throat, and he slid your shorts down your legs, slowly, reverently.

You were already wet. Already aching. He moaned at the sight of you, the sound sending heat blooming in your cheeks.

Then he leaned in.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow. Torturous. He licked a clean stripe up your slit, tongue pressing in just enough to make your hips buck. You bit your lip, stifling the whimper that bubbled up.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your skin. “Let me know how good it feels.”

You didn’t hold back after that.

Your moans filled the room, quiet at first, then louder as he wrapped his arms around your thighs and buried his face deeper. His tongue worked you over, deliberate and focused, flicking and circling your clit with practiced ease. He alternated between slow, teasing strokes and faster, rougher laps, and every time he moaned into you, the vibration made you see stars.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets. Then in his hair. Then back in the sheets.

You felt the orgasm building, low, tight, hot, and when his lips sucked gently on your clit, you shattered.

You cried out his name as you came, legs trembling, body jerking with pleasure as he held you down and worked you through it.

Only when your hips stopped bucking did he pull back, lips wet, chin slick with you. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and kissed his way back up your body until he was hovering above you again.

Your breathing was ragged. Your limbs felt like jelly. But you smiled up at him like he was the only man in the world.

And he was.

He slid into you slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. You gasped, your back arching as he filled you, every inch stretching you perfectly. He groaned above you, his head dropping to your shoulder as he bottomed out inside you.

“God,” he breathed. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

You wrapped your arms around his back, pulling him closer, deeper. His hips began to move, a slow grind that set your nerves alight. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough.

It was worship.

Each thrust was measured, precise, and full of emotion. You felt everything, every breath, every whisper, every tremble.

“I love you,” he kept saying. Over and over again, like he was afraid you’d forget.

You didn’t.

You never could.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him tighter as he began to lose control again, his thrusts growing faster, deeper, more erratic.

You met every one of them with equal urgency, your nails digging into his back, your lips finding his neck, his jaw, his mouth.

The second orgasm hit you harder than the first. You cried out his name again, your body clenching around him as he followed, hips jerking, breath punching from his lungs as he came inside you.

He collapsed against you, both of you covered in sweat, your limbs tangled, your hearts beating in sync.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. You didn’t know.

Eventually, he rolled to the side, dragging you with him so your head rested against his chest. One hand stroked your spine. The other combed through your hair.

You could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

The silence in the room was soft and thick, the kind that only comes after something raw and all-consuming. The bedsheets clung to your skin, damp and tangled around your legs. Your body hummed with exhaustion and warmth, every muscle boneless. Tim hadn’t moved much, his arm still heavy around your waist, chest rising and falling beneath your cheek like the tide.

Then you felt it: his fingers, gently brushing your back.

You shivered.

Not from cold. From how gentle it was. From the way his touch held no urgency, no need to take, just to soothe, to stay.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice hoarse and sweet, lips brushing your hair. “You okay?”

You smiled against his chest. “More than okay.”

Tim tilted your chin up, his thumb skimming your cheek. His eyes scanned your face, and the furrow in his brow gave him away. Still worried. Still watching.

“You sure? You were trembling pretty hard.”

You reached up and kissed the tip of his nose. “I was trembling because it was amazing. I promise.”

He softened, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. His fingers moved from your back to your hip, massaging small, lazy circles into your skin. You sighed, your body relaxing even further.

“I’ll clean you up,” he said, voice still low.

“Mm, you don’t have to,” you murmured. “I like this. Being messy with you.”

Tim grinned but still slipped out of bed, naked and graceful as he crossed the room. You watched him, your gaze trailing the long stretch of his spine, the strength in his shoulders, the curve of his ass. You couldn’t help it, you giggled.

“What?” he asked over his shoulder as he grabbed a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom.

“Just admiring my future husband.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. “That’s dangerous talk, babe. Keep going, and I might go buy a ring right now.”

You grinned, biting your lip as he knelt beside you and carefully cleaned between your legs. He was slow, reverent, the towel warm and his hands even warmer. You winced a little as he dabbed around your sore thighs.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be. I love that I feel you even when you’re not inside me.”

He groaned softly and kissed your inner thigh.

Once he was done, he tossed the towel into the hamper and climbed back into bed, dragging you into his lap. You melted against him, your head tucked beneath his chin, your fingers tracing the rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re shaking,” he said, noticing the way your fingers trembled.

“Starving,” you admitted.

His eyes lit up. “Lasagna?”

You nodded. “Please. I want to be fed like a spoiled housecat.”

Tim chuckled, pulling on a pair of briefs and jogging back to the kitchen. “Stay in bed. I’ll heat it up.”

You heard the microwave hum to life. The faint clink of cutlery. The slosh of orange juice poured into a glass. He was humming to himself, low and tuneless, but happy.

When he returned, he had a tray balanced between his hands like a butler in a five-star hotel. “Your midnight feast, milady.”

You sat up against the headboard and he placed the tray in front of you: a generous slab of bubbling lasagna, a piece of garlic bread on the side, and a full glass of orange juice. He even brought a napkin.

“God, I love you,” you whispered.

He winked. “I know. But feel free to keep saying it.”

You dug in, and the first bite made you moan. Tim stared like you were the seventh wonder of the world.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said around a mouthful of cheese.

“Can’t help it. You make food porn real.”

You rolled your eyes but secretly loved it. He took a few bites himself, then wiped your chin with the napkin after a string of cheese dripped onto your chest.

“You always do that,” you noted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Feed me. Clean me. Take care of me after.”

His hand stilled. He looked down for a moment, something flickering in his eyes before he met your gaze again. “That’s not after, baby. That’s part of it.”

You blinked, startled by how deeply that hit you. Because it wasn’t about sex with Tim. It never had been. Even when he was handcuffing you, even when his words were filthy and rough, it was always rooted in something safer, something real.

He reached over and stroked your cheek again. “Sex with you isn’t just about the fucking. It’s about… showing you how much I want you. How much I need you. And afterwards, when your body’s all soft and sore and glowing? That’s when you need love the most.”

You couldn’t speak. You just leaned forward, forehead resting against his.

“I’m keeping you,” you whispered.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I’m never leaving.”

You fed each other the rest of the lasagna. Bite by bite. Shared sips of juice. Slow kisses between mouthfuls. When the tray was empty, he set it aside and pulled you back into bed, tucking you under his arm like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Bed now,” he murmured. “Cuddles. Maybe round two when you’re fed and hydrated.”

You buried your face in his neck, nose brushing the curve of his jaw. “You promise?”

“I’ll keep you up all night if that’s what you want,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, fingers stroking lightly along his chest, and smiled.

“God, I love you.”

The TV played some half-watched thriller, the kind you didn’t need to pay attention to, not really. You were curled up in Tim’s lap, the blanket draped over both of you, your legs tucked across his thighs, your cheek against his shoulder. His arm was around you, his fingers lazy on your skin, circling patterns just under the hem of your oversized shirt—his shirt.

The air between you had cooled but not gone quiet. Not really. Not with the way his hand kept drifting, bolder each time. Not with the way your breaths grew slower… thicker. There was no denying what hung in the room like static. You felt it on your skin. In your bones.

His fingertips ghosted over your inner thigh.

You stilled.

“Thought you were tired,” you murmured, voice soft.

His reply was a low chuckle, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “That was before you started shifting like that.”

“Like what?”

He moved suddenly, cupping your jaw, tilting your head back so your eyes met his. His pupils were blown. “Like a needy little brat who wants to be touched but won’t ask for it.”

You blinked. Heat shot through your stomach, pooling low. Your mouth opened but nothing came out.

“Thought so.”

Then his hand slipped beneath the blanket.

His fingers pressed between your thighs, through the thin cotton of your shorts and the heat beneath them. You gasped, grabbing at his wrist instinctively. He stilled, not pulling away.

“You gonna stop me?” he asked, voice low, threatening in the way that made your thighs press together.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

So he moved.

Two fingers, slow, dragging along the seam of your shorts. Not inside yet. Just there, brushing over the soaked fabric like he owned it, owned you. You bit your lip, hard, but he noticed. He always noticed.

“Already wet for me again?” he murmured. “After everything I gave you earlier?”

You whimpered as his hand pressed harder, rubbing tight, aching circles that made your hips jerk in his lap.

Tim grunted. “Keep grinding on my hand like that, and I’ll tear these shorts off.”

“Do it,” you whispered, barely able to breathe.

His eyes snapped to yours, that fire burning all over again. You didn’t get a warning.

You just heard the rip.

One clean motion. Your sleep shorts were ruined, seams split down the middle and tossed onto the floor. His hand returned instantly, now bare against your soaked folds.

He ran his fingers through your slick slowly—deliberately—dragging the pads of them up and down, parting you, teasing you. You were soaked.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You wanted this. Sitting here all innocent like I wasn’t gonna touch you again.”

Then he slipped a finger inside. One, deep, with no pause.

You choked on a moan.

He leaned in close, lips at your ear. “You better keep quiet. You don’t want the neighbors hearing what a mess you’re making on my lap.”

Another finger joined the first.

Your body arched against him as his hand fucked up into you, slow but deep, curling at just the right angle. His thumb circled your clit—rougher now, less teasing. This wasn’t about taking his time anymore. This was about showing you who you belonged to.

You reached for something—his shirt, his wrist, anything to hold onto. But he grabbed your wrists and pinned them with one hand to your chest.

“Don’t. Just take it.”

You were writhing now, hips rolling down against his palm, desperate, aching, overwhelmed.

His breath was hot on your neck.

“You’re not allowed to come yet,” he growled.

Your eyes flew open. “Tim-”

He thrust his fingers harder. “Not until I say.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

The coil in your belly burned hot, tighter and tighter. His fingers fucked into you harder, wetter now, the sounds obscene under the blanket, his thumb never relenting. He kept his other hand wrapped around your wrists, holding you still even as your thighs trembled.

You whimpered. “Tim, please-”

“No.”

His voice cracked through you.

“You’ll come when I say. Not when you want to.”

Your body convulsed. Your head fell back. You couldn’t breathe.

His fingers stilled just long enough to pull your hair, forcing your eyes on his. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “And mine means I get to ruin you.”

And then he thrust again, hard, deep, fingers curling just right, and you came undone.

Your body shattered.

No sound came out at first, just your mouth dropping open, eyes squeezed shut, back arched. And then the sound punched out of you, loud and wrecked and real, as your orgasm ripped through your entire body.

He held you through it.

His fingers slowed but didn’t stop. He worked you through every spasm, every clench. And when you finally collapsed against his chest, boneless and trembling, he pulled his hand away and licked his fingers clean.

You blinked up at him, dazed.

“You okay?” he asked, wiping your sweat-slick hair from your face.

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He kissed your temple.

“Movie’s still playing,” he said casually, pulling the blanket back up over you.

You laughed, breathless. “I didn’t see a second of it.”

You lay in bed later, the sheets tangled around your thighs, your skin still tingling from everything he'd done to you. Tim's body was warm and solid behind you, one arm wrapped possessively around your waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your bare hip. The movie had long since ended, and the leftovers sat forgotten on the kitchen counter. All that mattered was this silence, this heat, the steady sound of his breathing against your shoulder.

You shifted slightly, aching in the best way, and his grip tightened just enough to remind you who you belonged to.

"Still alive?" he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck.

"Barely."

He chuckled, the sound low and smug. You could hear the satisfaction in it, feel it in the way his body curled tighter around you.

"You were perfect," he whispered. "So fucking perfect for me tonight."

You turned your head to glance back at him, catching his eyes in the dim light. They were softer now—still dark, still dangerous, but laced with something tender. Something real.

“I like when you’re like that,” you said quietly. “Rough. In control. But still… you.”

Tim leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth. “That’s always me, baby. Just different shades of the same obsession.”

The way he said it—like you were his entire world—made your chest twist. You knew him. Knew how hard his job was, how much he carried, how much he never let anyone see. And you also knew he didn’t say I love you easily. He didn’t have to.

This was love. In his control. In his possessiveness. In the way he broke you down and put you back together in the span of a single night.

He slid a hand down your thigh and gently tugged it over his. “Sleep like this,” he said. “Wrapped around me.”

You let your body melt into his.

There were no more words. Just the rhythm of breath, the faint sound of wind outside, the weight of his touch on your skin. You let your eyes close, knowing, trusting, that he wouldn’t let go.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

And just before sleep pulled you under, you heard him whisper against your neck, so quiet you weren’t sure if you imagined it:

“Mine.”

And you were.

Utterly, irrevocably, and blissfully his.

tags: @whatasadlittlelife @w1ldf1owers

[witchygagirlwrites]

Last Time

Jay Halstead x Reader (Nicknamed Jinx)

You told yourself the one time was it but then a close call and a heated argument leads to more

Smut and angst 🤷‍♀️

The issue with being gone for six months and coming back? Things changed and yet stayed the same. Your place was just as you left it, perks of living in one half of a duplex your uncle owned. Intelligence ran the same, Voight was a hardass that protected his people no matter what. Your unit was the same as you left them, they welcomed you back like you had never been gone. You had a couple new scars from your time in New York, a few fresh nightmares but that was about it.

You headed out to your SUV and your uncle Russ was out at the garage and whistled when you walked out. You cut your eyes up “What is it old man?” he raised an eyebrow “How’s things going? Haven’t caught you in a day or so” Yeah, because you’d been avoiding him. You had dinner with him a couple nights a week and coffee most mornings. You loved your uncle Russ. Hell he was the only parent you’d ever known but it wasn’t like you could explain some things to him.

“Going good. I’m used to being back home” he nodded “How’s things with Halstead?” you crossed your arms “Why do I feel like that’s a very loaded question?” he grinned “Why are you acting so defensively?” you shook your head “He’s my partner Unc. I have his back at work, he has mine. I am able to compartmentalize just fine. A certain gunnery sergeant taught me that” 

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head “Yeah,maybe a little too well. Have a good day Jinxy. Stay safe. I gotta deliver this bike at six so I won’t be here for dinner” you nodded “Ok. In that case love you” “Love you too Jinxy”

You opened the door to your SUV and tossed your stuff in before climbing in and waved before sliding the key in. You turned the engine over and backed up out the drive before heading towards the precinct. Yeah, you could compartmentalize when it called for it. Did that mean that every damn day it wasn’t killing you being close to Jay? Of course not but you could manage to focus on your work. You and him hadn’t spoken outside of work since that night. You hadn’t responded to any texts either. 

You couldn’t do it to your heart because you wanted him to want you but at roll call you heard a few of the old “Wonder if her and Halstead are already back together?” “See the way she looks at him?”  were you that fucking obvious? Christ, why did you have to fall in love with Jay? Anyone but Jay. 

You sat at your desk, absentmindedly playing with the chain around your neck. It didn’t even have a pendant on it. It was an old dog tag chain of your uncle Russ’ just minus the tags.  This case was dragging all of your nerves pretty damn bad. A sixteen year old got shot in the cross hairs of a gang hit. Of course no one wanted to talk, nobody wanted to put the target on themselves. You didn’t blame them but every time you looked at the board you saw that damn kid looking back at you.

__________________________

“Halstead!” Voight’s voice made you and Jay both snatch your heads up. “Yeah?” Jay asked and Voight nodded “Go talk to your C.I.” Jay had a C.I. on the south side that was tied in with a couple gangs. Geoffrey. Maybe he knew something. “Yes sir” Jay went to stand up so Voight pointed at you “Take Jinx with you” “Yes sir” you replied and stood to follow Jay, slipping your gun onto your hip. Jay cut his eyes at you for just a second before you followed him down the stairs.

When you got downstairs he held the door open for you. “Thanks” you muttered and he nodded as you followed him across the lot to his truck and slid into the passenger seat. You buckled up as he turned the engine over and pulled out onto the road. 

The ride across town was in silence. Neither of you even moved to turn the radio on in the meantime. You hated this. You loved Jay and even outside of the fact that you loved him, this man had been your best friend since Erin left and Voight assigned you as his partner. You missed him, with every part of you. You just didn’t know how to explain to him why you couldn’t be with him without sounding like a bitter ex.

“When’s the last time you had to talk to Geoffrey?” you asked and he cut his eyes at you “About a week before you got back” you nodded slowly “How close is he to kicking his case?” he shrugged “If he can give us anything at all on this? That’ll be his case” “Makes sense, given the danger level of getting involved in any way on a gang hit” 

He nodded then sighed “Are we really to the point of making small talk?” you opened your mouth to respond then snapped it closed and shrugged “I don’t know what to say here Jay. We’re on the clock” he shook his head “And you won’t answer the damn phone when we’re not” 

You looked out the window and felt him move before his hand touched yours “Honey” you shook your head “Don’t” that was one nickname you couldn’t stand him calling you because it meant something. He pulled his hand away as he turned off the main road “We’re here”

________________________

You followed Jay up to Geoffrey and heard the man laugh when he spotted you “Holy hell is that Jinx?” you leaned out from behind Jay with a grin “Hey hot stuff” he grinned “When did you get back?” you shrugged “Few weeks now” he nodded and cut his eyes at Jay “You been hiding her man? Tsk tsk tsk. You know you aint the only one that missed her”

You felt your face warm “We ain’t here to talk about me Geoff. You know why we here” he nodded “That kid?” “That kid” he sighed “Alright, I’ll tell ya what I know but Voight has to come up off some serious cash and I need a lift to the bus station before you roll” you looked over at Jay who shrugged “We can do that”

You stood next to Jay in roll up, loading guns. He cut his eyes at you “Be careful” you nodded without even looking at him “You too” 

Everyone got geared up and ready to roll out. You slipped your vest over your head and luckily Hailey was right there so she adjusted your straps while you adjusted Kim’s. Jay met your eyes and you held his. Fuck you loved him. You gave him a small smile. You didn’t want him distracted. That was the last thing you needed was for him to get hurt because of you.

____________________

You froze when you realized you had a gun pointed at your head. No one was close enough to help. “I’m CPD asshole. Kill me and they will bury your ass. It will be so much worse than that kid” he shrugged “And if they don’t find out it’s me that did it?”

You swallowed hard, fuck why hadn’t you went behind Kevin? Of yeah because you spotted this idiot and went after him. You blamed that damn car getting in your way and giving him enough time to get his gun pulled. He cocked the hammer on his gun and right before he squeezed the trigger a shot fired and he dropped. You let out a breath as you heard Jay’s voice hit your ear through the coms “Jinx, you good?” you clicked the com “I’m good. Nice shot” 

You stood next to Hailey as the scene was cleared. Sylvie had cleaned your face up and Kim helped you to make sure no more blood was on you. Jay wouldn’t look in your direction. Was he that damn mad you almost got shot? Damn, it wasn’t like every last one of you hadn’t been in that position before.

“Alright, everybody head back” Voight called so you headed to Jay’s truck. You climbed into the passenger seat as you stripped your vest off and dropped it into the floorboard. He dropped his on top of yours before buckling his seatbelt and turning the engine over. “Sure you’re ok?” you nodded “That was a close call but thankfully you were in a good position” he nodded “If I had been just a second behind..” you cut him off quick “You weren’t. Don’t stress it Jay” “Yeah” he shook his head.

__________________

“When are we dropping this act Jinx?” Jay asked when you and him were almost back to the precinct. You cut your eyes at him “What act Jay?” he shook his head then pulled off on the side of the road into an alleyway and killed the engine before turning to face you.  “The act like we have never been in each other’s beds. The act like I don’t know how you taste. The act where it didn’t fucking terrify me to see that gangbanger cock the hammer and think what if I couldn’t get the shot?”

“Jay it doesn’t…” “DON’T SAY IT DOESN’T MATTER!” you flinched at his loud tone in the enclosed space and his face softened “Honey, I’m sorry but I want you to argue with me. Scream at me, hate me. Something. Don’t ignore me. Please. I can take so much from you. I will take so much from you but not that”

You nodded slowly then turned to face him “Why didn’t you move on?” he raised an eyebrow “What?” you waved a hand around “Why didn’t you move on Jay? You had no reason to not find someone new. I know a man like you had plenty of options. Tell me you at least had a couple one nighters”

His face fell “Why, did you?” you wanted to lie, christ you wanted to but you couldn’t. “No” “Why not” you shrugged “Strange place, working sex crimes. Not exactly turn ons” he looked like you punching him in the face would have hurt less “That the only reasons?” you knew what he was asking. You sidestepped the question. “Why did you wait for me Jay?” he pushed up the console and reached for you “Because the last night you were here you were in my bed. I fell asleep with you in my arms. I thought we were still something”

You nodded “The other night was a mistake” “You said that but wouldn’t say why. I don’t think it was” you stared at him “I want you Jay” he smiled “I want you Jinx, you can have me honey” “Not how I want” “What does that even mean?” he asked and you shook your head before pulling him into a kiss. He grunted against your lips, tugging you closer to him. You gasped when he pulled you into his lap, he used the opportunity to lick into your mouth, swallowing the moan the action caused.

You rolled your hips down against his and his hands slid up your back, gripping your sides. You broke away from his lips, panting slightly “We gotta get back” “Fuck that” he breathed, pulling you back to him, his hands slipped under your shirt and pulled it up and over your head. 

He grinned before biting down on one of your clothed breasts and your head fell back, a low moan of his name falling from your lips. “Sound as pretty as you are honey” he whispered as his fingers found the zipper of your jeans and this time his fingers were so much faster than they’d been at his place. Once he unbuttoned your jeans his hand slipped into the front of them, fingers diving into you. 

Your head fell over onto his shoulder “Feels so good Jay” you whispered and he kissed the side of your head “I got you baby. I’ll make you feel damn good” you whimpered as his fingers sped up. He hit that spongy place inside of you and you clenched around him “There she is” he chuckled, turning his wrist so he could use his thumb to rub gentle circles onto your clit while he kept working his fingers into you. You felt that building pressure burst as you came, legs shaking around him. He kissed the side of your head “Feel better honey?” you shook your head and pulled his hand up, holding his eyes as you sucked his fingers clean, tasting yourself. “Oh pretty girl” he moaned and you smiled, pulling him into a kiss so he could taste you on your tongue.

“Fuck me Jay?” you asked and he raised an eyebrow “Here?” you nodded “Please” you were to the point of craving his touch. If this was all you could get you were willing to break your own damn heart. You tugged your jeans down and he unsnapped his, tugging them down too. It would be awkward but you got your jeans down far enough you could lower yourself onto his hardened length. “Honey” he groaned and you braced your hands on the seat behind him. You dragged yourself up before slamming back down on his cock. “Fuck” he moaned, fingers gripping your sides. His hands dug into your hips, directly your actions “Can I?” he asked and you nodded, laying your head over in the bend of his neck.

His hips started to snap up into yours. Every movement made your eyes roll back in your head because the tip of his cock was rolling over that spot deep inside of you with every thrust “I miss you Jay” you whispered as your orgasm slammed into you. His hips snapped into yours a couple more times before he stilled, hot spurts of cum coating your walls and dripping back out onto your thighs. “I miss you too Jinx” he whispered, holding you close to his chest. 

Both of you worked to get your breathing back to normal. Maybe you should tell him? Maybe.. The moment was broken by his phone ringing. You felt your heart stop when you saw Voight’s number when he leaned up and grabbed it. “I had to pee?” you suggested as you climbed off him while he answered “Um hey?” you pulled your shirt on then went into the glovebox where you knew Jay put any leftover takeout napkins to try to clean yourself up some as he told Voight some excuse as to why the two of you weren’t back yet.

Once you were as clean as you could get you pulled your jeans up. You glanced back to see Jay’s pants were in place so you stepped out of the truck and tossed the balled up napkins into a nearby dumpster before climbing back into the truck “How in trouble are we?” he shook his head “We aren’t but if anyone asks your period started unexpectedly and we had to stop at CVS” you laughed “Good thinking” 

You buckled your seatbelt and he did the same before backing back out into traffic. “Jinx, what was that?” he asked and you shrugged “Adrenaline? I almost got shot, you almost saw me get shot?” he sighed “And you saying you missed me?” you cut your eyes at him “You said you miss me too” he nodded “Because I do and I’ll tell you that. I still don’t know why you left me and I hope one day you’ll tell me” 

@desimarie12

“This was the last time this happens Jay. I mean it” you swore and he nodded “Ok” “Ok” 

Love You

@nevaehstreater18

@allisonargent144

[onechicagolife]

ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

BONUS SCENES (nsfw)

Avery moves first. She reaches for the waistband of her leggings, lifting her hips to slide them down. Slowly, teasingly. Wanting to see what he'll do. Jay watches, his eyes flickering to the newly exposed skin, his breaths coming faster. When she kicks them off along with her panties, her breathing already unsteady, she spreads her legs. His gaze follows her fingers, a dangerous growl of her name slipping out when she slides her fingers through her folds, deliberately slow. Her eyes meet his, searching, "Tell me you don't want this."

She barely gets the words out before his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with quick, practiced movements and shoving his jeans and boxers down just far enough, his cock springing free, thick and hard. Their eyes don't leave each other.

There's no more hesitation. No second-guessing.

His hands are on her thighs before she even fully climbs over the console, gripping hard enough to bruise as Jay helps her straddle his lap. The heat of him—hard and ready—presses against her, making her suck in a sharp breath. His hands slide up, fingers digging into her hips as she braces herself against his shoulders. Her skin burns under his touch, every nerve in her body hyperaware, every inch of her aching for this. For him.

His breathing is ragged, his forehead pressing against hers for just a second as they hover on the edge. His hands flex against her skin, like he's holding on for dear life. Their breaths mingle, the heat between them suffocating. Jay swallows hard, "Avery."

"Shut up," she whispers, reaching between them. She wraps her fingers around his shaft, spreading the precum leaking from the tip and stroking once, twice—just enough to make him groan, his head tilting back against the seat. The sound makes her pulse throb between her thighs.

He pulls her closer, gripping her hips tighter as she rubs the tip of his cock through her slick folds, teasing herself, teasing him. His fingers flex, his restraint unraveling. “Fuck, Ave, you’re already so wet,” he rasps, his fingers digging into her skin. His voice is almost accusatory, like he’s mad at her for it. Like it drives him insane that she wants him this bad. “Didn’t even need me to kiss you first.”

She shivers at his words, her walls clenching around nothing. She’s already too far gone, already too desperate for him. Her smirk is lazy, taunting. “You should know by now that I’ve been thinking about this all night, Halstead.”

Jay growls, and that’s it. He’s done waiting. His hands shift, sliding to the small of her back as he jerks her down onto him in one fluid motion, burying himself deep.

She gasps, nails biting into his shoulders as she takes all of him, the stretch burning in the best way possible. “Oh, fuck,” Avery pants, adjusting, her thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so thick, filling her completely.

He lets out a ragged breath, his head falling back for a second as he grips her hips hard. "Jesus Christ—"

She bites her lip, circling her hips slowly, making them both groan. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

One hand slides up, twisting in her long waves and tugging, a gasp slipping past her lips at the twinge of pain. She tightens her thighs around him and starts moving, lifting herself up before falling back down on his cock. His voice is rough when he speaks again, his words sending a shiver down her spine. “You missed riding me like this?”

Her breath catches, her fingers clenching in his shirt. “God, yes,” she moans.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips along her throat. “I can tell,” he murmurs into her skin. He watches her, watches the way her body moves, watches the way Avery bites her lip when she grinds against him just right. “You’re fucking perfect like this,” he groans, his fingers sliding down to grip her ass. His voice is rough, his hand guiding her movements. “So goddamn beautiful.”

Jay meets her thrust for thrust, his hands roaming her body, dragging her down harder, rougher, like he can’t get close enough. He grabs the back of her head, yanking her forward until their mouths crash together, raw and desperate. His tongue pushes past her lips, stealing the breath right from her lungs. He doesn’t kiss her like he’s just giving in to temptation—he kisses her like he’s punishing her for making him want her this much. For making him lose control.

His hips give a particularly hard thrust and she pulls away with a ragged cry. One of her hands shoots out, slapping against the rapidly fogging window with a loud smack as her nails dig into his shoulder.

"Fuck," Jay groans, his head dropping to her shoulder as he fights for control. He sets a ruthless pace, thrusting into her from below while dragging her down, making the car rock with every movement. The wet, filthy sounds of their bodies meeting fill the small space, mixing with their ragged breaths, their desperate moans.

"Oh God," she whines, barely able to form words as she rides him, chasing the pleasure curling hot and tight in her stomach. Avery chokes on a sob, her head dropping back, and Jay takes full advantage—his mouth latches onto the column of her throat, his teeth scraping against her pulse before he sucks hard. Marking her. Claiming her.

"You're mine," he growls against her skin, his voice dark, possessive.

And that does something to her. It lights a fire in her veins, sends a new rush of heat straight to her core. Because even though she knows that this is what he does, the things he says when clouded by lust, Avery wants to be his.

Even after everything. Even with all the pain, all the heartbreak, all the unresolved anger and betrayal still lingering between them—she wants this. Wants him.

Jay feels it too. She can tell by the way he moves, by the way his hands tremble on her skin, by the way he buries his face against her shoulder like he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he looks at her right now. Like he doesn’t want to admit that this is more than just sex. That it always has been.

She swallows hard, emotion catching in her throat as her body starts to tighten, the pleasure building impossibly high. She’s close, so close, and he knows it.

"Come for me, Ave," he demands, his voice rough. “Come on my cock.”

She barely manages to pry her eyes open, her vision blurry, but when Avery meets his gaze, her breath catches in her throat. Because Jay is looking at her like she’s everything. Like he’s still in love with her.

And that’s what undoes her.

Her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave, her body locking up, her nails sinking into his shoulder, fingers curling against the glass as she shatters. She sobs his name, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain, and Jay doesn’t stop—he keeps thrusting, keeps pushing her through it, groaning as her walls tighten around him like a vice.

"Fuck, fuck," he grits out, his rhythm faltering, his body shuddering beneath her.

And then, he’s gone. His hands clamp down on her ass as he thrusts up hard, burying himself deep, his whole body tensing as he spills inside her with a broken moan.

The only sound left in the car is their ragged breathing, their bodies still pressed together, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks.

Avery doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at him as their heartbeats slowly start to settle. Because now that the haze of pleasure is fading, the weight of reality is sinking in.

This didn’t fix anything. They’re still fucked up. Still broken.

And yet—as she lets her forehead fall against his, she still doesn’t want to let him go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

The door barely clicks shut before Jay is on her, spinning her around.

His hands are rough, desperate, as they cup her face, dragging her into a bruising kiss. His body presses against hers, forcing her back until she collides with the door. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming, tasting, like he’s trying to burn the feel of her into himself. Avery moans, nails digging into his shoulders as she pulls him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against her.

They stumble through the apartment, their bodies colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue, all heat and unspoken words. Jay’s hands roam her body, palming her tits, digging into her hips hard. It stings against the already-forming bruises from earlier, but she doesn’t care. She wants it—wants to feel him there tomorrow, wants the evidence of his touch marking her as his.

His lips tear away from hers long enough to scrape down her throat, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, and she arches into him, gasping.

“Mine,” he growls against her skin. “Always fucking mine.”

Her whole body clenches at the words, at the possessiveness in his voice, at the way his hands grip her like he’d burn the whole damn world down just to keep her. Avery barely registers how they make it to the bathroom, her clothes hitting the floor in a blur. He strips her with rough, impatient hands, his breath coming faster, his muscles coiled like a man barely holding himself back.

But then she’s sinking to her knees in front of him, looking up at him with dark, hungry eyes. His breath hitches, his jaw tightening, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to touch her.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, like she’s completely undone him just by kneeling there.

She smirks, trailing her hands up his thighs before palming him through his boxers, feeling the heavy heat of him. His abs flex under her touch, his breath shuddering out as she drags his waistband down, letting his cock spring free.

Wrapping her fingers around him, she strokes him slow and deliberate, watching the way his head tips back, his hands clenching into fists like he’s barely holding it together. “Always so needy for me,” she mumbles, licking a stripe up his length before taking the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip.

Jay groans, his hands snapping to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. “Jesus, fuck—” His voice is pure gravel, rough and raw as she sinks lower, taking him deeper, her tongue teasing along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He stares down at her, his green eyes dark and blown wide with need. “You love this, don’t you?” His fingers tighten in her hair, pulling slightly as he thrusts forward, barely restraining himself, “You love getting on your knees for me.”

She hums around him, her lips stretching into a wicked grin as she takes him even deeper, swallowing around him, making his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Ave,” he groans, his jaw clenching as his head falls back for a brief second before he looks down at her again. “No one’s ever done it like you. No one’s ever fucking compared.”

She moans at his words, the vibration making him curse under his breath. Avery pulls off with a wet pop, stroking him with one hand slowly as her fingers dig into his ass. She glances up at him, her lips swollen and used, “No one else has ever sucked you off this good, huh?”

Jay licks his lips, his fingers still in her hair, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter behind him. “Not a single fucking one.”

She grins before flicking her tongue over the tip, her strokes tightening just slightly. “Let me earn it.”

He groans as she takes him back into her mouth, her pace relentless now. His grip in her hair tightens, guiding her, fucking her mouth just enough to make her throat tighten around him, to make his breaths turn ragged. “Goddamn it, Ave,” Jay growls, his muscles flexing. “I’m not gonna last—”

Avery rubs her thighs together and mumbles around his cock, “Then don’t.”

That’s all it takes.

He curses, his hands fisting in her hair as he comes down her throat, his body tensing and his head tipping back. Avery swallows every drop, her tongue flicking over him one last time before pulling back, wiping some of his cum from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze never leaving his.

Exhaling, Jay looks down at her with something dark and wild in his eyes. And then suddenly, he’s grabbing her by the arms, yanking her up and crashing his mouth onto hers in a searing, possessive kiss, tasting himself on her lips. He moves her back towards the shower, reaching behind her and twisting the shower handle until steaming water sprays against the glass.

She nibbles on his bottom lip, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you going to carry me?” she teases, reminding him of his earlier threat.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he murmurs against her mouth, his hands already sliding down, gripping her thighs and lifting her effortlessly.

Avery grins against his lips, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Then die happy.”

He slams her against the shower wall, his mouth trailing down her throat as he grips himself, sliding the thick head of his hardening cock through her wetness. He groans at the reminder of what happened in his truck, knowing that what’s between her thighs is mixing with his cum. “Tell me who you belong to,” he growls against her skin, teasing her entrance, holding himself just out of reach.

She whimpers, her nails dragging down the taut muscles of his back, “You.”

Jay bites down on her shoulder, groaning. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then does it again lower, just above the swell of her breast. She gasps, head tilting back against the tile with a dull thud, hands fisting in his hair. "Jesus, Ave," he breathes, watching her squirm as he bumps the head against her clit. "You gonna let me make you come before I even fuck you?"

“I need your cock, Jay,” she whines, locking her ankles and pulling him closer.

And that’s all he needs to hear before he thrusts into her in one brutal stroke.

She cries out, her back arching off the tile, her body stretching to take him. His hands grip her ass, lifting her higher, angling her just right as he starts to move—hard, deep, punishing.

“Fuck, gripping me so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath ragged. “Always so fucking perfect for me, baby.”

Avery lets out a strangled moan, rolling her hips, matching his rhythm, “Jay—”

He smirks, snapping his hips faster, fucking her rougher. “You like it like this?”

She whimpers, nodding frantically.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, kneading, holding her exactly where he wants her. “Say it,” he rasps, his breath hot against her ear.

"I love it," she breathes, voice breaking into a desperate cry. "I love the way you fuck me."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest, and then he’s fucking into her harder, faster, each thrust driving deeper, his cock stretching her perfectly. “That’s my girl,” he grits out, burying his face in her neck.

His words make her dizzy, the heat inside her building, her body trembling from the intensity of it. And then he reaches between them, pressing his thumb against her swollen clit, and Avery shatters with a scream of his name.

Her orgasm crashes through her, her body locking up, her walls clenching around him so tight he chokes out a groan, his hips stuttering. “Fuck, Ave,” he grunts, slamming into her one last time before he follows. His body shakes as his hips still, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her completely.

They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together under the water, their bodies still trembling as the sound of their heavy breathing mixes with the steady stream from the showerhead.

Jay presses a lingering kiss to her shoulder, then another to her jaw, then finally to her lips—soft, slow, reverent. His hands loosen on her thighs, but he doesn’t let her go, doesn’t step away.

And she doesn’t want him to. Avery rests her forehead against his, her fingers gently tracing the nape of his neck. “I meant what I said,” she whispers against his lips.

He nods, his hand sliding up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing gently along her cheekbones. “I know,” Jay says, kissing her again—deep and slow, like he’s memorizing her. “Me too.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, neither of them is running.

prev . . . next

a/n: i couldn't resist 🫣

[tvshowscouples]

Reblog if you love Jay Halstead

[sabrinajenre96]

Wes Mitchell x reader

Since there's nothing about Wes Mitchell I decide to write something. I have a lot of ideas I got a little help writing but it's the first time I am doing this. I hope people will like this. Comment share or whatever.

Do not copy my work, I like to share my ideas and now I have the opportunity to do something about it. This is a hobby for me.

Warning ⚠️: none.

The hum of the Fly Team HQ was a familiar comfort to [Reader's Name], a seasoned FBI agent. But today, a nervous energy crackled in the air. Scott’s absence still left a raw edge, a void filled by the arrival of their new boss, Special Agent Wes Mitchell. [Reader's Name] hadn’t seen Wes in years, not since their teenage whirlwind romance and subsequent heart-wrenching breakup. A secret she’d guarded fiercely, the existence of their twins, Harper and Greyson, was about to collide with her present.

When Wes walked into the briefing room, [Reader's Name] froze. He was older, more mature, but those familiar blue/green eyes, the ones her children inherited, sent a jolt through her. Vo, ever observant, noticed her reaction, but like the rest of the team, chalked it up to adjusting to a new leader.

Their first case was a brutal reminder of the dangers they faced. A group of criminals, the same ones who’d killed Wes’s partner in LA, were targeting him again, this time through his connection to…Harper and Greyson. Panic clawed at [Reader's Name]. Her secret was about to explode.

As Smitty and Vo scrambled to find the link between Wes and the twins, Harper and Greyson were brought to HQ, escorted by [Reader's Name]’s mother, a retired FBI agent and old friend of Jesse LaCroix. While her mother comforted the twins, she and [Reader's Name] had a tense conversation.

"You should have told him," her mother said, her voice laced with concern.

"And what? Ruin his life like mine was?" [Reader's Name] retorted, her voice rising.

Vo, entering the room unexpectedly, heard the last sentence. She stopped, her brow furrowed. "Told him what?"

[Reader's Name]’s heart pounded. She had to tell her. She had to tell everyone. She took a deep breath. "Wes is their father."

The room fell silent. Vo’s expression was a mixture of shock and understanding. She knew about their past, but not this.

Later, in the conference room, with the entire team present, [Reader's Name] laid bare the truth. Her teenage relationship with Wes, the unplanned pregnancy, the difficult decision she made, the years of raising Harper and Greyson alone. Only Scott and her mother knew. The twins knew who their father was. Wes’s initial reaction was anger, a sense of betrayal, of lost time, lost milestones.

Just then, [Reader's Name]'s mother walked in with Harper and Greyson. She looked at Wes, her gaze steady. "It wasn't [Reader's Name]'s fault. You were the one who pushed her away," she said, her voice firm. "Your girlfriend at the time…she made it clear: it was her or the baby. [Reader's Name] made a choice, a painful one. But those children, they were her world. Every time she looked at their eyes, your eyes, she was reminded of the love she never stopped feeling."

The air crackled with unspoken emotions. The team, initially stunned, now saw the resemblance. Harper’s bright blue/green eyes, Greyson’s strong jawline. It was undeniable.

Wes, reeling, confronted his ex-girlfriend, the ugly truth of her manipulation laid bare. The confrontation was explosive, ending their relationship for good.

With the personal drama swirling around them, the team focused on the case. [Reader's Name], facing the leader of the criminal group, stared him down, her resolve hardened. She arrested him, bringing the case to a close.

That night, the dust settled. [Reader's Name] and Wes sat on her porch, the twins asleep inside.

"I…I messed up," Wes said, his voice rough. "I should have known."

"We both did," [Reader's Name] replied softly. "But we can’t change the past. We can only build a future."

Suddenly, Harper and Greyson burst out of the house, running towards them. "Mom! Dad!" they cried, launching themselves into their parents’ arms.

Wes looked at [Reader's Name], a mixture of love and regret in his eyes. He pulled her close, the twins nestled between them. Finally, they were a family. The family [Reader's Name] had always dreamed of. The love she had held onto all these years had finally found its way home.

@stefanmikaleson1864 I didn't find fanfiction about wes I decided to create one 😂 let me know what you think.

[ericwinter-jessesoffer-fanfics]

FBI international episode 10 - keep calm and deliver the biotoxin

I’m so happy I got this little #vowes scene

[seths-jarvis]

Love the view! Oh, thats a nice view of the city too.

[ericwinter-jessesoffer-fanfics]

My #vowes heart loved this. Just wish there had been more scenes of Wes taking care of cam

FBI International Ep10 keep calm deliver the biotoxin