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fallingforunrealisticromance · 3 months ago

Text

i am OBSESSED

━ come into my bedroom

( tim bradford x girl!reader )

SUMMARY: spending the night at tim bradford’s place was never part of the plan- but, neither was ending up in his bed, feeling emotions you'd never imagine you'd feel towards him. AUTHOR'S NOTE: guys i swore to myself that this was supposed to be a short fluffy fic but h2g i got carried away. THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SM!! I SEE YOUR REQUESTS I PROMISE I DO. THEY'RE ALWAYS OPEN SO FEEL FREE TO SPAM IT WITH IDEAS OR FEEDBACK OR LOVE IN GENERAL!! also this is SOOOO INSPIRED by champagne coast by blood orange. should i do a part 2 for this? idk hehe enjoy! INCLUDES: enemies to...cuddle buddies? a little bit of swearing, LOTS of tension, smitty WORDS: 5.6K+

You couldn't have expected your night to go like this, never in a million years.

Yet, your hands still grip the wheel, and your focus never wavers away from the vehicle that moves in front of you as you follow it.

Though your eyes are steady as they study your surroundings of the peaceful neighbourhood with its warm street lights and clean gardens, it seems as if your entire body has much catching up to do.

For starters, your foot is shaky on the accelerator, your knees are endlessly bouncing, your fingertips constantly tap against the steering wheel and your mouth is...unsatisfyingly dry.

However, most importantly, you feel as though your heart has been left behind palpitating back at the station awing at Tim's lips and the way he effortlessly said to you stay at mine for the night.

There were so many things he could've said at that moment. And yet, the grumpy ass had you fumbling over your own footsteps from his choice to invite you to stay at his. His home.

It baffled you because…well, you and Tim aren’t the closest of friends.

You two are on opposite ends of the spectrum in regards to your personas; his rigid, by-the-book, scruff never seemed to mix well with your instinctive, kind, free-spirited one...so you two never saw a reason to be friends. Apart from Tim, you’ve gotten along extremely well with the other officers in your department since spending the past few years there.

To keep it short and sweet, you two are just work colleagues.

But fuck, did the guy really have it out to get you.

Conversing with Tim means you will never get your way, ever. Sure, maybe his superiority in conversations comes also from the fact that he's your Sergeant, but it's as if he does it because Tim Bradford is hell-bent on making sure you feel like you can never live up to his impossibly undesirable standards. His nitpicking, his overprotectiveness, his nasty attitude and those fucking death glares sent your way drives you up the wall like no other.

But unlike everyone else, Tim is the one person who can simultaneously make you want to rip your hair out and make your pulse race in the same breath- because, really, the way he crosses his arms sets your focus on his bulging biceps, his death glares means he's staring at you and only you, and his protectiveness makes your heart skip, especially when he places himself before the criminal and in front of you.

Sure, you’d never admit it and later you’d find that your ‘thank you’ to him is you giving him a mouthful of I had it under control!

Say what you want, but you're no angel, especially not in Tim’s eyes. To him, you are everything of a pain in his ass. You’re stubborn to his orders, you’re grumpy only towards him and even on the last hour of a late-night shift where you both want nothing but to hit the hay, you’re willing to fight with him on everything and anything. He’s only ever seen you smile at others and maybe once...maybe never towards him.

But it’s not like your endless arguments in the shop have ever gone to waste because, surprisingly, it’s easy for Tim to pick up on things when the only thing you two can talk about is your differences. Think of it how you want, but for Tim, he now knows everything about you- you prefer the aircon on at all times in the shop, you're picky with your coffee, and worse of all, your intelligence has you nailing every single Tim test he has ever dared to throw out at you; and with that, you are the bane of his existence.

So you can understand your confusion as to why 10 minutes ago, at the station just before you left, Tim offered his place to stay for the night.

To take you back, it all began when you were releasing your body camera off your uniform and onto its respected place on the wall. You and Smitty were creating a casual conversation when the old fella asked about your plans for the night. You groaned and grumbled:

“Fuck, Smitty, would shops be open still?”

“Hate to bear bad news to you, kid, but it’s 11pm,” He shrugs, “What’s the matter? Need something that badly?”

You remember sighing frustratingly as you unclip your radio, “Something like that- my apartment doesn’t have an AC…or fans and I’ve been meaning to get myself one of those portable ones but with work getting in the way, I haven’t had time.”

“No AC? No fans?” Smitty blinks at you, hard, though he follows after you to the equipment locker, “What are you doing? Sleeping in a hot oven?”

You chuckle quietly, rolling your eyes at him jokingly as you store your duty belt away, “Something like that.” Then, a thought flickers into your mind and so you turn to look at him, trying your best to hypnotise him with softened eyes and raised eyebrows, “Smitty…would you be such a gentleman and perhaps let me borrow one of yours? Knowing you, I’m sure your caravan has a whole set-up in there.”

Your question results in Smitty throwing his head back and laughing (you weren’t actually joking), “Not a chance. You’re a great negotiator, I’ll give that to you,” And then his hand is clapping your shoulder as he begins his departure, “Good luck with that, kid, and drink lots of water!”

You sigh, scrunching your face up in defeat as you watch him walk off, trying your best to plaster as real of a smile as possible, “Will do, thanks Smitty…always fucking helpful.” You whisper that last part to yourself as you grab your logbook and flip it open, jotting down a quick entry for the shift.

Though across the room near the weapons locker, you haven't noticed the large presence of a familiar Sergeant where his gaze was flicking between you and Smitty. He clenches his jaw as he unloads his weapon with practised ease, swearing to himself that he isn't that interested in eavesdropping on you and Smitty, instead, blaming it on that your conversation was loudly shared in public.

“You’re seriously sleeping in this heat with no fan or air-con?” He finds his voice cutting through the air before he can even realise it's his own, catching you off guard from where you stand writing in your logbook.

You stop writing mid-sentence and look up to meet his eyes that are entirely focused on you. You frown, “Were you eavesdroppi-“

“-No, and if I did, it’s a free country,” He cuts you off, moving his body to turn to you with his arms crossing, “…So?”

You drop your pen- any thoughts that once buzzed your mind clearly have shrivelled away at the expense of Tim’s interruption, “I am. Is that a personal problem with you, Sir?”

His eyes narrow harshly down at you, “It is when you come into work tomorrow morning and pass out from dehydration, resulting in me wasting my time writing up an incident report about your lack of care and negligence towards yourself.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” You shut the logbook with a sharp snap, the knit in your eyebrows deepening at his sudden intrusion into your living situation, “But thanks for being so concerned about my wellbeing- didn’t think you had it in you.”

There's a twitch in Tim's eye, a small lack of control that you don't seem to notice as he looks your figure up and down. He'll give it to you- you have a witty mouth.

He covers himself up immediately, walls built upon walls as he exhales, “You shouldn’t be trying to sleep in these conditions.” He mutters, “It’s not safe.”

Fuck, here he goes with the overprotectiveness.

You find yourself opening your mouth, eager to bite back at him with a flush of attitude and you don’t know whether it’s because of him, or the heat, or both. But, you decide to clench your jaw shut tightly, brushing past him to head towards the locker room, “I’ll get a fan when I have the time to.” You grumble anyway.

“Maybe you’d have time if you weren’t wasting it arguing with me,” He shoots back and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Your jaw goes slack and you whip your head around, warmth burning in your chest, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Say all you want, Officer Y/L/N, but you know I’m right.” He counters against you, his tone even but pointed.

And he is, which is what you hate about this conversation the most. How are you going to survive this heatwave- especially with the lack of airflow in your apartment?

You consider maybe it's best you sleep in the fridge tonight.

You're too irritated to notice the way his eyes linger on you just for a tad longer than you did on him- his thoughts revelling in so many things to say to you but they never quite slip off his tongue, and so he watches as you turn on your heel and storm into the showers.

Praying that's the end of the encounter with Tim, you take your sweet time having a cool shower in the locker room, not allowing an inch of heat to hit your skin.

By the time you change back into your normal clothes, and you've exchanged small goodbyes to your fellow colleagues, you're dawdling your way through the station, to outside where your car is and...oh, Tim's leaning against your car.

His presence instantly brings a sense of irritation to your brain, your heart dropping at what the issue could possibly be. You sigh heavily, "What now?"

"You're not going back to your apartment tonight." Is all he states, his voice the usual rasp but it's stern. He tightens the grip on his backpack, though his wandering eyes don't leave yours as he stares you down.

Throwing your hands up, you scoff into the air, "Wow, thanks. So where am I supposed to go, huh?" Your frown can be seen a mile away as you look back at him, "You got any ideas for me?"

And...well, he does.

“Stay at mine for the night.”

Your heart misses a beat. Then another. And it echoes into the thick, excruciatingly hot air of Los Angeles.

You double-take at him, eyes locked onto his figure- steady, unwavering. There’s not a single sign that he’s joking right now; no teasing smirk, nor a smile, his voice doesn’t mock you and his eyebrows aren’t raised.

His lips are firm and his face is neutral. He’s just…standing there, awaiting your answer.

You scramble over words, your lips failing to form a coherent sentence, “I’m sorry…what?”

Tim doesn’t wait for a second to reply, “I’d be neglecting my duty of care as your Sergeant if I allow you to go back to your apartment,” And fuck, there he goes again.

You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes, “Tim, seriously I-“

“-I don’t think you’re hearing me correctly, Officer Y/L/N,” He interrupts, voice dropping into something firm. A tone that lures your pulse into a frantic flutter and you’re collapsing under his gaze as his eyes pin you down, “I wasn’t suggesting- I was ordering. It’s too damn hot for you to go back to your apartment. You’re sleeping at mine tonight, and that’s final.”

A breath escapes you, shaky and reluctant, “Fine,” You groan, stepping closer to your car, “But I’m taking the couch.”

Which is how you find yourself here- in your car, following his truck down dim streetlights with your body trembling and your heart chasing after you.

By the time you turn the corner to a peaceful street, you curb-side park next to a house that looks like any kind of architectural home- ordinary, simple, unassuming. You’ve probably driven past it a dozen times on patrol and never knew it belonged to the man who curated your headaches.

You inhale deeply, your fingers tightening around your steering wheel as you try to ground yourself from the adrenaline that sizzles within you. But, your body betrays you as it moves before your mind can catch up. You step out of your car, the night’s air blazing your already overheated skin and you meet Tim’s waiting gaze.

As you catch up to him, and with one more glance your way, he turns towards the wooden front door. You follow.

Upon entering, the first thing you notice is how…homely it looks.

It’s not what you expected- although you’ve never put a thought into what Tim’s home would've looked like anyway. Maybe his rough-edged, mean persona may have put your guesses to the more stereotypical Mojo Dojo Casa house where each corner of every room is filled with testosterone and messiness.

But this? This is different.

It's the type of masculine home that softens you inside, a comforting hug despite the already blaring heat- a safe space, as you'd call it. Aside from Kojo's welcoming nudge from his snout to your leg (of course you give him a pet), there's a warm lighting that casts a soft glow to your surroundings, highlighting the earthy tones of the necessary-but-enough furniture. His dark couch has a few paw scratches on the lower parts of the cushioning, but the extra cushions gently placed on the couch pulls your attention away. Though, lingering in the air is a faint earthy and woody masculine scent of him that intoxicates you every now and then. With every waft of it, your nerves settle more and more.

The metal click of Tim locking the front door from behind you immediately snaps your attention to face him, only to find that he’s already looking at you with an expression you can’t read, can’t translate, can’t understand. You shift your stance under his stare, swallowing hard at the awkwardness that begins to seep through between you two.

Tim is the first to break as he clears his throat, “I’ll grab you a blanket,” Then he’s eyeing you up and down, “…and some clothes,” He states, though he sounds less strict. It's softer- like he’s allowing himself to loosen the grip now that he’s home- just a little.

“I-” you hesitate, then shake your head, “Tim, I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“You’re not.”

How he gives a simple order like that should infuriate you, but instead, it has your chest ridiculously pounding. And plus, you hate to admit it but he’s right; you skim down at your own clothes and your blouse and pants don’t exactly scream comfort, especially when you'll be sleeping on a couch tonight and not your bed.

Without awaiting your agreement, he passes you to the other side of the house where his bedroom probably lies yearning for his body, leaving you to be by yourself in his lounge room.

Trying to ignore your palpitating heart or how your fingers can’t stop fidgeting, you instead divert your attention to how the cool air feels luxurious on your skin’s pores, scanning around at how lively everything seems to be; an empty glass left abandoned on his coffee table, a pair of boots kicked off by the door, Kojo resting on his dog bed near where the kitchen meets the dining room and…oh, his boxers hanging off one of the dining chairs.

You quickly draw your head away from the sight, your cheeks once hot from the heat now redden from something else- exposure to his vulnerability? Intrusion to his home? His privacy? Is it even ethically right that you’re here right now, all by yourself with your Sergeant who you supposedly can’t stand a single thing he does and yet, you blush at the sight of his underwear? Your mind wrestles with your heart, and it’s like you need to remind yourself that this isn’t a big deal. It’s just for one night. It won't mean anything.

Before you can linger on for too long, an oblivious Tim returns with a large navy blanket, a folded t-shirt and sweatpants, tossing the clothes your way. Perhaps Summer’s blaze hasn’t fogged your brain too much because you still have hyped and aware reflexes, catching them on instinct where your hands embrace the heat of the fabric from his touch.

A second passes, then two, and then he scratches the back of his neck, “Look, I don’t know whether the pants will fit you but I just thought they’d be better than what you’re wearing,” He mutters.

You can’t believe the words escaping your throat but, in this awkward yet content moment you find yourself whispering: “Thank you,” And your eyes are genuine as you look up at him, your voice a replica of the warm, gentle breeze outside and ever so quickly and shyly, Tim catches your lips curving into...a smile?

Fuck, he wishes he could photograph you right now because the way you’re looking at him makes him regret entirely ever giving you trouble since the two of you met.

But he doesn’t bring himself to mention it, so he redirects his gaze on you to anywhere else but, and he clears his throat, “Bathroom’s down the hall,” He nods in the direction of where a hallway begins from his bedroom door.

Blinking at him, you nod back before slipping past, your footsteps growing fainter as you near the bathroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath- long and unsteady, like you didn’t realise you had held it in this whole time. The air rushes out of your lungs in a way that feels like it carries more than just your breath. Confusion, overwhelm, awkwardness, nerves, eagerness…but for what? For sleep? For more? For him?

It all seems too real in this beat of the night as you drop the clothes on the sink’s widened bench and grasp either side of the cool porcelain sink tightly, your reflection staring back at you with knitted eyebrows and a heavy breath.

Get it together. It’s just Tim.

But that’s the problem- it is just Tim.

The one who gets under your skin and is infuriating and impossible to get along with. Who you've butted heads with more than anyone else in the department. But, no matter how many inches of hatred can float within your bloodstream, the strict, hard-headed man has opened his home just for you to sleep in.

You grip the sink tighter.

He can say all he wants about protocol and duty of care, and you can say all you want about this not changing anything.

But deep down inside both of your bodies, a seed has started growing.

You press your lips together and shake the thoughts away, turning your attention to getting out of these clothes and into something comfier.

But when you pull Tim’s t-shirt over your head, and his scent immediately soaks your senses, all it does is make your pulse race faster.

Damn it.

You don’t bother with the sweatpants. From one glance at the waistband and pressing it up to your hips, you know they won't stay up. The t-shirt is long enough to cover you- enough to be decent, but definitely not enough to leave much room to the imagination.

You inhale...then exhale, and you step out of the bathroom.

The house is quieter and darker than before- the only light that shines is the stars that complement the Moon from outside.

Tim is by your designated sleeping area, gently laying the blanket over the couch and adjusting it ever so gently.

You still your movements, soaking in what your heart never knew it yearned for as you watch his every gesture; how his long digits smooth out the fabric, pressing out any crinkles or creases that appear, making sure it's perfectly prepared just for you. It's so meticulous, unnecessary and yet caring that you can't help but stand still and stare at him.

At first, he doesn't notice your presence. But then, the floorboards beneath your cold feet betray you.

When he turns, and when his gaze fixates on you, that's when you feel it.

A shift in both of your emotions, a spark, a tug in your chest. He's no longer looking at you like you're a thorn's prick, a red light to a busy day, or shitty weather.

He lowers his eyes, taking you in.

You in his t-shirt.

The black fabric hangs loosely on you, stopping mid-thigh, and it takes everything in his restraint to not stare for too long because fuck, with you looking at him like that wearing his t-shirt like that, it makes him feel all things primal and irrational.

Underneath the glow of the moonlight, you are a force to be reckoned with- a free-spirit, and one that owns her own mind, something that Tim has no control over yet admires.

And in this very moment where you’re standing there like a daydream, you are a pain to his heart, his head and...something else. You go against everything he is for and yet, none of that counts right now. You could lure him in, like a siren to a pirate, and he'd chase after your kiss into the depths of the ocean's water.

His jaw tenses. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, forcing himself to look away.

But he can't, not that it would matter anyway.

The heat from outside no longer stresses you, just the warming presence of one another from where you stand, wishing the other person could act upon their thoughts suddenly, to push all past negative feelings for the other and take the risk, to take that step closer, to just do something, anythi-

“Thanks for…the couch.”

You break the trance, your voice slicing through whatever tension you two were enticed in and snapping you back into reality.

Your arms that are crossed over your chest tighten the embrace like you're putting up that barrier between your instincts and his body. You flicker your eyes from his baby blues to your makeshift bed, searching for something to latch onto. “It definitely beats what the apartment would’ve been like.”

Thanking Tim for his couch is one thing, but quietly admitting he was right? That's something else entirely.

This time, however, Tim doesn’t tease you upon it, doesn’t say I told you so with a smug smirk.

But, then something happens.

His eyes soften.

It's subtle, but you catch it before it can slip from your mind. He slowly breathes out, a small shift in his stance, and then ever so kindly, he gives you an almost imperceptible smile.

“Anytime,” He whispers, like a quiet oath that stays in your head.

It almost feels like an invitation. Like maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't mind if you forgot to buy that portable fan once again.

With one more look your way, he nods, his voice rough when he says: “Goodnight.”

And then he's gone.

The bedroom door shuts, and suddenly his house feels different again. Almost like you wished for the Summer air to heat you up just to replace his presence.

You look over your shoulder, double-checking to make sure he really is in his room before you let out a shaky exhale.

As you get under the blanket on the couch, you shut your eyes tightly, wishing upon anything that this night won’t mean anything...just as much as you hope it would mean something.

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

It's 2am.

The couch, as you’d expected, is awful.

Sure, Tim had done his best to make it look presentable, even going so far as perfecting all the faults, but none of that changed the reality of your situation- you couldn’t get to sleep. Not here, not right now, and especially not with him in your head.

The cushions are lumpy, offering no support for your back, and it’s far too small for you to even stretch your legs out. You’ve twisted and turned, each and every position feeling worse than the last. And it doesn’t help at your begging expense that your brain and heart can’t seem to shut off either, feeding into whatever thoughts were already crazing your brain.

You want to scream, to swear, to yell at the man who holds such a power over you that he probably doesn’t know he has. His lingering presence is unshakable- it’s in your mind, in the air, in the fabric of his damn t-shirt that still carries his scent. You can’t close your eyes because every time you do, all you can think about is him. The way he looked at you when you stepped out of the bathroom. The way his voice softened when he said goodnight to you. The way he let you in.

Overstimulated to the brim, you huff, searching for any source of comfort within where you lay. Everything has become so unbearable beneath your skin that it, too, can’t calm you down- like his baggy t-shirt clinging to your body, your baby hairs that stick to your forehead, and this stupid blanket that once was flattened beautifully and is now just tangled messily around your legs.

It’s dark, it’s cold, and it’s fucking lonely- a combination you can’t handle right now. Because all you want to do is go into his room and kiss the night away.

After what feels like hours, you give up.

Sitting up abruptly, you rub your hands over your face out of exhaustion and a yawn escapes your throat.

You quietly thank the heavens above that you don’t have work tomorrow.

You don’t even bother fixing up the mess you’ve made on the couch. Instead, you swing your legs over the side, letting them hit the hardwood floor with a soft thud.

Maybe a glass of water will help.

But as your feet carry you down the hallway, your steps slow. Not because of fatigue, but because you find yourself pausing outside his bedroom door, your fingers ghosting over the wood that stares back at you teasingly.

Do you knock? Do you open the door and tell him you can’t sleep? Do you demand he take the couch so you can have his bed? Or…God, do you kiss him just to put yourself out of your misery?

Or…do you do nothing? Do you just grab that glass of water and leave? Do you just shake your head at your own delusions, turn around, and pretend this never happened?

You don’t realise you’ve been pacing until the door swings open.

Your breath catches your throat.

There he is, leaning on the doorframe with his white t-shirt crinkled and his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair is a little frazzled, sticking up in numerous ways that suggest he’s been tossing and turning just as much as you. And the bags under his eyes are dark and heavy, proof that he isn’t sleeping either.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and husky as he looks down at you.

You freeze, shock seeping into your veins as you look up at him.

“I…” Your throat is dry. You force yourself to swallow, slowly wrapping your arms around yourself, “I can’t sleep.”

Tim exhales, his eyes softening as he tilts his head, “The couch sucks, huh?”

You shift under his gaze, feeling small and you sheepishly nod your head, “I’m too used to sleeping in my bed,” You don’t mention that he’s the reason you can’t sleep- that he’s been the poison in your bloodstream tonight.

Tim watches you for a beat longer, then sighs, “Get in here,” He mutters, stepping back to allow space for your entrance.

Your eyes widen, “…What?”

He raises an eyebrow as if daring you to argue, “I’m not repeating myself.” He nods towards his bed, “It’s big enough for the both of us. I’m not letting you suffer out there all night.” And he’s looking at you in a way that means business…like he’s serious.

…Oh.

Oh.

He is serious.

He, Tim Bradford - the man you hate the most - wants you in his bed.

You hesitate, trying to ignore the way your heart hammers so quickly in your chest that you can hear it in your ears. You step inside.

His room is hard to study in the darkness, but from what you can see from the Moonlight’s glow that seeps through the curtains, it’s clean, tidy, and smells even more like him. But when the door clicks shut behind you, the room suddenly feels smaller like the walls have drawn in, and the air, though cold, is thicker…charged with something you don’t want to name yet.

Tim moves first, his body on auto-pilot as he climbs into the left side of the bed- the side clearly being titled his from where the mattress is already dipped in the shape of him.

Your chest tightens. You only sleep on the right.

You follow, slipping beneath the covers, sighing in relief at how warm the sheets are- not like the scorching air outside or what your apartment’s bed would’ve been like, but the kind of warmth that makes you want to sink in and never leave. You make sure to keep a solid foot of space between you and him as you lay flat on your back, arms pinned to your sides, eyes locked on the ceiling.

You beg yourself to not even breathe- hyper-aware of every movement, every breath, every heartbeat to the point that you can't speak.

30 minutes...maybe 1 hour passes and fuck, you don’t know which is worse to sleep in: the couch or his bed.

Because just like out there, you aren’t falling asleep anytime soon.

Not when he’s right there, his body heating the space between you two, his steady, sleepy breaths filling the silence.

Carefully, you turn your head, just to get a glimpse of him. And the moment your eyes land on him, your heart stumbles over itself.

He’s the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him.

Lying on his side, facing you, the usual sternness in his features has softened, his narrowed frown no longer exists in this night. As if sleep has peeled back a layer of him you’ve never seen before, you notice he looks younger like this…innocent, if anything. Breathing in and out through his nose, one of his hands is tucked under his pillow, the other, outreached just beside you.

You turn away, a blush rushing to your cheeks.

You shift.

It’s not intentional- you just can’t lie on your back any longer. And if Tim’s comfortable, then maybe you can be too. Maybe, this doesn’t have to be a big deal, despite the tension in your body still being unbearable.

So, as naturally as you can, you roll over, turning onto your side, your back facing him.

And that’s when it happens.

Your foot brushes against his.

It’s the lightest, most fleeting touch, but it’s enough to send a violent shiver up your spine and steal the air from your lungs, rooting you in place.

“Fuck, I am so sorry-“

Expecting him to be asleep, your heart lurches forward when he exhales sharply, in a way that’s exasperated and amused, “You need to relax,” He grumbles, his voice gravelly low, feeling his eyes staring into the back of your head.

You scoff quietly, forcing your muscles to unclench, “Yeah, well, how would you like me to do that? It’s not everyday you sleep with someone as insufferable as y-“

He shuffles, a shift in his weight…and then his hand finds your waist.

It happens in one swift, effortless motion, like it’s the most natural thing in the world he could’ve done to you-

He pulls you into him.

You barely have time to process it before your back is pressed against his radiating solid body, his arm locked securely around your waist.

And God. You. Feel. Everything.

Starting from the heat of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath and how his exhales ghost onto the nape of your neck, gentle yet ticklish enough to make you shudder.

“Jesus,” He mutters, his voice still raspy yet breathy enough that you shiver from the warmth directly blowing in your ear. “You are so damn tense.”

Then, like it’s nothing, like it’s normal- his fingers ever so gracefully trace circles into your waist. He dips his head closer to your mess of hair, though that’s the last of his worries. “Stop fighting it.”

It’s not a command, not really- it’s something else. Something raw. Something vulnerable. And it wrecks you. It’s like he’s just as tired of this push and pull as you are.

Like he’s been fighting it as much as you have, since tonight…maybe since the station where he invited you…perhaps, since the day he met you.

You swallow hard and your fingers grip the sheets, your chest hammering so loudly you’re sure he can feel it against his own.

Despite your thoughts demanding you pull away, you find your body pressing against him, craving more of his comfort, “This doesn’t mean I like you.” You mutter, your voice embarrassingly unsteady.

Behind you, Tim huffs a quiet laugh, almost smug, “Yeah,” His embrace tightens and he nuzzles closer to where his lips graze your hair, lingering- tempted, but waiting. Instead, he allows for the warmth of your figure under his arms to take him back to a place of home he hasn’t quite felt in a long time. “Me neither.”

A grin plays upon your lips, and finally, you feel your eyes give way.

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fallingforunrealisticromance · 1 year ago

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Held through the darkness - Hannibal x reader.

A/N: Hello!! its bee a while. truthfully, im not doing so hot at the moment and this was written basically as a form of therapy but hey i felt like sharing. Enjoy!!

Warnings: None

Word count: 1781

Masterlist

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You sat and stared out at the empty world ahead of you. Well technically it wasn’t empty. It was bustling with life. You could see an endless row of headlights, streetlamps making the city below you glow. You thought about how there were thousands, if not more, people down there right now. Each with their own individual lives; with their own families, friends, lovers, exes. Each having their own background, a place they came from, a life they’ve lived. Every single person so full with complex emotions and thoughts from every walk of life. So why did you feel so alone? So utterly and painfully abandoned. Your chest felt hollow. There was a gaping whole where something once lived. It had been so long you couldn’t even recall what used to inhabit it. But whatever it was had been robbed from you, leaving you as an empty shell condemned to drift through life in search of a feeling you weren’t even sure existed anymore.

You didn’t feel sad. You didn’t feel anything. Just incomplete. Your mind raced with thoughts, scanning through your memories in search of something to fulfil you once more as you stared blankly ahead of you.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you stay here much longer” A voice came from behind you.

You swirled round, seeing the last person you expected to be in your home.

“Doctor Lecter? What are you doing here?” You queried as the man stood in the doorway that led from your balcony back into your apartment.

“I told you I would come to check on you. After that call we had, I didn’t trust that you were okay. Even if you tried to convince me you were” He stated, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he looked at you.

Your brow furrowed. You had called him? When? The last time you remember speaking to him was around 3 weeks ago where you decided to end your sessions with him. Not because you thought you were getting any better, quiet the opposite. But you just couldn’t bare to face him with it. Or anyone for that matter. You’d completely drawn away from the people in your life recently, not knowing how to function around them with such a weight on your soul.

“I called you earlier today, after Will said he saw you at the supermarket. He said you looked distressed, burn out.” He explained, sensing your confusion.

It came back to you as he spoke.

“Yes I remember, sorry. My head just feels a bit…foggy at the moment.” You replied, turning back to face the city in front of you.

The doctor took a few steps, coming to stand beside you.

“You are not okay y/n”

“I’m alive aren’t I?” You joked dryly.

“Being alive is not equivalent to living. You’re simply existing.” His words made your stomach drop, your throat feeling a little tighter than it was before.

“Tell me. What is on your mind?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t want to talk. You just wanted to rot away into nothing.

“I’m fine. Just tired. I’m sorry you drove all the way here for nothing.” The lack of energy behind your voice made it impossible to convince yourself, let alone convince him.

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re being honest and when you’re not.” His voice was stern, but with a layer of concern weaved in.

“Y/N”

He placed his hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Your eyes dropped as to avoid his gaze. You’ d grown rather fond of Doctor Lecter in your time of being his patient. You found yourself craving his approval, craving his comfort and affection more than you probably should. The thought of him seeing you like this, seeing the lack of life left in you filled you with shame.

“Why did you even come here? I’m not your patient anymore” You muttered, his hand still gently resting on your shoulder.

“I care about you. Regardless of if you’re my patient or not, I want to make sure you are okay”

Your gaze finally met his, sincerity swimming in his eyes. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to accept his words and bare your soul to him. But you just couldn’t. There was a constant nagging in your head that he was only here because he felt he needed to be, out of professional curiosity. Nothing else.

“I am okay. Like I said, I’m just tired. I should probably go to sleep.”

“y/n-“

“thank you for checking up on me Doctor Lecter. You can go now” You turned to walk away from him, heading back inside.

“No” He said firmly, causing you to stop in your tracks.

You turned once more to face him. “No?”

“No I am not going to leave.”

You were slightly taken aback by his words. “What? Look respectfully, this is my home. And I really just want to sleep so please can you just leave?”

“No.” He replied, taking a step towards you. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me. It is more than evident you’re struggling, and I’m not going to let you drown in this.”

His words were too kind, too caring. It hit you in your chest, sinking down through your stomach. You couldn’t handle this. You need him to go.

“Just leave.” You mumbled, trying to keep your emotions down.

“Talk to me and I will.”

You could feel your anger rising. You weren’t angry at him; you were angry at the world.

“I don’t want you here” You snapped.

“I don’t care” He stepped closer to you once again.

“Get the fuck out of my house Hannibal”

“Tell me what’s wrong”

“EVERYTHING” You shouted, throwing your hands in the air. “Everything is fucking wrong. I am so sick of everything. Waking up every fucking day with this crushing desolate feeling that completely weighs me down. No matter what I do nothing fills it. And if I find something that numbs it for a while, its only every temporary. I am so fucking tired. I am broken and there is nothing I can do to fix it.”

Tears began to flow freely as you continued to rant, your hands threading through your hair.

“I feel like I am going insane every moment of the day. I am so relentlessly burnt out and yet I have no reason to be because I don’t do anything. I can’t do anything. I just want it all to stop, I just-“

You were cut off as a sob escaped your throat. You fell to your knees, crying harder than you ever had before. Months of pent-up emotion, of fighting down every urge you had came bursting out of you. Your lungs were on fire and your head pounded but you just couldn’t stop. You hadn’t noticed Hannibal sitting next to you until you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling your body against his. Your head crashed into his chest, your hands clinging to his shirt as if it was the only thing keep you afloat. He held you tightly, his hand rubbing gentle patterns across your back as he spoke softly.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m here. Let it out”

You had no idea how long the two of you stayed like that, curled up on the floor of your balcony sobbing into him. You cried until there was nothing left, and your eyes were dry. When you eventually calmed down, Hannibal pulled away from you gently cupping your face to meet your eyes

“I want you to listen to me y/n. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded stiffly as you gazed at him.

“What you’re feeling is real. It is too much for one person to carry alone. I won’t lie to you and tell you there’s an easy quick fix, that will take time. But you need to allow yourself to seek help. You need to share this burden, to allow someone in to guide you through this. It is so easy to let yourself get wrapped up, until your blind to everything except the pain. But my darling, there is so much more. And if you let me, I will be by your side walking with you through it all. Until you see just how fulfilling you can make your life. You will never be alone in this, not as long as I’m around.” His thumb gently caressed your face, the other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

The earnest expression his face held, along with the genuine care laced into his tone was enough to make you want to cry all over again. No one had ever expressed such a care for you before. You never realised how much you needed it.

“Why do you care so much? I’m nothing but an ex-patient of yours” Your voice was quiet, if not hoarse from all the crying.

A small smile appeared on his face as his eyes scanned yours, as if he was trying to memorise every detail.

“You are so much more than that to me. Over the time I’ve gotten to know you, you have become a beacon in my life. You make me feel a way I have never felt before. I admire you more than you know. I care for you so deeply my darling. I won’t say its love, because truthfully this is all new to me, but it is most definitely close to it. All I know is that I want to be with you, I want to be the person you come to with everything – whether you’re happy, angry, or feeling the way you do now. I want to be the person you share yourself with. If you’ll allow it.”

Your heart swelled at his confession. For the first time in a while, you felt a genuine smile on your face.

“I don’t want anyone else Hannibal. Only you.” You leant forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him close to you.

His arms wrapped securely around your waist, one of his hands threading their way into your hair as he gently massaged your scalp. You melted into his touch, feeling relaxed for once.

“Aš niekada neleisiu tau jaustis vienišam, man brangioji.” He whispered against your hair.

You knew this wouldn’t be easy; even now with Hannibal by your side, this was going to be a hard journey to pull through. But for once, as you sat here cradled in him arms under the night sky, you felt a small glimmer of hope.

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i hope you enjoyed, sorry for the depressing return to posting<3

#x reader #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkleson

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