𝐎𝐇, 𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒! Tim had a reputation— for being a tough T.O, a hardass cop, you name the terms and he was probably one of them. Though he was a rule stickler, there was one thing that nobody really knew that he wasn’t gonna let slip, and that was, well, you. You were one of his CI’s, a career criminal that also made big bucks by giving information about criminal dealings to the police, but you were also someone who grated his cheese and got him going simultaneously.

Ugh.

It wasn’t his fault that you were extremely attractive, plus you were a flirt soul that had more often than not charmed him into your bed on multiple occasions. And they always had sheets of silk, considering how you were rich as fuck and had a palette for the expensive kind of life, the high one.

He had to school himself as he stepped into your hotel room, to not fall for your tricks again and end up clothes-less and panting in between your sheets — once again silk, he could see — and he supposed it wouldn’t be hard this time. Those could be his famous last words, seeing as how you were clever enough to make him eat his words and go against the unspoken rule of no sex with criminals.

“Hey, it’s me,” He called out — he wouldn’t startle you — as he looked around, though you’d probably be less surprised and more characteristically flirty. It was typical you to break out in a grin and overly honeyed nothings at the sight of him.

“I need help, on a case.” He paused, “Your help.” Sure, it pained him to say it cause every time he did his morals were stretched on a thin line, but you’d talk to no one else ‘cause he was your favourite. This is what he got for having a CI who had a thing for him and was both attractive and flirty.

This was most likely a bad idea, but considering how many ties you had in crime circles for having a pretty face, you were always the first contact.