#Tim Rockford x black reader

[dc418writes]

|Bump in the Night|

✨Pairing✨: Tim Rockfordxblack!reader

Summary🪄: You can always count on Tim

🚨: attempted break in/breaking and entering, mention of stalking, brief mention of gun(s), language, violence (man-man), ends in fluff tho💕

A/N🎤: hello☺️! This is my submission to @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope event (I’m so sorry that it’s much later than the deadline/expected😓). Everyone please support the other works that were submitted and I hope you enjoy what I came up with🌸

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest. Although my works are imagined with a black reader, all are welcome to read💕*

Trope: friends to lovers

Hearing the familiar address come across his police scanner, Tim couldn’t care less about the lawyer that was supposed to be under his surveillance. His silver Honda Civic practically floating over the asphalt as he sped towards the apartment complex.

Specifically, yours.

“No apparent injuries to occupant. No ambulance needed.”

Tim’s grip on the wheel slightly loosens at that. Although he was still stressed not completely knowing what happened yet, at least you were currently safe and unharmed. Minutes later, his car screeches to a stop in the parking lot already occupied by a flashing patrol car.

“Detective Rockford?,” the young officer - he still couldn’t remember his name after all this time - asks slightly startled from seeing the usually stoic and aloof man. “What-?”

“Where is she?” His steps never falter and the younger officer - Davey? Casey? - has to lightly jog to catch up with the detective on a mission.

“She?”

“The victim.”

“Oh! Currently with Daniels as he does a final sweep.”

“Still nothing?,” Tim asks as they both finally arrive on your floor from their ascent up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised to see the elevators out again. There was always something wrong with this place which is why he tried urging you to another complex.

“True it’s not perfect, but it’s not terrible. I’ll be fine Tim,” you assured with that sweet smile that could warm the coldest of hearts.

“Just some shifted furniture, nothing missing yet. We tried dusting for prints, but perp was smart enough to use gloves.”

Walking in to see your nervous expression - lip worried between your teeth as your arms wrapped around yourself - had a storm of emotions swirling he’d never experienced all at once. Relief that he could physically see you were unharmed. Rage at whoever did this. Finally, a sense of protectiveness wanting to make sure this never happened to you again.

By any means.

“T-Tim?,” you asked finally meeting his eyes. Immediately he’s crossing the few feet between you to hug you close. Gently rocking you back and forth as you savor the much needed comfort.

“Let’s uh give them some privacy Kaz,” Daniels whispers. “Kazinski!,” Tim thought as he finally remembered the man’s name. Wow he was way off.

“What happened?”

“Well,” you sigh, “I came home and the door was cracked open. Something didn’t feel right this time though-,”

“Wait, this time? Someone’s done this before?”

You slowly nod. “Well, then again I could’ve accidentally-,”

“We both know you didn’t leave it open. You never leave your door open or unlocked.”

Too many times you were the one reminding him to make sure he’d locked up both his house and car. Always on the go with mind focused on other things, there’s a very strong chance he’d leave his head home if it wasn’t attached to him.

“Why didn’t you call me?,” he asks with deep brown eyes full of concern and slight hurt.

“I didn’t wanna interrupt your case. Plus it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own.”

“But you don’t have to do it on your own,” he sighs. Your hyper-independence just might be the death of him. “Grab some clothes and whatever else you need, you’re staying with me.”

“Tim-,”

“If you think I’m leaving you here tonight you don’t know me as well as I thought,” he simply counters sitting in one of your wooden dining room chairs waiting for you to get your things with arms crossed against his chest.

There’s no use in arguing when his mind is set - which tends to be often. All you can do is what he says swiftly turning towards your bedroom and softly padding down the short hall.

-

Phone to his ear, Tim can’t help the smile that forms at your sweet voice. Deep inside he feels like that giddy teenager again excited and in slight disbelief that he finally gets the chance to talk to the prettiest girl in school.

“Hey, just uh wanted to check on you. Make sure you made it in okay.”

“Yep just got the last of the groceries in,” you smile locking the door behind you. “Hey don’t pick up anything to eat! I’m making lasagna.”

This is how it’s been for the past week. Tim checking to see you made it in and how your day had gone before you both discussed your plan for dinner that night.

And he loved the domesticity of it all. Never did he think he’d say that, typically preferring to be alone so he could come and go as he pleased with no one constantly in his ear. But there was something about coming home to warm meals and music softly playing in the background that had an unexpected calm rushing over him.

Then again, maybe all those new things he was feeling - now wanting every day and wondering how he thought life was better without it - was from you.

“Sounds great, I’m gonna be a bit late getting in though so don’t wait on me to eat.”

“Oh, okay.” Your disappointed tone has him ready to quit if it’ll make you happy again. “I take it there’s good news on the case?”

“Yea and new evidence that potentially puts us closer to solving this.”

“And freeing-?”

“That I can’t discuss. You and I both know,” he softly chuckles. At your little huff he can already picture you rolling those dangerously perfect eyes.

“Okay,” you pout, “I guess I’ll see you later then. Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll try not to be too long.”

Saying your final goodbyes, he’s embarrassingly greeted by the smirk of officer Daniels while he leans against the doorframe of his office.

“Soo the infamous friend..,” he states with a knowing grin.

“Don’t.”

“Can’t blame you, she’s really sweet. Not to mention beautiful-,”

The mix of annoyance and anger on Tim’s face is enough to stop Daniels in his tracks making him deeply chuckle with hands up in defeat. “Relax, I come in peace.”

“Wishing you didn’t at all,” Tim mumbles causing more chuckles from the man in front of him.

“Don’t think you’ll say that after you see this.” Gently placing the folder on his desk, Tim’s brow raises as he curiously flips open the gray cover. “Pretty sure this is our guy.”

-

You think you’re still dreaming when you hear that first click. Another - followed by a scrape against the hardwood - has your eyes quickly opening trying to register what was happening. You can faintly make out the bedroom thanks to the sliver of yellow-gold coming from the hall light as you slowly sit up. Not finding Tim asleep in his usual recliner in the corner of the room, you wonder if it’s him finally returning home.

“Tim?!”

The heavy footsteps - seemingly pacing back and forth - pause, and you feel an uneasiness creep over you at the momentary silence. A shadow of something to come you couldn’t quite place.

As the footsteps grow closer, that unease sets off alarms at the realization that those steps were heavier than Tim’s. He doesn’t wear boots…

It’s as if the intruder senses they’re caught in that same moment increasing their speed towards your bedroom. Luckily you bound from the bed locking the door mere seconds before they reach the knob furiously twisting and banging against the door trying to enter.

Amid the pounding in your chest and ears, you’re focused enough to lock yourself in the adjoining restroom and lie in the tub with trembling hands covering your mouth. Tears slowly slipping down your cheeks while wishing for the darkness to take you before the stranger can.

On the third hard thud, the room door breaks from its hinges startling you and sending screws scattering to the floor - and no doubt chips of wood.

“I know you’re in here. Might as well come out now, it’s only a matter of time before I find you.”

That familiar voice sends goosebumps down your body and bile stinging your throat.

His laugh isn’t a humorous one stepping across the threshold. Wood creaking and cracking under his weight. “I don’t know why you’re making me do this. Things could be so much easier if you’d just…listen.”

The echo of your vibrating phone carries into the bathroom making more tears spring from your eyes. Tim would be home any moment coming face to face with this man who wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. Possibly unarmed not expecting danger in what was supposed to be his safe haven.

A danger you ultimately caused.

If something happened to Tim-

“You run to him, but he’s not even here for you! Huh, some protector.”

If you weren’t so terrified, you’d easily be ready to defend your friend. Fight for him just as he’s always fought for you.

Hearing the bed squeak, you know he’s probably leaning on it to lift the cover’s edge and peek in the space under. Not finding you there, you figure there’s only seconds before he’s barging into your hiding place and doing God knows what.

“Guess you won’t believe me until you see for yourself though.” His tone hushes to just above a whisper taking a step closer. Then another, and you’re surprised he hasn’t said anything about your heartbeat how it surely could be heard thudding in your chest. “Fine with me doll.”

Flashes of what that could mean enter your mind only making you sob harder. A sheen of sweat breaking along your body anxiously waiting on that fearful moment the life you once knew would be over.

Rather than the cracking of another broken door, you’re met with Tim’s gruff voice yelling for the intruder to freeze and allowing you to finally breathe. His trusty black handgun drawn and trained on his target daring the stranger to move. “It’s over Kane. Down on your knees with hands on your head.”

Surprisingly he follows Tim’s instructions, slowly kneeling down on one knee then the other. Once his hands are in the right position, handcuffs are being tightened around his wrist and a solid blow sent to his ribs causing Kane to painfully grunt as he keels over.

“That’s assault!”

This time his cheek receives the punch immediately reddening the tan skin under his left eye - and Tim’s knuckles in the process. “Where is she?!”

Kane just darkly chuckles. “You tell me. Aren’t you the detective?” His smug jokes are no more feeling cold metal against his temple. A quick click signaling how the weapon was ready to fire at any moment Tim chose.

“Last fucking chance! Tell me-,”

He hears your cries the same moment Daniels and Kazinski rush into the bedroom with guns drawn themselves. Immediately they take over, hoisting the slightly battered man to his feet and reading him his rights, while Tim hurries to retrieve you. His heart breaking the moment he sees you visibly shaken in the tub with tears staining your face.

“I’m here honey it’s okay,” he attempts to soothe quickly gathering you in his arms. Your face instinctively buries itself in his neck finding comfort in the scratch of his beard and smell of tobacco mixed with sandalwood and his earlier cups of coffee. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

It’s a few moments before you can find your voice again; even then it prickles climbing your throat and escapes in a hoarse whisper. “H-How did you know?”

“Your coworker told us about him. How he was banned because he came to the job every day bothering you. Daniels looked into him and we found…”

The way his Adams Apple bobs you can tell he’s struggling for his next words. Probably trying to soften a blow that would surely worsen your already destroyed mental and emotional state.

He clears his throat rubbing a soothing hand up and down your arm. “There was enough evidence that led us to believe he’d try something. We rushed here as soon as we could.”

Just when you thought your heart had been through enough. You could read between the lines and knew what Tim meant by evidence, and it made that queasy, unsettled feeling return. Kane found the somewhat secluded house of your best friend, who’s to say another of your friends wasn’t next? Your family even.

Hot tears - summoned from some unknown hidden reserve - begin to soak his shoulder as he slowly rocks you back and forth. Tim’s thick arms holding your shaking body tighter. Little did you know it was as much for him as you.

“He-He’s n-never gonna stop…is he?,” you direct more so to the open air. “Everyone I know-,”

“Hey hey listen to me,” Tim gently starts. His hands slightly pushing you away before moving to caress your face so you’d have no choice but to meet his sympathetic and caring eyes. “We got him. He can’t, and won’t, do anything to you or anybody else.”

“But-,”

“Even if - and it’s a very very small if - he tried something, I love you too much to let something happen.”

Maybe it was the overwhelm of emotions from such an eventful night. Maybe it was how Tim cradled your face - practically dwarfed by his larger hands - looking at you as if you were his most prized possession given by some high deity themselves. And maybe it was your hidden feelings finding a hopeful hook to latch onto that he felt the same about you. Either way, you couldn’t stop your lips from meeting his; moving so smoothly together it’s as if you’ve done this plenty of times.

Just pulling back an inch, Tim’s quick to follow smashing your lips together again as if he was addicted already. Inwardly, it makes you giggle. Feeling fuzzy and light as if dancing on the brightest sun ray on a spring day.

“We’re gonna take him downtow- oh..”

Forgetting where you were, Daniel’s voice is a startling reminder as you quickly part turning your heated face away from the bathroom’s entrance. Meanwhile, Mr. Rockford appears dazed attempting to act anything but trying to focus on his co-worker who just said..something important? “Um…y-yea Kane! We gotta-,”

“It’s taken care of Rockford,” Daniel’s answers professionally hiding his chuckles in his rock solid chest. Wait till he gets home to tell his wife this tea. Hell, he’ll have to text her on the way this was too good. “You uh take care of things here. I’ll keep you updated. Have a good night guys.”

And just as he said, Tim’s kept to his word almost a year later. Lying in your now shared bed with you perfectly molded to his side - your new home just outside of town in the relaxing countryside - he presses a loving peck to your forehead careful not to disturb your pleasant sleep. Watching you go so long without, it gives him a new layer of joy that Kane could no longer steal that from you. Your arm slung over his middle, his chest swells looking at the square cut diamond shining on your finger just waiting for you to wake up and notice it. To say yes to the question he’s been hoping you’d give him the chance to ask for some time now.

And down the line, maybe even build your little family giving you both a reason to decorate and fill the empty room across the hall.

[sugadolly]

❝you can ask me anything you want, anything, anything❞

[something-tofightfor]

Black Days 1: Sure Don’t Mind A Change

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader 

Word Count: 4,500 (trying to keep these shorter than usual.)

Rating: M (language.)

Summary:  The overnight shift at your diner is usually uneventful, but that all changes when a man you’ve never seen before walks into your section. After a few conversations with him, you can’t say that you aren’t interested in knowing more.

Author’s Note: This is Pedro Pascal and Merge Mansion’s fault. 

Read the headcanon post for Tim here.

I don’t know how long this will be. I don’t know whether or not anyone cares. But here I am yet again writing for a character that has no backstory, under five minutes of screen time, and no business taking up so much room in my brain. 

This isn’t smutty yet - but I promise it gets there. This is a set-up chapter.

 Chapter titles will be updated with each post. 

Here and here is some Tim artwork that has been in my brain constantly as I write this story. @stealyourblorbos​​ is very talented and has encouraged me with this very much and I am very thankful. (She also made this incredible banner for me!)

The story gets its title from the song Fell On Black Days by Soundgarden. 

“That guy’s back.”  Micah sighed as she leaned against the doorway, both arms crossed over her chest. “I put him in your section tonight because I don’t want to deal with him.” 

You frowned, closing your book of crossword puzzles and then standing. That guy? Your gaze drifted out toward the seating area. Who is she talking about? “Tell me again what the problem with him was?” 

“He was an asshole. Barely looked up from whatever he was doing and got pissed when I told him that we were out of whatever it was he tried to order.” She flopped down into the open seat, reaching for the bowl of fries you’d been working through. “Good luck.” 

It didn’t sound like a real reason for her to be upset, but you weren’t going to complain about finally having something to do after hours of nothing. At least it’ll be someone to talk to. 

Pasting a smile on your face, you rounded the corner and headed for the only table that had someone sitting at it: the one furthest away from the kitchen. “Hi, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Is there anything I can get for you to drink?” 

He was looking intently at what was in front of him - a file that was stuffed thick with papers and a notepad that you could see was filled with scribbles. He’s busy. Without raising his head, the man spoke. “Coffee. Black. Keep it coming.” 

His voice was deep - slightly accented, though you couldn’t place it. When he finished, he sighed, the fingertips of one hand pressed against his forehead. Micah wasn’t kidding. “Do you need a menu? I can bring one with the -”

“No.” He set the folder down and raised his hand, removing the glasses he wore before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just the coffee. I -” 

He finally looked at you then, and you were struck by how handsome he was, despite the fact that you could see the fatigue in his expression and in his eyes. Makes sense if he’s here at 2:30 in the morning with that kind of file. 

“Just the coffee.” The man blinked twice and then looked back down, sighing. Alright then. After only a second or two, you turned away, heading back toward where the coffee pots were. 

You’d brewed a fresh pot for the kitchen a little while earlier, and decided to use that for the man, since it was ready. After pressing the button to make a second pot for the dining room, you headed back to Micah, carrying a clean mug in your hand. “That didn’t take long. What’d I tell you?” 

“He’s just tired, Em. It’s late. Hell, if I wasn’t here, I’d hope I was sleeping too.” You grabbed the pot, shrugging. “He was short with me, but it’s definitely not the worst I’ve ever had during an overnight.” She hummed and then went back to the crossword she’d started in your book, muttering the words “better you than me” as you moved out of earshot.  

The man was bent back over the file and didn’t look up when you set the mug down. But he did glance at you when you started filling it, peeking up at you from behind the thick black frames he’d slid back onto his nose. “Brought you the kitchen pot. It’s a little stronger than what we usually serve customers, but you look like you could use it.” 

His lips parted in surprise, but instead of speaking, he just nodded, reaching for the handle of the mug with his left hand. You assessed him with the same interest as all of the customers you served late at night, and as the man brought the rim of the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip, you stepped back. No ring.

“I’m making you a fresh pot just in case you need it, but I don’t want to bother you if you’re working, so…” You gestured to the papers on the table. “I’ll check back in a little while. We do have some pastries if you’re not looking for actua-”

“What kind of pie do you have tonight?” He straightened up completely, turning his head and tilting it up to look at you. “Last time I was in here, I asked about the Key lime, but the girl said you were out.” 

“We’re out of it again tonight. Sorry.” Shaking your head, you put your free hand on your hip. “It’s a seasonal, so we only make a certain amount of it every week.” He frowned, but didn’t say anything else. “Lasted longer today than it usually does. I think we sold the last piece around midnight.” 

He stared at you, lower lip pushed out slightly, and though you didn’t want to, you couldn’t help eyeing him right back. You focused on his face and the stubble that covered his cheeks - dark brown threaded with silver, the overhead fluorescent lighting catching more of the same on his head. 

“Damn. Alright. Just the coffee then.” He swallowed, taking a deep breath. “And if you want to check on me every twenty or so minutes, that’d… that’d be good.” 

“I can do that.” Giving him a nod, you stepped away from the table. “And the Key ime is great, but so’s the strawberry rhubarb, and the lemon zest’s not bad, either.” His lips twitched but he kept quiet, nodding once. Guess his mind’s set on that lime.

The rest of the night played out much the same as the first two trips to his table did. The man said only a few words in reply when you asked if he needed anything, but you noticed his notebook filling with ink-scrawled words and phrases as time passed. 

A second table sat just before 4:30 am - three older men on their way to a fishing trip at Prospect Slough. 

So you didn’t notice when the other man left until you turned to ask if he needed another refill and found only the empty table, a $20 stuck beneath the empty coffee mug along with a note that simply said “thank you” in the same handwriting that had filled the lined pages of his spiral notebook. 

Weird. But at least he left a good tip. Tucking the bill into your apron, you cleared the table and checked in on the fishing party before taking the dirty mug into the kitchen. 

Micah was finishing her side work and Jesse, the night cook was working on three plates of eggs and hash browns for your fishermen.

“Did he leave without paying?” She glanced over at you. “Seems like he snuck out pretty f-”

“No, actually he left a sixteen dollar tip for the coffee.” You entered it into the second register, cashing out and putting the extra bills into your pocket. “Didn’t wait for the bill or anything, but ..” You shrugged. “I can’t complain, especially after how slow the beginning of the night was.” 

“You really should see what you can do about getting out of that lease so you can quit working here.” Micah put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t healthy.” I know. You think I don’t know that? “How much longer do you have?” 

“Seven months.” You yawned, covering your mouth. “I’ll be fine.” 

She didn’t press the subject, and when the two of you walked across the parking lot to your cars a little after 6, the man with the tired eyes that had consumed almost an entire pot of coffee wasn’t even in your thoughts. 

— 

But three days later, when he walked in the front door of the restaurant a little after 1 AM, your focus was immediately back on him. 

It was slightly busier that night, so you were actually waiting near the main register, keeping an eye on things as people made their way in. But you hadn’t seen him park - nor had you spotted him crossing the parking lot. So when he pulled open the door and stepped into the lobby, his eyes locking with yours and a faint smile making its way across his face, it was a shock. But not a bad one. 

“Hello.” He spoke first that time. The man gave you a single nod, one hand stuck in the pocket of his long, tan overcoat. “Should I seat myself?” 

“You can if you want.” Pointing at the dining room, you smiled. “The table you sat at the other night is open and that’s my section. Micah’s got a couple tables to check on, so if you give me a few seconds, I can …” He waved you off, taking a breath. 

“Don’t rush. Just coffee again for me tonight. Maybe an ice water with lemon, too?” The man sniffed, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “The ah, the first cup the other night was better, so if I can get another one of those, I’d… I’d appreciate it.” He shuffled back and forth for a few seconds until you laughed, nodding. 

“Yeah, of course. I haven’t been in the back in a little while so I don’t know how fresh our pot is, but if it’s old, I’ll make a new one and then bring it out to you.” 

He thanked you and then headed for the tables, turning to the side to let Micah pass. For the first time, you noticed the tattered briefcase he carried, his fingers clasped tightly around the handles. Hmm. I wonder if he’s going to become a regular. 

You didn’t think you’d be upset if that were the case, because despite the fact that the man was quiet and a little stand-offish, he wasn’t needy. 

You’d had your fair share of needy customers both during your time at the restaurant then and while you’d waited tables during high school and college. Compared to some of those people, the man that was settling into the far-off booth after shrugging off his coat and loosening his tie was a breeze. And he’s nice to look at. 

Ducking into the kitchen, you saw that the coffee pot was in the process of filling, thanks to Jesse. While you waited, you turned and grabbed for one of the small carafes, deciding that because you were busier that night, you’d set the man up with his own refills. It made things more convenient for him - and it bought you time between visits to the table. 

On your way to the dining room, full carafe and mug in one hand, you pulled the refrigerator open with the other and then grinned, shutting it before heading toward where the man sat. He already had the folder and the notebook open, the latter showing off a half-filled page of bullet point notes. 

He didn’t look up until you set the mug and container down, the man’s eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses as he locked eyes with you. “What’s this?” 

“We’re busier tonight.” Resting one hand on your hip, you gestured around. “And I figured you didn’t want to be bothered again, so bringing you preemptive refills seemed like a good idea.” Pausing, you gestured to his papers. “That way I won’t interrupt you in the middle of something. You can work in peace.” 

“I…” He blinked, frowning, though he didn’t take his eyes off of you. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.” Now tell him the other thing. 

“No problem. And … I’m not sure if you’re interested, but …” Leaning in, you arched a brow. “There’s Key Lime in the cooler. I can bring you a piece if you want.” For the first time, you saw a genuine smile on his face as he nodded, the man’s eyes lighting up in excitement. 

“Shit. Really?” You nodded once. “Yeah, I’ll take one of those, too.” I figured you would. “Can I…” He bit his lip, furrowing his brow. “Can I get extra whip, please?” 

Laughing, you winked at him. “I’ll see what I can do.” Takes his coffee black but wants extra whipped cream for his pie. Hmm. 

A few minutes later, you were setting the pie plate and a set of rolled cutlery on the table, careful not to disturb any of the man’s papers. “Flag me down if you need anything else, alright?” He assured you he would as he reached for the napkin, his eyes on the slightly larger than usual triangle slice of pie and two extra dollops of whipped cream next to it. 

You stayed busy after that, and though you visually checked on the table a few times, you never walked back over. 

So when, around 3:15, you finally stopped at his table to ask if he needed a refill and to grab his empty plate, you were surprised to see that the man was packing his things up - the notebook and folder already tucked into the briefcase. “Oh. I’ll give you your check, then. I can meet you up front when you’re ready?”

He met your eyes again, the deep brown slightly less weary that time. “Works for me. See you in a second.” 

Dropping the dishes off atop the stack from your other tables next to the back sink, you headed for the register. You were surprised to see the man already waiting - and Micah nowhere in sight. Good. 

“Was everything alright for you tonight?” Taking the slip of paper from him, you brought up the check in the system, fingers tapping over the keys. “The pie taste ok?” 

“It was fucking delicious. You guys are the only ones that don’t put toasted coconut on it.” He hummed in appreciation as he spoke, your eyes snapping up at the sound of his voice. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“I work overnight at a 24 hour diner. I’ve heard much worse.” He chuckled at that, your stomach lurching at the sound. I’d like to hear that more. You pressed your lips together in an attempt to keep from outwardly reacting, though you couldn’t help the sharp inhale through your nose. Dammit. “But I’m glad. I don’t know how often you come in here, but you’re much more likely to have luck with the lime in the middle of the week when we’re less busy or really early in the day, when people are still coming in for breakfast and lunch.” 

“My schedule’s all over the place.” He gripped the back of his neck, the sleeve of his coat pulling up to expose the band of his watch. “Can’t really plan for anything right now, so it’s … luck of the draw.” 

“Well,” you continued, reaching out to take the money he offered you. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep your fingers crossed if you decide to come back.” He assured you he would, taking his change and slipping it back into his wallet. “Have a good night, alright? Get home safe.” 

“You too.” The man set his hand down on the countertop, fingertips flexing slightly. “You only work here at night?” You glanced down at his hand, taking note of the small tattoo inked between his thumb and first finger - and didn’t try to stop the lift of one cheek in a quick smile at the sight of it. A hand tattoo? Interesting.

“I do. I have a regular job, too. But my sleep’s been fu… really bad for the last six months, so I just decided that instead of laying in bed and not sleeping, I’d do something productive with my time.” You wet your lips, glancing back over at the dining room - which was empty except for a table that Micah was taking care of. “I work here three or four nights a week, depending on what they need.” 

You weren’t used to telling customers so much about yourself, but you found it easy to talk to the man, especially when he was looking at you and holding your gaze. I’m not telling him anything he wouldn’t know if he came in a few more times, either. 

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll see me again.” Tapping on the counter, he pulled his hand back and turned toward the door, taking a half step before he stopped, twisting at the waist to look at you again. “I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Rockford.” 

“You already know my name,” you laughed, pointing at the nametag hanging from your shirt. “But it’s nice to meet you, Tim.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” He nodded. “See you around, yeah?” Telling him that he would, you watched as he walked out the front door and across the parking lot, the lights on a shadowy vehicle flashing on as he unlocked it. That was… unexpected. 

Stabbing the ticket on the spike next to the register, you stepped away from the counter and back toward where Tim had been sitting. 

The table was mostly cleared and clean, but there was another folded napkin beneath his water glass, the cup empty except for a couple half melted ice cubes. Picking up both, you unfolded the napkin and gasped when you saw another $20 inside, along with three words slashed onto the napkin’s surface in bold, black pen. 

Thank you. Again. 

— 

Tim didn’t come in during your next shift, or the one following that. 

But when you showed up to work the following Wednesday, there was a note hanging on the back bulletin board for you from one of the girls that had worked the night before. 

Unfolding it, you read through the short message, lips twisting into a frown as you finished. 

Some guy was in here around 3 am asking about you. Didn’t think anything of it at first, but he spent two hours making notes at the table. I also heard him mention a case when he took a phone call. Thought you’d want to know.

“Shit.” Scrubbing a hand over your face, you let out a long breath. 

It was nice of Nicki to let you know that someone had asked about you, especially taking the end of the message into consideration. But if it was Tim, then … Rolling your eyes, you sighed and then started your shift, trying not to think about the implications of Tim being the one to ask about you - and it potentially being related to a case he was working. But why would… it makes no sense. What does he do that he’d have cases?

You had very little time to think about it during the first half of your shift. There’d been an event that night that had let out late, which  meant extra tables to take care of. When you finally got a break a little after 2, you glanced over to the far corner of the restaurant. Oh.

The man was bent over his table, the fingers of one hand supporting his forehead as he stared at the papers in front of him. You could almost feel his stress, even from twenty feet away. It’s not my problem. Turning back toward the kitchen, you took a few steps and then stopped, tilting your head back and looking at the ceiling. Don’t avoid it. You don’t even know if Nicki’s right. 

You approached the table slowly, keeping your eyes on Tim. When you were only a few feet away, he looked up, his brows rising in surprise. “Hey.” Tim straightened up, pushing everything to the side. “Finally getting a break?” 

“Were you watching me?” Crossing your arms, you tilted your head to the right. “Because -”

“Not watching.” He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest, too. “When the other girl seated me, I saw that you had a couple tables in the other section, that’s all.” Tim licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Something wrong?” 

You hadn’t wanted to lead with an attitude, but you couldn’t help it. “My coworker said you asked about me last night, and I guess I’m just wondering why. I’ve worked here for five months and hadn’t ever seen you before two weeks ago. Now you’re asking people about me when I’m not here, and I just -”

“Whoa.” He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I did ask about you, but it was only because I didn’t know if you’d get in trouble for giving me kitchen coffee, and I didn’t want to rat you out.” Oh. You took a breath, blinking as Tim reached up and removed his glasses, folding the arms closed and then setting them down on the table. “I didn’t even think about how it might sound, to be honest. I apologize. I -”

“No, I’m sorry, Tim. I just…” You rolled your eyes, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “It’s been a rough year, and I guess I’m not exactly ….” Trailing off, you covered your face with one hand. Don’t. Lowering your hand, you gave him a tight smile. “Nevermind.” 

He stayed quiet for a few seconds and you did too, the two of you looking at each other intently. 

He was studying your face, the man’s eyes roving over your features, deep lines etched between his brows. You used the opportunity to stare back at him, focusing on the patchy place in his beard and on the way the tanned skin of his upper chest was visible thanks to his top few buttons being undone. He was tapping one finger on his bicep, and the longer you looked, the worse you felt about your outburst. 

But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t because … “Um.” Head shaking back and forth, you sighed. “I’m technically on my break, and I know you’re not my table, but is there anything I can get you? We’re out of the Key lime again, but I can go and brew you some coffee if you want the good stuff.” 

“I’m actually going to head out.” He glanced down at his watch and then looked back at you, smiling sadly. “I have a long drive tomorrow morning so I have to try and sleep for a couple hours.” He pointed at his almost empty mug. “I’m even drinking decaf tonight.” 

You laughed at that in spite of yourself, taking a step back. “Tim, I’m really sorry about -”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled again, reaching up to scratch his cheek. “Can I ask you something?” 

“I… yeah. Sure.” Stepping closer, you dropped your arms to your sides. “What’s up?” 

“You said you have a second job. I’m assuming that it’s during the day.” Nodding to confirm, you cocked your head to one side. “Do you … have a day off?” A day off? Is he… 

“I do.” You were wary, the second part of Nicki’s note in the forefront of your mind. “But -” 

“I’m going to be direct, alright?” He shifted on the bench seat, scooting closer to you and gesturing with one hand. “I would like to take you out to dinner. I noticed you don’t have a ring on your finger, so I don’t think you’re married. But if you’re seeing someone, just tell me, and we can forget I asked.” 

“I’m not dating anyone.” Is he really saying this to me? “And I get my schedule for this place two weeks in advance.” You don’t even know him. You don’t know what he wants or if you can trust him or - “You said your schedule was all over the place and that’s why you can’t get here earlier in the day, so how -” 

“I have every Tuesday off unless they really need me.” Tim wet his lips, his eyes still on you. “I came in last night because I wanted to talk to you, but you weren’t here. Does that mean you also have Tuesdays off?”

“From here, yeah.” Heart pounding, you opened your mouth to say something else, but Tim cut you off, his smile growing. 

“Good. Will you let me take you to dinner next Tuesday? We can go early. You pick the place. I live in Willow Creek, so I can meet you just about anywhere.” Willow Creek? For real? Tim reached for his notebook and pen, flipping to a clean page and scribbling a number onto it before he tore it free, folding it over. “Here’s my number. Think about it. Let me know what you decide.”

He stood and you stepped back, the man reaching down to pull his jacket on. “Tim, I don’t usually… I don’t date customers. It gets -”

“Messy? Yeah. I wouldn’t ever date anyone I met through work either. I get it.” He swallowed, picking up his glasses and sliding them back on before he turned to look at you. “But I hope you make an exception for me, because I’d really like to talk to you for more than a couple minutes at a time while you’re bringing me coffee.” 

You didn’t know what to say. 

He was being more direct than you’d expected, and his declaration that he didn’t date people he met through work gave you pause. It means that even if he is working some sort of case, it has nothing to do with me. Unless… unless he’s trying to throw me off. “I’ll think about it.” Ducking your head, you closed your eyes and let out a short laugh. “I wasn’t expecting this at all.” 

“I know.” He was packing the briefcase, the man’s back to you as he worked. “I wasn’t even sure I’d get the chance to say anything, but…” Turning to face you, he shrugged. “I wasn’t about to pass on it, even if you end up saying no.” The man wrinkled his nose, his grip on the handle of his briefcase tightening. “But if you do say no, I’m going to have to find another place to go when I can’t sleep, and I’m pretty sure Denny’s doesn’t have what I’m looking for even on a good day.” 

He could have meant the pie. He could have meant the coffee or the quiet. But I don’t think that’s what he means. At all. 

“I’ll let you know, Tim.”  He held the folded paper out to you and when you took it, the man winked at you, his smile widening. “Get… get home safe, alright? It’s late and I’m sure there are assholes on the road.” 

“I will.” He threw a couple bills on the table and then looked at you from over his shoulder again. “I always am.” The man said your name as he moved past you and toward the door, nodding twice. “Have a good rest of the night.” 

He was gone before you could reply, and even though you knew that you probably looked like an idiot, you couldn’t help staring after him, your fingers tightening around the folded piece of lined paper in your hand. 

You were going to call him - and you knew it… the only question was how long it would take you to actually pick up the phone. 

— 

Tag list reblog coming soon. 

[alraedesigns]

Just a quick scene from chapter 1 of Black Days by @something-tofightfor I'm so behind on all of my Pedro reading but I really hope he gets his key lime pie 🥧

If you're a Pedro fan and love reader inserts, you have to check out Rachael's masterlist. She's covers a huge chunk of his characters and has written boatload of wonderful content!

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

Just devoured your Tim Rockford oneshots collection (what you did to that screencap in that masterlist header?? It looks like a novel cover??? Always in awe of your graphics/editing skills) and I am swooooning over his relationship with reader, I can't get enough of giving the most mature Pedro boy a partner/love interest that matches his intellect and shares his general career field/interests, obsessssed!

"When you looked back at him, once the shirt was up and over your head, he was adjusting himself where he was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, his glasses now folded on top of the book he had been reading when you’d entered the room."

I was lost in a reverie after reading this line...imagining Tim propped against the headboard reading a book with READING GLASSES perched on that chiseled nose?? How he would fold and put them on top of the book with such competent delicacy?? Protecting the glass?? What kind of frames they would be?? Delicate wires?? Thicc frames that accent his bone structure????? How he would look gazing at you over them?? Halppp.....

How Tim keeps "adjusting" 😏 his position on the bed, how he has so much patient self-control, observing and waiting, engaging her in conversation and her interest...her gentle tease, the domesticity and comfy sexy vibes I am just yearninggggggg...

oct' 21 x acorns

Prompt: acorns Pairing: tim rockford x f!reader Word Count: 724 Warnings: T+ mentions of crimes & a touch of spice. Summary: pretty proud of this one and it's use of the prompt 😋 tim knows the way to your heart is discussing the latest research for your podcast.

x. masterlist

“Acorns? You moving into squirrel crimes now sweetheart?”

“Ha ha,” you responded dryly,  “ACORNS, the Australian Cybercrime Online Reporting Network.” He raised an eyebrow in interest, you weren’t sure if this was the result of learning what the acronym was for or if it had something to do with you starting the process of peeling off your t-shirt.

When you looked back at him, once the shirt was up and over your head, he was adjusting himself where he was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, his glasses now folded on top of the book he had been reading when you’d entered the room.

“So,” he began, a soft smile playing at his lips as he crossed his arms at his bare chest, “what’s caught your eye?” he asked.

You smiled back at him, a genuine one - he knew the way to your heart, true crime.

“So,” you started, turning to the dresser as you unhooked your bra, “so they were seeing an increase in reports on ACORNS, right? You've got your standard mix of fraud, identity theft, all the usual cybercrime stuff. Nothing to write home about right?”

“But?” Tim pressed, playing along.

“But what got me curious was a pattern of crimes that looked like random, disconnected incidents targeting average people. We're talking about everything from a cafe owner in Sydney to a retired nurse in Perth. And this has been going on for years.”

"Years?" Tim echoed, intrigued. "And they're just noticing this now?"

“Exactly!” you replied enthusiastically, tossing your bra into the laundry hamper and reaching into the dresser for one of Tim’s oversized shirts, what he wore when he actually had more than five minutes at home between cases. “The reports have only now been made public, and by the looks of it it’s taken them this long to even realize something might be off, and because it’s public knowledge, it’s caught the attention of the armchair detectives who are digging in, but no one can find a connection.”

Tim shifted in his seat again, tapping his fingers against his chest thoughtfully. “Not entirely strange though,” he said. “Cyber crimes are still relatively new. Many countries are sitting on data that they just don’t know what to do with besides selling it. Though, with any crime, patterns usually emerge sooner or later, someone slips up. Have they found anything that could point to a single culprit or group?”

“Nothing. Zilch. That's why it's so bizarre,” you said, shimming out of your jeans and kicking them off before walking over to sit beside him on the bed. “But here's where it gets interesting. When you compare these Australian cases to similar crimes reported in neighbouring countries like New Zealand or Indonesia, little patterns start to stand out.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, his attention fully piqued. “What kind of patterns are we talking about?”

You grinned, thrilled by his obvious interest. “Teeny tiny little anomalies,” you took his glasses and book and placed them on your bedside table, “Specific coding sequences, certain times of the day when the attacks occur, even certain types of targets that are more frequently hit in both regions. Individually, these little things don't really mean much. But when you start looking at them collectively and across borders, it’s like a constellation. You begin to see the outline of something much bigger.”

“Sounds like someone's running a long con,” Tim observed.

He uncrossed his arms as you swung your leg over to straddle his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck to rest on his broad shoulders.

“That's what I'm thinking too,” you said, your voice low as you leaned in to place a kiss on his lips.

Tim's hands slid up your sides, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your back under the t-shirt, “You really shouldn't have bothered.” he said, his voice low and husky.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear, “Bothered with what?” you whispered feigning cluelessness, trailing kisses down his neck.

“The shirt,” Tim replied, tilting his head back to grant you better access. “You're much better without it.”

You laughed softly, the sound sending shivers down his spine. “I needed something to wear.”

“Who said you needed to wear anything at all?” Tim countered, flipping you both over so he was on top of you.

[604to647]

Hold On

1.3K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You wear Detective Tim Rockford's leather holster.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby), breast worship, wee bit of thigh riding.

A/N: Inspired by @mrsmando's Tiddy Talk™️ yesterday, this is my case submission for Tim being a boob guy🫡 Kindly let me know if you're convinced 😂😂 This is, of course, our The Rockford Portfolio couple, but can be read as standalone.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always / Series Masterlist / If you're interested in more Adventures of Tim Rockford's Holster, may I suggest @ghotifishreads' drabble?

It had actually been somewhat difficult to pull off your little surprise for Tim.  First, you had to wait for him to be off work; it was a rarer occurrence than it should be, with Tim often working late and sometimes going on weekend stakeouts, thereby taking that leather gun holster of his with him.

Then, when Tim was at home, the two of you were hardly ever apart – not wishing to do anything other than enjoy each other’s company, either quietly or voraciously.  Sure, you could have asked him to give you some time alone to set-up, but then he would have known that he had something coming.  And you wanted this to be a surprise, surprise.

The opportunity finally came in the form of an invite to Officer Chu’s bachelor party; Tim had hummed and hawed about going, but you encouraged it enthusiastically.  Not wanting to give away your hidden agenda, you simply reminded Tim of that time when Officer Chu sat in a hot patrol car with him for eight hours so they could get photographic proof of Grandma Ursula’s lab and he had agreed he should go for a few drinks.

When you receive Tim’s text that he’s heading home, you make your way to the bedroom to get ready; giddy at the imagined look of awe that you hope to see on Tim’s face soon.

Taking Tim’s gun holster off the bedpost on his side of the bed, you run the thick, firm straps through your fingers and visualize them framing your boyfriend’s equally thick chest.  As you warm the supple leather under your thumb, you think about how it stretches across Tim’s broad back, and the image blossoms a different type of warmth in your core.

Tim wearing this leather holster is like a siren call to you; just seeing it wrapped taut around his tight frame at the end of a long work day makes your mouth dry.  You never fail to compliment the way he looks in it or tell him how much it turns you on.  Once, when you had slipped your soft hands under the straps to provide some relief where they had started digging into his weary shoulders, cooing the usual sentiments about how hot his holster looked on him, Tim had whispered back that he bet it would look even better on you.

It was there for just a second, but you had filed the dark, hungry look that flashed in Tim’s eyes when he let this confession slip, away in the back of your mind - waiting for just the right moment to test out his theory.

Stripping down to nothing but the black lace panties chosen specifically to match the dark hue of Tim’s gun holster, you slip your arms through the shoulder straps and adjust it so that the small back harness sits comfortably between your shoulder blades.  Pulling the arm straps on both sides over your naked breasts so that they touch in the valley of your chest, you give the various clips and loops a few adjustments, including moving the empty firearm sleeve so that it sits snug under your left breast, before completing the look by using a silk scarf to securely fasten the two sides of the holster together in front. 

Tying the fabric so that it looks like a big bow, you pull the knot so it sits securely on the leather that snugly hugs your plush curves.  Giggling to yourself as you climb onto the bed, you sit back on your heels and wait.

It’s not long before you hear the familiar dropping of keys in the key bowl, accompanied by the soft call of hello from your unsuspecting man.

“In the bedroom, Detective!”

“Tonight was fun, Shutterbug.  Thanks for making me go.  Chu’s fiancé was wondering if y-”  Jaw dropped and words stuck in his throat, Tim marvels at the sight before him: you and your soft curves bare and trussed up for him in his department regulated gun holster, the very one he wears to work everyday and trusts to keep his firearm close and handy, offered up on the bed like a naughty present.  As he stalks towards you, his eyes rake over your tits sitting on display for him, bordered by the bold leather in a way that’s reminiscent of art hung in a museum.  Tim lays down on his stomach and army crawls his way to you at the top of the bed; when you rise on your knees to meet him, he sits and holds you firmly by the waist so he can behold all of you before him.

“Surprise,” you whisper.

Tim looks at you with disbelieving reverence and asks a question he knows will never be answered to his satisfaction, “What did I do to ever deserve you, baby?”

You want to tell Tim that he deserves the world.  That he dedicates himself so selflessly to the protection of this city that he’s earned the right to have all of his dreams fulfilled, and that you’d happily give him anything and everything so long as he never stops looking at you the way he’s doing so right now.  But you don’t tell him anything because your mind goes completely blank when Tim dives forward and takes one of your breasts in his mouth.

He kisses and nips, taking as much of your soft skin into his mouth as he can and sucks so hard he knows he’s leaving marks; Tim comes up only for air and to lave his tongue soothingly over the already reddening spot before opening wide to devour and decorate you again.  The other side of your chest is hardly safe from Tim’s worship.  His meaty hand kneads and gropes your supple breast, pulling and pushing the pillowy flesh every which way that the constricting leather you wear allows.  You welcome every bruising caress and cry out for more, more, more with your wanton moans.  Eyes closed and mouth full, Tim’s own feral noises are muffled and smothered by your chest; you feel rather than hear the evidence of his pleasure vibrate throughout your entire body.

Even without the benefit of sight, Tim ravishes and wrecks you, expertly guided by his intimate familiarity of your most delicious parts.

His hand finds your hard nipple and he teases it with his thumb before pinching and rolling the aching peak between his fingers.

His tongue twirls and flicks your nipple until it’s swollen and shiny, only to nibble it between his ever so gentle teeth.      

Time loses all meaning as Tim repeats and alternates these mind-numbing patterns on both of your heaving breasts over and over until you’re positively howling above him.

Pulling you closer so that he can bury his face even deeper in the most gorgeous pair of tits he’s ever laid eyes on, Tim feels you start to grind yourself down onto his leg; smiling against your skin when your arousal leaks through your panties and onto his pants.  He places his hands on your waist to help guide you to the pleasure you seek and pulls back to watch your tits bounce in his face.  You cry and moan, whining his name as you chase that perfect friction on his thigh, all while Tim is hypnotized by the show your luscious curves and his leather holster put on for him. 

You come with a wail of his name and a hard yank to his soft brown curls, shuddering as you press Tim’s face to your chest so he can lick and mouth you through it. 

“So?” you coo breathily, chest still rising and falling as you come down from your high.

Tim peeks out from between your tits and cocks an eyebrow at your mischievous grin.

“Do I look better in your holster than you, Detective?”

Lust blown eyes twinkling with his own mischief, Tim lifts his head with a smirk, “Gotta see it and you in a couple more positions first, Shutterbug.”  Giggling, you watch as he takes your hands and places them on the holster straps where they lay right below your collar bone; the last thing you hear before Tim tugs your legs out from under you and you’re knocked onto your back is a low baritone command practically growled: “Hold on.”

[wildemaven]

confessions | tim rockford

pairing: tim rockford x f!reader word count: 1349 warnings: 18+ blog; beer consumption, Tim is older than reader but no age given (not more than 10+ years), fluff, pining, secret crushes, kissing, fluff, one mention of calling Tim ‘old’ in a playful manner, (none of these pictures dictate the appearance of reader, this is all purely for vibes and up for your own interpretation) notes: this is my first Tim fic and I’m so excited to be apart of the Summer Lovin’ challenge out on by @pedgito @chaotic-mystery @amanitacowboy Big shout out to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for giving it a once over for me!! I appreciate you!!

“Thanks again for coming.” You lean over and say before hiding behind the sip from your plastic cup of ice cold beer. 

“Of course. It’s a bummer your date couldn’t make it.” Tim says now leaning slightly over in your direction so you can hear him. 

The music isn’t loud. More of a steady hum as a slower ballad is played on stage. Low enough that you can carry on an easy conversation without shouting over blasting speakers. 

“Yeah. Definitely a bummer he couldn’t make it. I don’t think I’d be having as much fun as I am if I was alone— so thank you.” You almost feel bad about lying. Your date that canceled on you last minute for this very concert you’re attending right now with your partner instead. 

Expect Tim doesn’t know that there never was a date prior to him accepting your last minute invitation to be your plus one. His detective skills certainly are not keen on the slight crush you've had for the man for some time now. 

“You don’t have to keep thanking me. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to be here. It’s kind of a bonus that they’re one of my favorite bands. Missed out on getting tickets. So I should be thanking you.” Tim bumps your arm playfully with his elbow before directing his attention back to the stage where the lead singer is ripping on his shiny black electric guitar. 

“Oh! I didn’t realize that when I asked you. I’m so glad it worked out like this.” Another lie. 

You knew it was one of Tim’s favorite bands. Overheard him one morning in the break room talking about this upcoming tour and how it’s been a dream of his to see them live. The only problem was this exact venue had sold out before he had gotten a chance to even attempt to get tickets. 

It pays to know people. Especially the kind of people who owe you favors. You had immediately called in the favor and you were able to secure two tickets that were relatively close to the stage without any issues. 

Tim Rockford has been your partner at the police department for the last three years. The crush you’ve been quietly harboring for him has been alive for nearly the same amount of time. 

You tried to not feel guilty while flat out lying to him about the whole thing. Especially right now with how much he is enjoying himself. His head bobbing in time with the beat. The words so effortlessly fall  from his mouth as he sings along to each song. 

As the song plays on, you don’t see the way Tim is admiring you thoroughly enjoying the music. Your arms high in the air, falling into a rhythmic wave that mirrors the other concert goers. What surprises him most, and finds almost angelic, is the way you sing word for word without missing a beat, making him even more grateful you asked him to come now, so he could witness such a sight. 

“I’m surprised you know all the words.” He says with a grin that makes your stomach swoop instantly. 

“Of course I do. It’s a good song.” You’d only discovered it when you began your rigorous studying of the band’s entire discography after securing the tickets. But Tim doesn’t need to know that— yet. “They’re a great band for being around for so long.” 

He shoots you a pained look.

“A great band for being around for so long? Sweetheart, I was listening to them in high school. You calling me old?” He turns fully to you in the small row where your seats have been abandoned for the better part of the show. His signature Detective Rockford stance, hip cocked out and hand secure at his waist band, is way less intimidating when he’s dressed in his off duty casual clothes and unarmed. 

“Well, not as old as my dad…” Technically, Tim isn’t not much older than you, but the years between you were enough for there to be a difference in tastes of music. You shrug your shoulders at him, not sure if he’s picking up the flirty tone you’ve adopted in the last few minutes. “But if the shoe fits, I guess.” 

“I’m hurt— wounded.” Tim grabs at the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching under his grip. 

“What was that?” You cup your hand over your ear and lean back into him. “I can’t hear you over your knees popping every time you stand up.” 

His smile drops and it has you feeling like you might have crossed a line that has blown any chance of ever being something more serious with Tim. 

“Tim— I was totally kidding. I’m so sor—“ Tim cuts you off before you can properly apologize to him. 

Tim’s lips are softer than you had imagined them being, slotted perfectly over yours. The music playing is no longer the main event for you, fading into the background as Tim conveys to you his own undisclosed feelings for you through the kiss. It’s a moment that feels straight out of one of your favorite rom-com movies. 

“I hope I haven’t been reading this whole thing wrong and I didn’t just make an ass out of myself by shutting up that pretty mouth of yours.” Tim’s musky cologne mixes with the beer he’d been savoring as his words fan across your face at such a close proximity. 

“No. You definitely didn’t— to both things.” A cool breeze sweeps through, alleviating the warmth that’s settled on your skin. “I have a confession to make.” 

“What’s that?” His thumb grazes over the apple of your cheek. It’s gentle effort helps ease all of your shot nerves. 

“There was no date. I got the tickets and planned to ask you. I didn’t want to sound desperate or weird, so I made it seem like I was going with someone else and that they canceled at the last minute.” 

“Oh— well I guess I should confess something to you then.” There’s a small hint of relief that you detect in his voice at your confession, you wouldn’t be one of the best detectives in your department to let that tell slide by unseen. “I was jealous of your non-existent date.” 

“Really?!” 

A light fluttering sensation swirls through you. Sincerity etched in the flecks of the warm brown eyes staring back at you. 

“Yeah. Heard you talking about it with everyone at work. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small part of me that had wished it was me going with you.” 

“You’re only saying that because it’s your favorite band playing right now.” 

You amusingly roll your eyes and push at his solid unmoving arm, but he catches your wrist before you can pull away. 

“Nah, I would have been jealous even if it was that Bieber kid.” Tim maneuvers his hand around yours, interlocking your fingers together. 

“Good to know, Rockford. I'll remember that for next time.” 

The chords of a new song fill the air. A vivacious energy spreads through the crowd like a wildfire. It’s not enough to break the small bubble Tim and you are currently existing in. 

“Next time? So what does that mean for us then, Sweetheart?” His brows knit together. He’s hopeful at the prospect of a next time, but doesn’t want to be too expectant and scare you away before he even has a chance to have you. 

“I don’t know. Let’s listen to the rest of this concert. Then afterwards you can take me to that old diner you love over on Pine Street. Order some food and we can talk until they threaten to kick us out.”

“If I’m not mistaken, that kind of sounds like the perfect first date.” He delivers another weak-in-the-knee inducing smile and you can’t help but mirror it with a little wink. 

“Way to use those detective skills.” 

It’s your turn to kiss him. It doesn’t linger as long as you’d like, but the night is still young. 

[milla-frenchy]

The detective

2k6 | Tim Rockford x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: being a suspect in a theft case, you get interrogated by a handsome and dominant personal investigator Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon. power imbalance, brat tamer, humiliation, degradation, sir kink, spitting, spanking, oral (m), cockwarming, piv, cum eating No age specified. Pic in mood board for mood only

a/n: this is a contribution to @iamasaddie writing challenge 3.0 💛🫶 prompt: humiliation/Tim Rockford Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏 @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing and for being you 💕 🫶

“That’s all I have to say, detective,” you concluded with a not so subtle sigh.

You were sitting in front of a desk and the detective was facing you. Rubbing his beard with his thumb. He smiled when he heard you say "detective" in a condescending tone.

“You know ma’am, there is some inconsistency in your testimony.”

“Excuse me? You’re just a private detective. I don't think you have the qualifications to presume any of this.” You had a hard time hiding your annoyance at being there, summoned by that detective to that dingy, dust-covered office. When he asked you to go to that room, you pointedly rolled your eyes as you passed him.

“Well, sorry ma’am, but the information you’re giving me is clearly imprecise. Seems like you’re forgetting some important details.”

“I already told you I have nothing more to say, detective.” He smiled again, and you rolled your eyes even harder than when you had entered the room, then you stood up.

“Sit down.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘sit down’. I’m not finished.”

The tone in which he talked to you sent a deep shiver down your spine, and you sat back. 

He stood up and took off his black suit jacket, and hung it on the back of his chair. He was wearing a holster over his white shirt and for a moment your eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and neck, then his tie. He walked around the table, passing behind you.

“I need you to be a little more collaborative. I need to see that you are making every possible effort to help this investigation move forward.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his tanned forearms with multiple veins, and your eyes lingered on his body again.

“I already—,” you paused when he took out a tape recorder and pressed ‘play’, leaning towards you from across the table. One palm resting on it. You frowned, annoyed by his behavior. When you heard the moans, the frown turned into shock, then embarrassment.

“Oh, fuck…fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Come on, soak my cock. Yeah, just like that.”

Only your moans were now audible. Then, the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“You like to be fucked like a whore, uh? Bent over a fucking table?”

“Yes, yes! Fuck me! Harder, please. Please…”

The detective pressed ‘stop’, and put the tape recorder on the table. 

“So, ma’am. I’m afraid I’m going to have to repeat myself. This recording was made the day before the jewelry robbery. In his apartment, where the jewelry was kept in the safe. No one else entered the apartment except you and him.”

“Detective, I... I don’t know what happened to the jewelry.” Hearing the recording had disoriented you, and your tone was much less confident and arrogant. You felt vulnerable. He felt the change in your voice immediately and his smile turned into a grin. He was clearly enjoying the situation more and more, and you, less and less. But his firm tone awakened something in you and you squirmed in your chair.

“Well… Where has your attitude gone, ma’am?” he asked, walking again, and then stood near your chair, arms crossed. Way too close to you.

“I don't allow you to talk to me like-” You started to say in an unsure voice, totally disoriented by the recording and by him, but you stopped again when you saw his bulge, and looked at him, eyes widened.

“Ok, that’s enough now”, you said as you stood up, trying to regain some control, but he grabbed your arm, bringing his face closer, his brown eyes fixed on yours.

“I have enough to call the police, you know. All your little games are gonna amuse them, for sure.”

“Shit”, you said, dropping your gaze to the ground.

“And the problem is that you wasted my time, right? With that tone of yours… how do you plan to fix this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You came here with a very unpleasant attitude, for someone who doesn't understand things quite well”, he said, stepping back from you, before grabbing his chair and placing it against the opposite wall. He sat there, manspreading. 

“What do you want?”, you asked in a low voice.

“You're really not the smartest, are you? Pleasant to look at, for sure, but a bit dumb, poor thing… Come towards me”, he added. 

You took a step forward, hesitant.

“No”, he said abruptly. You looked at him with confusion, and he added "hands and knees. Like a whore."

The reminder of the recording, his firm voice, the way he was sitting, everything about him exuded dominance and confidence, and you felt your own self-assurance crumbling ever more.

And you don't know what happened in your brain, if his attitude made you short-circuit, but you sure felt the desire soaking your panties. You looked at him, eyes widened. Shocked by his order and by your arousal. By his smirk. As if he knew you wouldn't say no. Your cheeks heated up thinking that he surely had listened to the whole tape. Hearing you being submissive, ready to do anything to have more and more of the cock that ruined your throat and pussy that night. 

He was waiting calmly for you to process what was happening. And what would happen next. He saw you hesitating, and added “unless you want me to call the police? I'm sure they'd love to play “good cop/bad cop” with a brat like you. In your pretty little skirt. So short, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, mmm?”

He paused, then added, “do as I said. Now.”

And that was it. You knelt down, in your tight skirt and heels, and advanced slowly towards him. Both humiliated and horny. Your back arched and your clit was twitching. Eyes fixed on him. Ashamed to bend so easily, but eager to learn what would happen next. How far he would go, as if you were not in charge anymore. 

When you reached his lap, you sat back on your heels. You looked down at your knees, covered in dust, then looked up at him. Waiting.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” he asked in a husky voice. You swallowed loudly. It was like he knew exactly what you'd easily dive for.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes…sir?”

“I'm gonna accept it for now. But you will call me "sir" with no hesitation before I'm done with you.” Wetness ruined your panties a little more.

“Follow me. The same way.”

He got up and went to sit at the desk, gathering the entire file in front of him.

“Come here”, he repeated, pointing at his crotch with his chin to show you exactly where he wanted you. And you obeyed, slavishly, as he undid his leather belt and placed it on the table. You slipped under the desk, between his knees.

“Unzip.”

You opened his suit pants, and grabbed his cock. Half hard. Even now, his cock was big, and you tried not to moan. But it slipped from your lips nevertheless.

“In your mouth. Keep me warm while I check what to send to the police.”

A part of you still couldn't believe you were in this situation, in this dingy office, and that the detective was ordering you to act like that. And you couldn’t believe you were about to submit again. To be humiliated again. And that it was turning you on to the point that your pussy was dripping. You even wondered if you would have submitted, even without his threats to call the police. He was hot, way too hot, and everything in him exuded natural dominance. And you didn't really know how to resist all of it. In that office or elsewhere.

So you submitted, and took his warm, thick, heavy cock in your mouth, its weight pressing down on your tongue. You waited and didn’t move, feeling used and dripping for it.

You heard him sorting the papers, keeping some in hand longer. Sometimes you would hear the tip of his pen scratching the paper. You heard him rub his beard. You felt his cock twitch sometimes, but he had impressive self-control. He never got fully hard between your lips. 

Minutes passed and your jaw was getting sore. Your saliva was now running down your chin, as your wetness was flowing from your pussy. Your knees hurt as you were standing on the cement floor, and when you tried to change the position he put his hand on the back of your neck, and told you not to move. His warm skin on yours made you shiver and you didn't move. Letting your knees stiffen in the imposed position.

“Ok, that’s enough”, he said, pulling back after a time you couldn’t evaluate.

You heard a clicking sound when he told you to come out from under the desk, but to remain kneeling. You felt the handcuff bracelets on your wrists, behind your back, then the sound of metal being tightened. “Don’t want your dusty hands on my cock”, he added.

You were facing the table, and he leaned on it, his cock out of his pants. 

“You want that cock?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suck it.”

Upright on your knees, he grabbed his cock and held it towards you. Unable to hold back a moan when you felt it again between your lips, before you started sucking him, applying yourself. You loved his taste and loved blowing him, to be on your knees for him, handcuffed, in that room.

“You’re being filmed, you know. And it’s a shame you’re so bad at sucking a dick.”

Petrified, you stopped for a few seconds. But there was no way he was going to make you doubt yourself. You pulled back and placed your tongue flat just above his balls, then licked his shaft towards his tip, twirling your tongue on it. You leaned down again, and licked his balls. They were big, resting heavy under his cock. You thought they must be full of cum, and you couldn't wait for him to fill you with it. Your tongue lapped at their barely hairy skin. He got hard immediately. You looked at him, a slight smirk on your face.

“Open”, he said. “Tongue out.” Then he leaned down slightly, before letting his saliva fall down your chin and into your mouth.

“Swallow. Like a good girl.”

You swallowed, then stuck your tongue out again to show him.

“Suck.”

You approached him and licked the precum that was beading on his tip. Then rounded your lips, trying to take as much of him in your mouth as possible, until your nose brushed against his hair.

“How do you feel, sucking a detective’s cock in his office?”

You looked at him, not daring to stop.

“I kinda like it, when a brat is on her knees for me. Mouth full of my cock.”

He thrust and hit the back of your throat, making you gasp and pull away, coughing.

“Damn. You’re so pathetic.” You stared at the trickle of saliva that linked you to him, the only link between you and his cock, which your mouth was already missing.

“Desperate, mmm? Say “I’m a whore and I just want to get filled by your dick, sir.”

“I’m a whore and I just want to get filled by your dick, sir.” He was right. No hesitation in your voice this time.

“Bend over the desk. Lemme see that cunt.”

You rested your chest against the wooden surface, your hands still bound by the handcuffs behind your back. He placed his hand on your ass, caressing its roundness. Gently, so gently that you closed your eyes for a moment and held your breath.

You didn't see the first spanking coming, and you let out a cry. Then the second, just before he unzipped your skirt. Sliding it slowly from the small of your back to the bottom of your buttocks. The third spanking made you moan, and ruined your panties a little more.

The mixture of sweetness and pain turned you on. Standing behind you, he pressed his cock against your ass. His manwood pressed against you, you only wished to feel his cock in your cunt, pushing your walls.

He grabbed the hem of your skirt and slid it down your hips, then your thighs, through your ankles. Your tights followed. He knelt down to remove these pieces of clothing from your feet. Your ass, covered by your panties, was at his eye level. When he slid them slowly down and your folds got exposed, he hissed softly.

“Alright. I hope you're better at taking a dick than at sucking it.”

He stood up and glided his cock along your soaked folds, making you moan.

“Your cunt is dripping for every man? Or you just like to be humiliated by a detective?”

He slipped his tip into your dripping hole, making you gasp, and stopped.

“Answer me.”

“I… I like to be humiliated and degraded.”

“Beg me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me, sir. Please, please… need your cock.”

“God, you’re so pitiful.”

He sank without stopping, bottoming out, and you whimpered. Full of his cock. He pulled back and thrust all the way in again, then started fucking  you hard and fast, making you moan with every thrust of his hips. Hands clinging to your hips, yours cuffed behind your back, you could only take his cock. Let him use you freely. The desk shook under his thrusts. Tears were beading in the corners of your eyes, as he was growling, spreading your pussy with his shaft.

“Yeah, make a show for the camera. Maybe you’ll have an Oscar for the best drama queen.”

He grabbed your shoulders for more leverage, and was fucking you deep and slow now. His cock was brushing your g spot at every move, and you quickly came on his cock, trembling.

“Such a slut, coming that fast on my cock, uh?”

You were unable to answer, and he sneered, adding “so cuckdumb”, pounding you faster and you were moaning continually, feeling your wetness trickling from your cunt.

He pulled back and looked at your soaking pussy before thrusting in again. “You're so wet, my cock and balls are covered in white, Jesus.”

He grabbed your hips and railed you, chasing his orgasm.

“Say “I’m a whore and I just want to be full of your cum, sir.”

“I’m a whore and I just want to be full of your cum, sir.”

He sneered again, as if you just said the most stupid thing in the world. “Your pussy isn’t good enough to make me cum, I’m gonna have to jerk off,” he spat, before pulling out of your pussy. He grabbed your elbow and made you kneel in front of him.

“Tongue out, open wide.”

You stuck out your tongue, eyes staring into his. He looked at you from his height, eyes frowning. His hand tight on his cock, he jerked off. Strong, slow jerks on his hard, thick cock. And you had already forgotten your pussy clenching over nothing. Now you wanted his cum. So you waited, tongue out. Until he groaned, and the white ropes of cum hit your tongue, your cheeks, your chin. Covering your face with his seed.

“Swallow.” Of course you obeyed.

“Say ”thank you sir.”

“Thank you sir.”

You were exhausted, a little part of you was ashamed. And another part missed feeling him in you already.

He rubbed his tip against your chin, your lips, your cheeks, then he tucked his cock into his clothes.

“So. About the jewelry. Let's start from the beginning. I might need more time to investigate and I'm afraid we’ll have to work closely together again”, he said, and your pussy clenched, begging for more.

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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[guiltyasdave]

i usually do my weekly fic recs on sunday, but i’ll be pretty busy tomorrow, so i’m just doing them now :) and i looooved what i read this week, so please check these out!

especially right now, when being a fanfic writer isn't the most enjoyable experience tbh, please try spreading kindness and show your writers some love <3

a list of all my recs ever can be found here!

dividers by @/enchanthings ✨

i'm organizing the fics by character and adding emojis to indicate the contents a little. still, please look at the tags/ warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be for you.

💘= fluff • ❤️‍🔥= smut • 🤍= angst • 🖤= dark

📚= oneshot • 📖= series

dave york

volatile by @javier-pena ❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📖

reckless by @whataperfectwasteoftime 💘❤️‍🔥📖

pitch black by @whataperfectwasteoftime 💖❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

tainted heart by @sizzlingcloudmentality ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

sight universe by @goodwithcheese 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

whisked away by @joelalorian 💘📖

dave york & tim rockford

pack your heart, you might need it by @sin-djarin 💖❤️‍🔥🤍📚

dieter bravo

dieter’s doggy style by @schnarfer 💘📖

dieter bravo & joel miller

stretch by @sp00kymulderr ❤️‍🔥📖

din djarin

hatch by @secretelephanttattoo 💘🤍📖

fifteen minutes by @whocaresstillthelouvre 💘❤️‍🔥📖

frankie morales

europa by @the-mandawhor1an 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📖

javier peña

midnight rainstorms by @thundermartini 💘🤍📖

i’ll carry you by @almostfoxglove 💘❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

joel miller

the checklist by @thetriumphantpanda 💖❤️‍🔥📚

smother by @beardedjoel 💖❤️‍🔥🤍🖤📚

ain’t that a bite by @almostfoxglove 💘📖

unbound by @sp00kymulderr ❤️‍🔥🤍📖

pretty baby by @mrsmando ❤️‍🔥🤍📖

on every street by @thundermartini 🤍📖

rotten by @alltheirdamn ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

lost cause by @joelalorian 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📖

pillow by @iamasaddie 💘📖

life and loss by @wildemaven 💘🤍📖

a fake soccer date by @toomanystoriessolittletime 💘❤️‍🔥📖

until then by @studioghibelli 🤍📖

lucien flores

trying something new by @missredherring 💘❤️‍🔥📖

marcus acacius

circumstance by @javier-pena ❤️‍🔥🖤📖

my own writing

wildest dreams — dave york x f!reader (now a finished series!!! 🥹) 💘❤️‍🔥🤍📚

dancing phantoms on the terrace — oberyn martell x f!reader 🤍📖

[ladamedusoif]

Cookies (Tim Rockford X F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 26

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 1455

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Established relationship (Reader is Tim’s wife); workplace sex; fingering; unprotected but safe PiV sex (Reader is on birth control); no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of Reader; strong language; when we say “fuck the police” this is what we mean

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my work.

Tim kisses you on the cheek as he heads down to the precinct on Christmas Eve, overcoat in hand.

“I hate leaving you all, baby, but…”

You wrap him in a tight embrace and return his kiss. “Tim, you’re a good man. I’m sure Corinna appreciates you taking the Christmas Eve cover, so she can be at home for her baby’s first Christmas.”

Your husband’s ears pink up a little at your praise. “I guess. And older cops did it for us, too, when the kids were tiny.”

He looks over your shoulder into your mother’s kitchen, where your daughters are excitedly asking their grandma whether the Christmas cookies are cool enough to decorate. You turn and smile at the scene.

“I love you, Detective Rockford. We’ll save you some cookies. Come home safe.”

***

The cop at the front desk is thanking his lucky stars as he sips his umpteenth cup of filter coffee. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and - other than a couple of minor call-outs for the guys out in the patrol car to break up bar fights - he hasn’t had to book a single person into the cells.

It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

And then the door buzzes. He sighs in exasperation and checks the CCTV. A woman, wearing a winter hat and carrying a tote bag. He presses the button to let her in.

“Hello there, ma’am. Now, I have to warn you, as it’s Christmas Eve we don’t have a full complement of officers in tonight and - oh! Hi there, Mrs R!”

You smile as you take off your hat and scarf, and hand him a small tin. “Hey, Bryan. Tim in his office?”

“Sure is. Hey, these some of your famous cookies?”

You’re already climbing the stairs to your husband’s office. “Maybe. Open it and see if Santa thinks you’ve been a good cop this year.”

***

Tim’s at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie slightly loose, flipping through some papers with his glasses on. The desk lamp bathes him in a warm light, highlighting his handsome features, and you pause for a moment to take him in before you knock on the door.

He looks up in surprise before a broad smile spreads across his face. “Hello there, miss. What brings you to the precinct on a Christmas Eve?”

You carefully close the door and turn the little lock on the handle, before pulling down the blind. You reach into your bag and produce another cookie tin, sauntering over to Tim’s desk and placing it in front of him.

“So, everyone was tucked up in bed at home, and would you believe it? I met Santa Claus, leaving gifts for the girls.”

Your husband chuckles and pulls you onto his lap. “That so?”

You nod. “The man himself. And you know what he said?”

Tim shakes his head, eyes twinkling. You lean in and kiss him softly.

“He said that Tim Rockford had been a particularly good boy this year, and he should get an extra special gift.”

Tim’s eyes turn to the cookie tin. “The cookies?”

You shrug, reach for the tin, and open the lid. “You could say that, I guess. They’re part of the gift.”

He bursts out laughing when he looks inside and takes out a gingerbread man perfectly decorated to resemble - well, him. White shirt, black pants, dark hair and moustache, tie, and even a pair of shoulder holsters.

“Your handiwork?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Damn right. Why wouldn’t I make cookies that look like the most delicious man I know?”

He eyes you up suspiciously, but a smile plays on his lips. “You said the cookies were part of the gift.”

You stand up and move his paperwork out of the way, clearing enough space on the desk so that you can sit up on it. “The other part is under my coat.”

Tim’s eyes widen as he reaches for the buttons on your knee-length woollen coat, unbuttoning them eagerly and pulling the coat open.

His mouth falls open. “Holy fuck, baby.”

“You like what you see?” You fight against all the anxieties and insecurities that haunt you about your body, focusing on the look of astonished desire that’s burning in your husband’s eyes.

Tim’s eyes roam over you, taking in the dark red bra and matching, high-waisted panties trimmed in black lace, the sheer black stockings. He carefully eases off your coat and throws it to one side, running his big hands gently over the soft skin of your shoulders as he slips down the straps of your bra.

“I love what I see.” His voice is a rapt whisper.

He slips his hands to your back and waist and pulls you tight to him as he kisses you deeply, moaning as you twine your fingers through his dark, grey-streaked curls. You bring your hands to his belt buckle, working it open and undoing his pants so you can palm his cock, already hardening under your touch.

Tim brings his mouth to the side of your neck and begins to softly bite and lick the sensitive skin, working his way down to your breasts as one hand holds you in place while the other tugs aside the lacy fabric that covers your pussy. “I fucking love what I see,” he grunts, pulling down the cups of your bra to expose your breasts. “I love you. My sexy fucking wife.”

You whine as two thick fingers trail across your folds before settling on your clit, working it steadily in the way only he knows. “I’m going to get you good and wet for me, my love,” Tim murmurs, encouraging you to lift your hips so he can ease off your panties.

“Mmmm… and then what are you going to do to me, Detective?”

He slips his fingers into your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from you. “And then, Mrs Rockford, I plan on fucking you hard right here on this desk. But only if you come for me first.”

A hook of his fingers and you’re squealing with pleasure as Tim spreads you out in front of him, standing between your thighs as you continue to stroke his dick. He fucks you over and over with his fingers, watching you writhe and buck as you near your climax.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You look so beautiful like this, all spread out and ready to come on my fingers. Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re mine, sometimes.” Your pussy tightens around him and he knows you’re about to come.

“Tim…Tim, fuck, I’m - oh, fuck, baby.” He keeps fingering you through the orgasm, sucking on your nipples as he extends the wave of pleasure running through you.

You reach up and undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, hitching up his under vest so you can feel the soft, warm skin of his belly against yours as he pushes himself inside you and begins to fuck you. You hitch up your legs around his waist to hold Tim in place, slipping your hands under his shirt and gripping his broad shoulders firmly as he takes you on his desk.

“Feel good?”

“Fucking incredible, Tim - you?”

He leans his head against your chest and flicks his tongue over your nipple. “Baby, you always feel amazing but this - fuck, this is so fuckin’ good. Feels so tight and wet for me. Listen to that.”

For a moment the only sound in the office is the lewd wetness, skin on skin, and your pants and moans.

“Can’t believe you did this for me, baby,” Tim grunts, speeding up his rhythm and making you whine, arching your back. “Came down here in nothing but lingerie, ready to fuck me…fuck, you’re incredible.”

You giggle a little. “Got lonely at home, my love. Needed to have my man.”

Tim’s faltering rhythm tells you he’s nearly there as he buries himself deeper inside you. “You’ve got him, baby. All yours. All…”

And he’s there, spilling inside you as he collapses on your chest.

***

Cleaned up but still a little dishevelled, you sit on the floor of the office and eat some of the cookies, accompanied by weak coffee.

In the distance, you can hear chimes signalling the hour.

“Hey. It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Detective Rockford.”

Tim kisses you, tasting of ginger and sugar and spice and all things nice.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Rockford. And thank you for my extra-special gift.”

[nerdieforpedro]

The Brave, the Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 5

All fanfics on this list are for readers age 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they're there so you know what's in them. Read at your own risk.

Room 1918 by @megamindsecretlair (Nomad Steve Rogers x Black female plus size reader)

Sweet Treat - Part Two by @mrsmando (Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x plus size female reader) Follow up to 'Sweet Treat - part one.'

La Petit Mort @boliv-jenta (Joel Miller x reader and Dave York x reader) Dark Fic

Misfire @qveerthe0ry (Dieter Bravo x GN reader)

Fluffer by @proxima-writes (Dieter Bravo x PA female writer)

Hey Good Lookin’ - part one and Hey Good Lookin’ - part two by @gwendibleywrites (Chubby shy Frankie Morales x plus size reader)

Lemonade Sparkles by @frenchiereading (Frankie Morales x female reader)

Watta Man - A Marcus Pike Story by @atinylittlepain (Marcus Pike x female reader)

O’ Christmas Tree by @covetyou (Dieter Bravo x GN reader)

Lingerie by @604to647 (Din Djarin - modern AU x female reader)

Once in a Blue Moon by @whatsnewalycat (Dieter Bravo x female reader)

Hold Harder by @sin-djarin (Tim Rockford x female reader)

Christmas Indulgence by @movievillainess721 (Jack Daniels x plus size female reader)

Cowboy Hat Joel x Reader (an ask) by @theywhowriteandknowthings (Joel Miller x female reader)

Oh, The Wildflowers by @adora-but-ginger (Joel Miller x GN reader)

A Nanny for Christmas by @absurdthirst (Dave York x plus size female reader)

Baker Wonderland by @integra1127grimmreaper (Javier Guterrez x plus size female reader)

Consummating the Riduurok @beskarandblasters (Din Djarin x female reader)

Consent by @fuckyeahdindjarin (Dieter Bravo x female reader)

White Christmas by @absurdthirst (Joel Miller x female reader)

Symphony by @maggiemayhemnj (Joel Miller x Jersey - OFC)

What the Heart Wants by @artemiseamoon (Pero Tovar x female reader)

Javier Peña & His Sweetheart (Chubby Peña) by @beefrobeefcal (Chubby Javier Peña x female reader)

Please check out everyone's listed fics and master lists! Don't forget to reblog and comment, writers love interactions. 🥰

[something-tofightfor]

Black Days 2: Seize The Day (Pull The Trigger)

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,900

Rating: M (language, mention of prior terrible relationships.)

Summary:  Tim gave you his number - but will you use it? And if you do, are the answers to your questions the ones you hope for? 

Author’s Note: The response to the first chapter of this story was overwhelming. I never thought that anyone would care so much about a mobile game ad character ... but that’s what Pedro does, I guess. 

Thank you all for reading! 

Chapter title comes from “The Day I Tried To Live” by Soundgarden.

Masterlist / Chapter 1

The answer turned out to be almost two days. 

While at home between the end of your main workday and your shift at the diner, you were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Your shift at the office had drained you. Your only goal was to go home and get a quick few hours of sleep before you had to go back to work. But once you’d changed into a pair of shorts and a worn t-shirt and climbed between the sheets, you doubted that sleep would come. At least not right now. 

 When you turned onto your side to look at your bedside table, you chewed on your lower lip, thinking. The folded paper was right next to your phone, exactly where you’d set it the morning you brought it home. The longer you waited, the more anxious you got - and you didn’t know why. 

He’d approached you. He’d asked you out, and told you that it was your decision. He’d made his interest clear, and reiterated that what happened next was up to you. So why am I waiting? You knew the answer, even though you didn’t want to admit it. But there’s only one way to know for sure. 

Reaching for the phone and the paper, you dialed the number and then rolled onto your back, holding the device over your face. Maybe he won’t answer. Maybe he’ll ignore the call since he doesn’t know my number. 

So you pressed “send” and then lowered the phone to your ear, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting. If he doesn’t answer I’m not going to leave a message. I’ll just… 

“This is Tim.” He picked up on the fourth ring, his tone clipped but not angry, and after a short pause, you cleared your throat. Here goes nothing.

“Tim? Hi. It’s -” 

He cut you off and said your name, his tone softening. At that, you relaxed against the mattress, feeling yourself smile. “I’m glad you called.” 

“Are you?” He agreed, the line going silent. “That’s good to know.” Bending your arm and putting your free hand under your pillow, you tightened your grip on the phone. “I don’t want to keep you for too long because I’m sure you’re at work, but …” Wetting your lips, you nodded. “I want to say yes to dinner, Tim. It sounds like a lot of fun, but …” 

“But what?” You heard noises on his end of the line - the sound of people talking in the background, the squeak of what sounded like an office chair - and for a few seconds, you wondered what his workplace was like. But that’s why I have to ask. 

“But I need to know a little more about you first. You said you live in Willow Creek, and I know your full name, but … what do you do Tim? What kind of job regularly keeps you out until the middle of the night with a folder that size?” 

“I was hoping to be able to talk about this at dinner, but…” He cleared his throat. “Let me go outside.” You waited for almost a minute, the sound of the man’s breathing through the speaker loud in your ear. Outside? Why does he need to go outside? “You still there?”

“Yes.” Your heartbeat quickened, eyes fixed on the ceiling directly above your bed. “I’m here.” 

“Alright, so…” He sighed, the sound loud in your ear. “I figured it’d come up in conversation in person. It’s usually easier that way, but …shit. I’m a detective.” A cop. He’s a cop. 

“Oh.” You frowned, closing your eyes. “I guess it makes sense, with the files and the notebooks and the weird hours.” Just ask. Just get it over with. “Did you choose my restaurant for a specific reason? A case?” For me? 

“No, I chose it because of the pie, I told you that.” He laughed, the sound short. “But seriously, it’s close enough to my place that I can go there if I can’t sleep, or when I get out of the office before I go home. It’s quiet. The coffee’s good, though it’s been better than usual the last couple times I’ve been in.” 

“Tim, I -” 

“I work for the Sacramento Police Department.” He said your name, pausing. “I have for the last seven years, which is about how long I’ve been a detective. Before that, I worked in San Francisco. Was there for about 10 years, and then decided to move back home because my mom was still here.” 

You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, loosening your grip on the device in your hand. “You’re a detective? Not a PI?” 

“No, not even close.” There was another pause, and when Tim spoke again, you heard interest in his voice. “I don’t work for myself and no one seeks me out independently, though a couple people have tried.” 

Ok. This is … this is good. This is … “Tim?” He hummed, waiting. “If you’re still interested, I can explain why I was so curious over dinner next Tuesday.” You trusted what he was telling you, because it would be easy enough to look his name up and find out whether or not he was being honest. And he knows that, too. 

“I’m interested.” He said your name and then cleared his throat. “Very interested. And I know it’s cliché, but there’s a really good Italian -”

“Yes.” You agreed almost automatically, a warmth spreading through your body along with excitement - something you hadn’t experienced in months. “Italian sounds great, Tim.” 

— 

You didn’t see him that night at work, but on Saturday, you were busy wiping down tables when you heard someone say your name. Turning your head toward the sound, you grinned at the sight of him - coat draped over one arm and his fingers curled around the handle of his briefcase. “Hey, Tim.” Pointing with one hand, you continued. “Your table’s open. I can bring you a cup of coffee to start, but you’ll have Nicki afterward.”

“Why’s that?” He rested one hand on his hip, tilting his head to one side. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No, actually…” You finished what you were doing, folding the damp towel you held. “I got cut early. There’s no one in here, so I’m going home. Nicki and Jesse are going to handle things.” 

“Oh.” He frowned briefly and then nodded, taking a step closer, though there was still plenty of space between you. “That means you get to go to bed a couple hours early tonight, right?” That would be great, wouldn’t it?

“Mmmhmm.” Smiling brightly, you hoped that he hadn’t seen the brief flash of uncertainty on your face. “It’ll be nice to -”

“Or,” he interrupted, drawing his lower lip back and between his teeth, his eyes on you. “Or we could both leave, and we could go grab a coffee from somewhere else right now.” 

It was late at night, and you barely knew the man, but you wanted to say yes. “What about Tuesday? I thought -”

“Oh, I’m still taking you to dinner.” His smile grew, the man’s eyes wide and bright behind his glasses. “But what I’ve got to work on can wait until tomorrow. I just figured … I’m not even sure what I figured, but …” 

“I live about fifteen minutes away from here. North of here, so that would be the direction that we’d have to go in, because -”

“Ever been to the 49er?” He raised a brow, waiting. “That was my go-to before coming here, but since it’s a truck stop, it’s nowhere near as quiet.” 

“I have been. Their bar is pretty convenient.” He laughed at that, agreeing. “And it puts us both pretty close to home, so… want me to meet you there?” 

“Yes.” Tim’s smile grew, his eyes darting away from you and toward the kitchen. “I’ll head out now, how long do you think you’ll be?”

“About ten minutes? I have to count out my -”

“Go. Before a group of fifteen walks in and they decide not to let you leave.” Someone’s excited. 

Biting back a laugh, you told him you’d see him in a little while. 

When the man turned and headed back toward the lobby, you made your way to the kitchen, dropping the rag into one of the dirty towel baskets. “What was that about?” Nicki was standing next to Jesse, the girl’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the guy from last week. You two were -”

“Yeah, it’s all good. He was working on a case but it had nothing to do with me. We talked about it.” Waving her off, you smiled. “It’s all fine, I promise. He’s actually really nice.” 

“If you say so.” She glanced past you, eyes on the dining room. “Are you heading out?” 

“I am.” You closed out your shift on the screen, counting down your tips and then doling out a few dollars for Jesse, the rest going back into your pocket. “If you’re sure you can handle the rest of the night.” 

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Morning shift gets here in a couple hours, no big deal.” She eyed you warily, but didn’t say anything else. What is there to say? When you looked at Jesse, though, you saw the man was positively giddy, his eyes gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Don’t even say a word. 

“Have a good night.” He winked. “See you Monday?” Yeah. You will. 

A few minutes later, you were crossing the parking lot to your car, keys in hand. The drive from work to the diner was an easy one, and at a little after 1 am, you knew that there’d be no traffic.  

You weren’t nervous as you headed north on I-5, but as you passed the Garden Highway exit, you realized how excited you were for the opportunity to talk to the man in a different setting. And he’s excited too, so that means… 

There were a lot of things that it could have meant, but the most important was that for once, you were on the same page with someone when it came to the way you were feeling. And that’s a nice change. 

Smiling as you parked the car, you gave yourself a few minutes to fix your appearance. You straightened the hooded sweatshirt that you’d thrown on over your uniform, applied lip gloss, and swept your fingers carefully beneath your eyes to wipe away any traces of smudged eyeliner and mascara. There. That done, you stepped out of the car, grabbing your bag and keys. Here goes nothing. 

Tim was waiting for you just inside the doors, the man’s coat and briefcase nowhere to be seen. He was still wearing his glasses, though - and both of his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. Oh, he … wow. No one should look this good in a truck stop in the middle of the night. “You made it.” 

He sounded genuinely happy, and as you nodded, the man leading you into the dining room with one hand at your elbow, you relaxed further. “I did. There was no one on the highway, so it was quick.” 

You slid into the booth across from him, but before he could reply, the waitress appeared, asking for your order. Tim spoke first, his head turned toward the woman standing by the table. “Just coffee, please, and whatever she’s having.”

“Coffee here, too. And can I get a side of the fruit?” The waitress nodded and then made a note on her pad. She then turned away, leaving the two of you alone. “I usually snack on something about now at work, so I hope that -”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s fine.” Tim leaned back in the booth, both hands resting flat against the surface of the table. “So.” He tilted his head to the right, eyes on you. “I’m glad you said yes.” 

“I’m glad you asked.” He winked, opening his mouth to answer, but your coffee arrived, along with glasses of water. “Thank you. It -”

“Your fruit’s coming. It’ll be a few minutes.” The server set a small bowl with sweetener and a container of cream down on the table, the woman not even looking at either of you. “Enjoy.” Yikes. She doesn’t give a shit about her tips. As she walked away, you looked at the man again, finding an amused expression on his face. “Is that another reason you decided not to come here anymore?” 

“Yeah, the service is … not as friendly here.” He picked up his cup and took a sip, nose wrinkling. “And the coffee’s not as good, either.” 

That broke the ice, the two of you starting a conversation that was little more than pleasantries. But as soon as the bowl of fruit and silverware were delivered, that changed - and Tim didn’t seem afraid to take the lead. 

“You seemed surprised when I told you what I did for a living.” He reached over, grabbing a grape and popping it into his mouth. “Why?” 

“No. Not… surprised. That isn’t the right word. I guess it just … threw me off a little.” You sipped your drink and then frowned. “Do you just take general cases, or do you work in a special department? I don’t know what I can ask, so if you can’t answer, just tell me.”

“This isn’t the CIA.” Tim laughed, running the fingers of one hand through his already messy hair. “I can’t talk about individual cases, but there’s nothing keeping me from telling you what I do.” He took a deep breath, never looking away from you. “I prefer to be called a criminal investigator that focuses on homicides. But the truth is that I take on a lot of other types of cases, most of the time.” Homicide? So he catches killers? 

“Interesting.” You ate a piece of fruit, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s an important job, Tim.” 

“For the people involved, it is.” He shrugged. “I just like helping when I can, and I’ve always been good at piecing shit together, so … why not? Why not get paid for something that I enjoy doing?”

“That’s how I feel about what I do, too. At my main job, I mean.” Taking a long drink of water, you met Tim’s eyes, noticing for the first time that he was leaning in toward you. The man’s attention was unwavering. It sent a shiver down your spine, though the reaction was a positive one, his focus something you enjoyed being the recipient of. “It’s definitely not as exciting as your job probably can be, but … I’m a project analyst, so I have to work with a lot of facts and figures. I put puzzle pieces together every day, but in most cases, no one’s trying to hide anything.” 

“That sounds like a hell of a lot of work.” Telling him it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, you shrugged. I’m used to it. “So if you’re doing that, why are you also working overnight in that diner? Your day job sounds like it’s more than enough to keep you busy.” 

You hadn’t thought that the topic would come up so quickly. But since it had, you were determined to keep from shying away from it the way you wanted to. Because I don’t want to lie to him. 

“I just started a few months ago. Last year, I was working regular hours at my main job, but … things changed around the holidays.” Fingers closing around the end of your straw as you twirled it through your water glass, you looked down at the movement of your left hand. “My relationship ended, and even though I kicked him out, my place just seemed too empty when he was gone. Too quiet at night, and I couldn’t sleep, so … I decided to get out of the house as often as I could instead of trying to fill it with noise.”

“You picked up a second job because you couldn’t sleep over a breakup? Must have been some breakup.” You have no idea. His voice dropped lower, and when you looked up at him again, Tim’s brow was furrowed. “You said you work what, four nights a week some weeks?” Nodding in agreement, you waited. You’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know. “So when do you sleep?” 

“I catch a couple hours between jobs … and during the day on my days off, mostly.” Rubbing at your forehead, you shrugged. “It’s not so bad, though. I like being awake at night, there’s fewer people. If I have to work overnight, by the time I get home I have enough time to take a quick power nap before it’s time to go in to my main job. It gets me through the day.” Lifting your coffee, you held it out to him. “So does this.” 

“I have trouble sleeping, too.” He scoffed, head shaking back and forth. “Sometimes it’s details of the cases, other times it’s just that shit’s too loud, you know? Can’t shut my brain off.” 

“Cheers.” You raised the coffee mug, holding it out toward him. “Look at us, coping with our bullshit in an extremely unhealthy way by staying out all night and consuming our weight in caffeine every day.” He snorted but clinked his mug against yours, joining you as you took a sip. 

“The difference with me is that I can catch an hour or two at the station when I need it. We all do it, especially when we work 12 hour shifts.” Must be nice. “And on the nights I do have free? The ones I don’t end up in a diner somewhere with my case files?” He shrugged. “There are a couple other ways that I relax and get my mind off of work.” That … doesn’t surprise me.

“Ah.” You picked up the last piece of fruit, taking a bite out of it. “So is that what this is? Are you hoping to use me to -”

“No.” His head whipped back and forth, Tim setting the cup down. “Not at all. You’ve been a nice change in my routine, but…” His fingers wrapped around the mug, eyes locked on you. “But I’m not thinking past dinner. And now that I know how little you sleep, I’m starting to think that maybe I should have suggested taking you somewhere quiet to nap instead of out to another place that reminds you of work tonight.” 

“I have all day off tomorrow. I’ll get some sleep then.” You sipped your water, the ice cubes clinking against the inside of the cup. “And as soon as I can end my lease, I’ll move out of my place, and start trying to sleep normal hours again. A change of scenery is probably what I need, but until then…” This is what I can do. 

“I hope that’s soon.” His words were genuine, and when Tim nodded - the almost imperceptible movement of his head accompanied by a small smile, you gave him one in return. It will be. “But I’m serious, if you’d rather use Tuesday night to relax, I understand.” 

“Are you trying to get rid of me, detective Rockford?” Biting the inside of your cheek at the way his eyes flashed at your address, you held back a laugh. I’ll remember that. “Rescinding your offer for dinner now that you know a little more about me?” 

“No. Now I just want to make sure you get some sleep and aren’t dead on your feet for more than half of your work week because you can’t sleep at night in your own damn house.”

“That’s direct.” He nodded, his smile widening. “But no. You asked me to have dinner with you, and if I’m being totally honest with you? I haven’t been out on a date in six months, Tim. And I’m definitely not going to back out the first time someone’s asked me.” 

“What?” He leaned closer, pushing the coffee mug out of the way and lacing his fingers together. “Six months? You haven’t -”

“I said it was a bad breakup, didn’t I?” Reaching up to grip he back of your neck, you lowered your head briefly. “Probably shouldn’t have let it get to me the way it did, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.” 

Tim was silent for a few seconds, the man studying you intently. What are you thinking? “If I’m overstepping, please feel free to tell me to fuck off, but …” He took a deep breath. “You asking what I did, and then assuming that I was a PI when I said I was a detective was for a reason, right? Did … do you think that your ex would have sent someone to keep tabs on you? Is there something that I should know about him or about you?” 

“You’re good.” You drained your coffee, staring down into the cup. “It crossed my mind for a few seconds, yes. And I wouldn’t put it past that asshole to have someone watching me, but I don’t even know what he’d be looking for. And honestly? I don’t think he cared enough to spend money on hiring someone to follow me around. He never made it seem like he did anyway.” 

“Christ, are you -” He pulled his glasses off and set them down on the table, his free hand rising to rub at his forehead. “If you lived together, then it must have been pretty serious. Why would you think he didn’t care?” 

“He was never physically abusive or anything like that, Tim. And I guess he wasn’t emotionally abusive, either - at least not in the way you’d think.” Taking a long drink of water, you looked away from him and out at the dining room - a few of the tables filled. I didn’t plan on talking about this, but …”He just didn’t… try, you know? Wouldn’t make any decisions, wouldn’t talk about what he wanted, didn’t really have any plans for the future, and when I got sick of it, that’s when he tried to make me believe he wanted more.” You shrugged. “It was only after I said I was done that we really started arguing over things, and he told me he didn’t want to think about me with anyone else. And then before he left for good, he told me that I’d regret ending things with him. He said he’d be around when I finally realized that I made a mistake telling him to leave, so -”

“So you thought that he might have someone else keeping tabs on you so that you didn’t notice him doing it.” You nodded, giving him a sad smile. “Well, I can promise you that isn’t what I’m doing. Light stalking isn’t in my job description, and anyone that would have someone do that to someone else is … not someone that I’d want to associate with.” 

“I know. It’s dumb. But I just … I don’t know.” You rubbed at your eyes, both of them closed. Congratulations on ruining this before it even goes anywhere. 

“Is that why you can’t sleep? Because you’re worried that he’s going to send someone to watch you? Or just because there are memories in the apartment, and part of you wonders if you did the right thing?”

“Both. Mostly the second thing.” Picking up your napkin, you began folding it, though you weren’t watching what you were doing. Instead, you were fixated on a point in the distance, just over Tim’s left shoulder. “Like I said, I think it was an empty threat, so it’s just that … I kind of miss having someone else around. He wasn’t always good company, but he was company, and it’s easier for me to sleep when I can hear someone else. I got used to having a roommate, and now without one, I just … think too much..”

“I have a white noise machine.” He grinned, sipping from his mug. “It only works half the time.”

“Tried that. Tried music. Tried leaving a TV on. Tried playing something called “people noises” from YouTube. No luck.”

“You need someone else there to sleep, I need something quiet to focus on… it’s too bad we can’t nap together, seems like we’d balance each other out.” He wasn’t wrong - though he hadn’t outright said it, it seemed like on the nights Tim wasn’t thinking about work, he found the company of someone to help him sleep, focusing on another person enough to quiet his mind and let him get rest. 

And even though the videos had helped slightly, there was nothing that could compare to the feeling of the mattress dipping as someone shifted next to you, or the sound of them breathing in the darkness - each warm exhale washing over whatever part of you was closest. 

“If only.” Wrinkling your nose, you gestured to your purse. “Aren’t there apps that let you find someone to cuddle with? Maybe there’s one for a nap partner. Like dating apps but only for -” 

“That sounds horrifying.” His eyes widened. “Just inviting some stranger over to your place to hop into bed? Someone that you met through an app?”

“So you don’t use dating apps then?” You reached for the water glass, tilting it toward yourself and frowning at the fact that there was barely anything left. “Isn’t that how people hook up without having to do all the work of meeting someone by chance?” 

“I never said that.” Tim held up a finger. “But there’s a difference between hooking up with someone and sleeping with them.” He wasn’t wrong, and as you returned your eyes to meet his, you opened your mouth to agree. The man shocked you, though, by continuing, his gaze never wavering away from yours. “I’m more than willing to offer myself up instead of you looking for someone random. We don’t know each other well, but uh, I’ve been told that I’m one hell of a cuddler, so -” 

Do I even want to think about that? Because … it wouldn’t surprise me. Look at him. 

“Oh?” Your smile widened, both hands flat on the table. “Didn’t you just say it was weird to have a stranger over? That there was a difference between -”

“I did, and there is.” Tim finished his coffee, leaning back against the booth. “But that changes nothing.” Tim angled his head and then shook it. “Maybe if dinner goes well on Tuesday, you’ll be curious enough to find out sometime.” 

“Why not tonight?” It slipped out before you could stop it, and as you realized what you’d said, you gasped, shaking your head back and forth. Oh no. I shouldn’t have said that. “I’m kidding. Tim I -”

“I don’t have to go in tomorrow.” He paused. “As of right now at least. That might change, but I planned on working from my home office, so… if you didn’t want to be kidding…” Is he serious? “If you think it would help you sleep, I’m all for it.” He is serious. 

“But you don’t know me. We’ve only talked a few times, and -”

“I know enough. And it’s not like I’m suggesting that anything happen, right? Just … hopefully a good night’s sleep for both of us.” He looked down, checking his watch. “It’s still before you’d be off of work, and I only live a few minutes away, so -”

“I don’t have anything to sleep in.” You glanced down, swallowing hard. Am I really considering this? Looking up again, you made your decision when you saw the slight part of his lips, Tim’s eyes wide in surprise. “I live in Harbor Oaks.” Setting the napkin down, you straightened your shoulders. “So I’m legitimately around the corner from my place right now. I can … I can go home and change, and -” 

“I’ll text you my address.” He leaned forward, reaching out for you with one hand and settling it over yours. “And if you decide not to come, I’ll understand. Just … lt me know, alright? That way I’m not waiting for you for hours.” 

“Ok.” His touch was light, though his hand covered all of yours - the weight comforting. “And if you decide you don’t want me to -”

“If you stay over,” he started, leaning in further and saying your name. “I’ll make you breakfast when we wake up.” He cooks? How the fuck is he single? “And I don’t mean just cereal or eggs. I mean breakfast. Whatever you want.” 

Ok. Ok, so he wants this too. He … he was really inviting me over. “Then I guess I better get out of here, hmm?” 

“Go. I’ll flag down the woman to pay.” He squeezed your hand and then let it go, pulling his back to his side of the table .”Don’t overthink it. It’s just sleep.” I believe him. I don’t know why, but I believe him. 

You thanked him for the coffee before standing and grabbing for your bag, glancing over at him. “I’ll see you in a little while?” What the hell am I doing?

He pulled his wallet out, setting it down onto the tabletop before looking up at you. “I hope so.” 

—

Tag list reblog coming soon! 

[musings-of-a-rose]

The Detective and The Thief

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x The Thief x f! reader

Word Count: 4300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I don’t know. I saw the commercial and thought things. Thanks to @vanemando15 for help! I’m not beta’ing this so please excuse any typos.

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❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Tim Rockford Masterlist

The Thief Masterlist

5 years ago…

I’m bored. Surrounded by the finest things money can buy, but I feel alone. My parents always bought me everything I ever desired, and a lot I didn’t. I think it was their way of compensating for the lack of time the spent with me. 

That didn’t stop them from trying to marry me off as soon as possible. 

The second I started to bleed, they started planning, trying to “connect” our family with some other ones just as rich. They couldn’t do it legally until I became of age, but that didn’t stop them from trying to force a connection. 

But I hated all of them. Every. Single. One. 

My parents are at their wits end with me. The time I do see them is spent with them lecturing me about how I’m now 24 and unmarried, how I need to marry this heir or that one for the “good of the family”. 

But they’re all the same, boring and mind numbingly stupid. There’s no way I was going to waste my life being arm candy for some heir who couldn’t hold a basic conversation with me. 

If they weren’t boring, they were mean, saying women were meant to be seen and not heard. Well, I made sure they heard me. 

My parents were out at some weekend event, leaving me alone in this giant mansion. The staff had mostly gone home or retired to their quarters, aside from security, leaving the house feeling empty. I’m feeling bored, deciding to head to the library on the floor below to attempt to find a book I haven’t read already. I pull on my silk robe over my nightgown, sliding my feet into some soft slippers as I make my way out of my room. 

It’s about halfway down the stairs when I realize I’m not alone in the house. 

A shadow moves down the hall, pausing at the door to my parent’s art gallery. Straining, I just barely can make out the small clicks of the lock being picked before the door silently opens, the dark shadow moving inside. I should run, yell for security, but something compels me forward. 

Quietly, I make my way to the gallery, pausing at the door to listen for any signs of the intruder inside. Hearing none, and being impressed with this fact, I push open the door, slinking inside through the gap and closing the door behind me. I tiptoe over 2 isles, where a faint glow was emanating, and pause to see a man, dressed all in black, studying a painting, one I know for a fact is the real deal and not a copy like a lot of these.

“I’m impressed. No one has ever been able to creep up on me before.”

He straightens up and turns to face me, the minimal light casting shadows across his form. But the parts I can see causes my breath to catch in my throat. 

He’s beautiful. Big dark eyes stare through me, his head cocking to the side as he continues to study me and my continued silence.

“Ah. You are the mistress of the house, yes?”

“I-I am. Well, the non conforming daughter, anyway.” Why did I tell him that?

A smirk tugs on his face. “Non conforming, huh? What, did you tell your daddy you didn’t want a black pony but a brown one?”

“More like I don’t want to marry some man who is ignorant, mean, and frankly dull, just to connect our money to theirs.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “A rebel.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to waste my life playing bored arm candy to some heir who will only look at me when he wants to fuck me.”

He chuckles and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve heard. “That would be a terrible fate for such an interesting woman.”

I nod towards the painting he had been observing. “You’re right. That one’s real. The rest in this section are highly accurate fakes.”

The man glances back at the painting before looking at me. “I am going to take this, you know?”

I nod. “I figured that’s why you were studying it so intently. Don’t want to steal a fake. You should go down about another 2 doors. The stairs there will lead you to the jewel safe room.”

He smirks. “I have already been there.” He shifts and I see a bag, obviously full of items from our house. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turns, gently lifting the small painting from the wall and starts to prepare it to be moved, his deft fingers gliding over it so as not to disturb it. Once finished, he gathers up his gear and turns to me, giving me a nod.

“Goodnight, miss. Don’t ever conform.”

He walks past me, barely making a sound. He’s almost to the door before I find my voice.

“Take me.”

He pauses, hand hovering over the doorhandle, his head turning to speak to me over his shoulder. 

“What?”

“You say you’re the greatest thief. What better prize to steal than this billionaire’s daughter?”

He turns to me, smirking. “You would want to come with me? To live your life with a thief?”

I nod. “I cannot stand it here. I was already thinking of ways to get away from this life, and then you broke in, taking my entire attention. Or stealing my attention.”

He chuckles, closing the distance between us. He crooks his finger, gently tipping my chin up to look at him and I swallow hard. 

“I will not force you to do anything you do not want. Think about what you’re saying before choosing this life.”

“I don’t need to think. I’m yours.”

—----

Present Day…

The first few years with Mateo, commonly known as The Thief, were amazing. I traveled the world with him, using my knowledge of the world of the wealthy to help him gain access to places he normally wouldn’t. I never directly stole anything, something we were both adamant about, but I would help him unlock societal doors. 

The time he wasn’t spending on thieving or planning his next heist he spent between my legs, pulling sounds from me I never knew I could make. I was utterly in love with Mateo. As corny as it sounds, he had stolen my heart. 

Which makes trying to get away from him the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. 

I was growing tired. My parents had looked for me for about a year before giving up. But once I was spotted by someone who knew me, laughing it up at a party for Mateo to get access to their vaults, my parents resumed their chase. I’m not sure they were at all concerned for my safety, moreso for me to fullfill my familial duty and marry an heir. 

Mateo and I spent more time avoiding my parents reach, starting a rift between us. He was never violent with me, never screamed or yelled, but we definitely had arguments and I could tell he was tiring of the weight of my parents pulling him down. 

I suppose that’s what made him sloppy one night, accidentally leaving behind one of his tools next to a jewel safe. Luckily, he always wears gloves, but that didn’t stop him from being livid, and although he’d never admit it, terrified at being caught.

I can’t back out, can’t leave him. He won’t let me, saying I know too much about him and his process, having never revealed it to anyone. It didn’t matter how much I promised him I would say nothing, that I would make up a story to my parents about searching for an heir on my own without their influence. 

“I told you to think before you left with me that night.”

“I didn’t know it would be like this! You’ve changed, Mateo.”

Anger flashes in Mateo’s eyes. “I am a thief, querida. What did you think this life would be like?”

—----

Somehow, one day I managed to stray from my routine, saying I needed extra time to make the connection to open those societal doors. He had no reason to doubt me, but I still saw slight suspicion in his eyes, a look that had never been there before. 

I stand in front of an office building, several stories tall and set back away from the main streets. I glance back down at the paper I’ve been clutching in my hand to double check the address. Walking up to the intercom, I scan the list of names, pushing the button of the one I needed. The intercom buzzes and a voice comes over the speaker, static nearly cutting out some words.

“Rockford.”

“Uh, hi. I found your name in the paper?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no. I wasn’t able to-”

“You’ll have to make an appointment-”

“Please, sir. I..I don’t think I’ll be able to come back.”

There’s a pause before the door buzzes and I slide inside, heading up a few flights of stairs after seeing the elevator was out of order. I find the door labeled TIM ROCKFORD, PI and knock.

“Come in.”

I enter, taking in the small office space. There’s a small bathroom at the back but otherwise there’s just enough space for a desk, some filing cabinets, a couple chairs, and a couch, which I could tell was doubling as a bed. I couldn’t blame him. I may have money but even I knew rent was ridiculously high, especially in these bigger cities. 

“Tim Rockford.” I look up at the man and have to swallow back a lump in my throat. He looks so like Mateo that for a moment, I thought he was. I tell him my name and we shake hands, Tim motioning towards a chair. 

“Please. Have a seat.”

I sit, nerves lighting up my body. 

“What seems to be the issue, miss? Husband stepping out on you? Lost your favorite necklace to the maid?”

I can’t blame him for the snide tone. I look the part of a bored, rich housewife because that’s what I had been destined to become. I’d hate me too.

I take a deep sigh. “I’m in deep. 3 years ago, I ran off with a man who captured my heart. Everything was great until my parents started following us.”

He nods, taking a note. “And you want me to what, tell your rich parents to stop looking for probably their only child?”

Damn he’s good. “Not..not exactly-”

He sighs. “Listen, I don’t have time to placate you rich elitists while us lower people are having real problems. If you want your parents to stop bothering you, you’ll have to tell them your-”

“I know who The Thief is.”

Silence.

“You what?” His eyes bore into me, trying to detect a lie.

“That’s who I ran off with. The Thief.”

“The Thief. You mean The Thief? The one that’s been plaguing all the major houses across, well across the globe?”

I nod. “Yes. Him.”

“Tell me everything.”

So I do. I tell him how we met, how I’ve been helping him get in social circles, everything except where he is and what his name is. Rockford’s eyes grow wider the more I tell him, scribbling notes furiously. 

“And you just do this for him? Voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

His eyes meet mine and he cocks his head to the side. “Why?”

I let out a breath, puffing out over my lips, a sadness in my eyes. “Because I love him.” 

He studies me a few moments longer. “Does he love you back?”

“I…he did at one time. Now? I’m not so sure. It’s hard to reach him.”

“Does he leave you often?”

I nod. “We’re usually together, but often he will leave me.”

“Do you think he’s cheating on you?”

“I don’t…I don’t think so. Not really. But that’s not why I’m here.”

He nods, making more notes. “You’re here because, what? You want out but don’t want to face jail time?”

“I’ve never stolen anything.”

“You were an accomplice.”

“All I did was forge connections. Mateo figured out the rest.”

“He’s an intelligent man.”

I smile. “He’s the smartest man I’ve ever met. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him.”

“So what do you want then, miss?”

I watch Tim’s face for several moments, the way he chews on the inside of his cheek, his shoulders shifting slightly, tugging at the seams of his shirt. 

“I want him to realize who he is and to accept it. His fate.”

Tim nods. “Even if that means putting him behind bars?”

“Whatever it takes to help him realize who he is.”

Tim nods, taking a few more notes. “Ok, well first thing - is there another heist planned?”

I nod. “Tonight at the Wellmen estate. He’s got it all planned already.”

“Do you know what his plans are?”

“Some. He doesn’t always tell me everything. I know he’s going to try and steal the blue diamond necklace that Mr. Wellmen has locked in his 4 layer safe room.”

“How does he plan on getting in?”

“Well, I’ve made the connections with the Wellmen’s so it won’t be odd for me to make plans to have dinner with the family to remove them from the home. After that, I believe he plans on sneaking in through some security holes and doing his magic once inside.”

“So basically, I’m on my own to figure that out once the family is gone.”

I nod. “You’re going in after him?”

“That’s the plan.” He stands, reaching behind him to grab a shoulder holster and starts to loop his arms through it. 

“What will you do if you find him?”

“As you said, miss. Help him realize who he is.”

—----

Tim shows up at the Wellmen estate, parking his car several blocks down and walking the rest of the way. He stays hidden, keeping an eye on the time. He sees the front gates open, a fancy car driving out, gates closing behind it. Another glance at his watch tells him that’s the Wellmen’s on their way to meet you for dinner at the restaurant. 

Tim had pulled the city plans for the estate from his contact in City Hall, finding the hole that The Thief had no doubt found as well. He made his way to the crack in the perimeter, sneaking inside. There were a few guards, but nothing he couldn’t slip past. Once he was inside, he paused, taking in the room and thankful that he’d memorized the blueprints. 

Suddenly, he sees a dark shape move at the end of the hall, going the same direction as the safe room. Tim crouches, following with enough distance so as not to disturb The Thief, but close enough to see him steal the jewel. They continue this cat and mouse game down the hall and down another flight of stairs before the room arrives. Tim has to admit, he’s impressed by The Thief, managing to keep to the shadows this entire time - no easy feat.

Several minutes pass since he’d seen the shadow slip inside the room, but nothing came out. He knew there was only one way in and out of the room. Maybe The Thief had run into some trouble? This would make his job of catching him even easier. 

Tim quietly made his way to the safe room door, checking his gun was ready and loaded before gently pushing open the door a crack. Hearing nothing, he pushes open the door, pointing his gun around the room as he scans it for The Thief. 

To his surprise, the room is empty. No people, and, glancing in the glass case in front of him, no jewel. But how? He had seen The Thief enter the room and not exit, no other way in or out. No secret doors would have been possible with this layout. So where was The Thief? Where was the jewel?

The door opened behind him and Tim spun around, aiming his gun at the doorway. His eyes grow wide and he lowers his weapon as he sees you standing there, hands up. 

“Miss? What are you doing here?”

A sad smile is tugging at her lips. “I’m here to support you.”

Tim shakes his head. “You can’t be here. The Thief, he’s here and I don’t know where. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

She takes a step closer to Tim. “I know where he is.”

Tim is nervous now. Had they been playing him all along? Good thing he left notice with his contact should anything happen to him. 

“Where is he then?”

Another step closer. “He’s here.”

Tim glances around quickly before looking back at her. “The only ones here are us. Unless there’s a secret door?” His eyebrows raise in question at her. 

She shakes her head sadly. “No. No secret door.”

“Secret room? Is he waiting for me to leave?”

She’s only a step or 2 away from Tim now. “No. He’s here.”

Tim shakes his head. “But… I don’t-”

She reaches her hand out, gently cupping his cheek. “Mateo, it’s me. You’re here.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Mateo? Who’s Mateo? I-I don’t…” His head starts to hurt a little, like something tugging at the corner of his mind. 

She smiles sadly again, her thumb gently stroking his cheek. “You. You are Mateo, the greatest thief in the world.” 

Tim grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. “What are you on about?”

“It’s you. You are The Thief.”

His head hurts more, a throbbing starting to build behind his eyes. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Did you see anyone come in here?”

“I did! I saw…I saw…” Playing back the memory, Tim realized he’d only seen a shadowy figure, nothing ever clear or concrete. He’d assumed, based on her time schedule and the shadow’s movements, that it was The Thief. 

“I don’t…I’m not…”

“Check your coat pocket.”

Tim looked at her, trying to hide the fear in his eyes as he starts to pad himself down. His fingers bump against a round lump and his eyes grow wide as he fishes out the blue diamond necklace. He holds it up and studies it, his head now pounding and his vision throbbing. 

“I don’t understand…I…what…what is happening?”

She steps forward, gently taking his hand and placing the other on his cheek, turning his head to look at her. 

“You had an accident, baby. When you took the crown from the Goldman’s?”

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t…I…an accident?”

She nods. “Yes, baby. You…you came back a different person. A detective named Tim Rockford, saying it was inevitable, that The Thief would be caught. That he’d finally left behind a clue and it would all come crashing down.”

Tim looks down at the necklace in his hand before looking into her eyes. “I left behind a tool. My favorite lockpick.”

She nods, smiling warmly now. “Yes! Yes, that’s it, baby!”

The more he stares into her eyes, the more he remembers, but it’s hard to think with the pounding in his head, his vision starting to black out. 

“I…I am Mateo?”

“You are. You’re the greatest Thief the world has ever known.”

“And you…you love me?”

Tears fall from her eyes now and he reaches out to wipe them away. She leans into his touch, nodding. “I love you more than anything, Mateo.”

Her eyes are the last thing he remembers before he blacks out.

—----

After I pulled him from the Wellmen estate, I brought him back to our place, watching over him as he slept, worried that the realization that he’d broken would cause him to never wake, that I’d really, truly, lose him forever. 

He was out for 3 days. On the third day, I heard him muttering in his sleep, his fingers twitching before his eyes blinked open, scanning the room. I rush to him, tossing aside the plate of food I’d been nibbling on. 

“Mateo?” I sit next to him on the bed, placing my hand over his and squeezing gently.

He blinks, turning his head slowly and looking at me, a dawning realization washing over him. 

“You are here?”

I feel tears on my cheeks and I furiously wipe at them. “I am. I would never leave you, Mateo.”

His hand reaches out for me and I lean closer, feeling his hand slide around the back of my head, pulling me close to him. His lips meet mine and the damn in me breaks, all of the tears I’ve held back over the last years bubbling to the surface. He pulls back and looks up at me, concern on his face.

“Querida, no crying. I am here. I think. My head still hurts a little.”

I nod, swallowing back more tears.

“What happened, querida?”

I explain that when he’d left behind his lockpick, he’d had a mental break in reality, so convinced he’d be caught that he made up an entirely different personality, a detective named Tim Rockford. He made up an entirely separate life, even going so far as to secure an office space, where he’d sleep on the couch. I had no clue how to help him, so for a while, I’d just follow him, making sure he was ok. Mateo didn’t know how to handle the fear of being caught, which made him more hostile and distrusting towards me. I knew I could’t bring in anyone official, as he’d have gotten arrested immediately and wouldn’t receive any sort of care. I couldn’t let that happen to the man who rescued me from mediocrity, the man who’s greatest achievement was stealing my heart. 

So I came up with a plan to help Rockford catch the world famous Thief. He’d want the glory of catching the uncatchable, and hopefully I could have him face Mateo, realizing that they were the same person. I’d hoped that this would meld him mind back together. 

I had no clue what I was doing, and I knew there was a strong chance I’d fuck him up for life, but I had read some books and I was desperate, having no other choice.

So I set up a heist with the Wellmen’s. It wasn’t difficult to work my way into their circle, as I apparently reminded them so much of their estranged daughter. It was easy to lure them away with the prospect of dinner at a fancy, hard to get into restaurant across town. 

And then I went to Rockford, telling him everything but The Thief’s name, figuring that hearing his true name too early would’ve messed it up, made him not believe me. So I sent Rockford the blueprints of the house and the timeline, hoping he’d go for it. Which he did, even seeing a “shadow” of The Thief moving about the house, his mind completely convinced he was about to catch the greatest Thief of all time. 

When he felt that stone in his pocket, the 2 minds melded back together and his brain needed time to process what was happening. I took him back to our temporary hideout and cared for him while he was out, terrified that he’d never wake up.

When I finished telling him what happened, he sat up, taking my hands in his and kissing the back of them.

“Marry me, querida.”

“I- what?”

“I should’ve asked you that night in your art gallery. I knew I was in trouble when I saw your eyes and instantly fell for you. Once you started talking and I saw you weren’t just another spoiled rich girl, I was done for. I was relieved when you begged to come with me because I was seconds away from begging you myself. And now? After putting you through hell for years, you come up with this plan to not only avoid putting me behind bars, but to save me from myself? I cannot see my life without you, querida.”

“Are you truly back with me?”

He nods, eyes wide like a puppy. “I am here.”

“Oh, Mateo. I’ve been yours since that night too. I never want to leave you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh- yes!”

“Do me a favor and open that drawer and bring me the striped socks.”

“I- ok?” I cross to the dresser, pulling out the balled up socks he’d requested and handed it to him. He opened them up, pulling out a simple ring that I had made comment about loving only a couple months after I had left with him.

“I kept this in case you ever felt the same about me as I did for you.” He holds it up and takes my hand, sliding it on my ring finger. 

I straddle him, kissing him deeply as he holds me to him, finally being able to tell him how I’ve felt after all these years and finding he feels the same for me. 

We marry at the courthouse the next day, just missing the police by a few hours, smiling at each other as we made our way to the next heist.

—----

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[ozarkthedog]

Happy birthday Ozzie, and congratulations on your follower milestone!!! You beautiful bean, I'm so glad this hellsite put us in each others' paths.

📝 For location-based smut prompt, Tim Rockford and dealer's choice of

public -8 inside one muses’s office. OR public 9 - inside a third party’s office they shouldn’t have access to. 

Just need this man to get freaky with me in an office setting is what I'm saying because look at him:

😭 i’m thankful everyday that we’ve gotten so close! here’s my token of gratitude. 😘💙

18+ mdni. Tim Rockford x f!reader. oral sex (fem receiving). public but private setting — office. special guest.

This is so wrong. 

It was bad enough that Tim was your superior and that you'd been sneaking around for the last month, fucking each other whenever he had a few moments of free time, but using a random co-worker's office? That was flat out stupid. 

Tim drops to his knees in the small room, making quick work of your skirt and hooking one of your legs over his leather holster encased shoulder.

He breathes in deep as he presses the lower half of his jaw against your panty clad mound. "Been thinkin' about this sweet pussy all day." He holds your weary gaze as he slots the thin material to the side and latches his lips around your clit.

Your fingers card through his hair, tugging just so to make him groan into your slick heat. His tongue dances along your slit, dipping between your folds, earning him soft hisses and mewls from your gasping lips.

This is sure to blow up in your faces, but as Tim slides two thick fingers into your dripping core and rubs expertly against your slick walls, you couldn't care less.

"Shit- you're fuckin' soaked." Tim groans as your velvet walls mold to the shape of his girthy digits.

Your spine bows against the corkboard nailed to the wall; it's pinned with a precise diary of information: crime scene photos, newspaper clippings, and various stake-out notes. The small plastic tac heads dig into your skin as Tim sucks your clit into his mouth and vibrates the little button with a deep groan.

Your chest heaves under your blouse as the pleasure steadily mounts. Your hips move on their own, grinding against Tim's stubble and tongue. Brute hands circle your hips, keeping you safe and balanced as your peak draws closer.

He leans back on his heels and stares up at you. His cheeks are flushed a desert pink, and his lips glisten under the dim light as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on my tongue. Wanna taste you." Tim husks before diving back into your cunt with a feral energy you'd only come to know since being with him.

Your eyes flutter closed as the pleasure envelopes you, drowning all your senses. Had your eyes been open, you would've seen the shadowy figure slink through the door just as you were starting to come.

A heavy wave of arousal coats Tim's tongue as he pushes it further into your drenched hole. He grunts at your taste, greedily drinking you down and licking every creamy drop from your swollen cunt as you bite back the wanton moans that threaten to slip from your lips. 

Tremors rake your body as you catch your breath and come back into your body. The foreign, bitter smell of smoke perks your senses. Your heart slams into your throat as a red ember glows from a dark corner of the room. 

"You put on quite a show, Gatita." A deep voice praises from the black abyss. 

Tim moves lightning fast, spinning on the spot and shielding your body from the unknown figure.

Javier Pena steps into the light. Your co-worker and whose office you now had the pleasure of corrupting. 

He stalks toward his desk with a glint in his eye, pinning you and Tim to the floor as he retrieves a folder that's left on top of a mess of papers.

The men exchange silent words while Javier takes a long drag from his cigarette. Tim relaxes, his broad shoulders slightly sagging once he realizes the threat is neutralized. Javier smirked at your wide eyes while he exhaled a lungful of smoke toward the ceiling.

"You should lock the door next time," Javier suggests as he moves to leave. He hesitates, hand perched on the shiny, brass knob before looking over his shoulder. "Unless you're looking for a third person to join." 

Ozzie’s 11k birthday sleepover

[604to647]

Dance for Me

8.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You and your friends go to a strip club for a fun girls’ night where, unbeknownst to you, Detective Rockford is undercover.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please).  Strip club, pole dancing as fitness, soft but also slightly possessive!Tim, slightly possessive!Reader, established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), private room shenanigans (Fingering. It's fingering).

A/N: Written for @yopossum’s mootboardsandminifics celebration!  Congrats again on your milestone and thank you for the gorgeous moodboard!  As well, credit must be paid to @inept-the-magnificent for putting Undercover!Tim in our collective minds with this pic – for our story, let’s imagine he looks exactly like this, except he wears his leather jacket over his usual white dress shirt, unbuttoned very low to reveal his black knit undershirt (Halp 🫠🫠).  As always with our The Rockford Portfolio couple, the story can be read alone, but this instalment has a few nods to other stories from the collection (nothing important!); it's also a little longer than usual and has a silly police case subplot - I hope you all still enjoy!

And yes, for those who have read Strawberry Shortcake, this is indeed the same The Midnight Palace 🤭 (you don’t have to read it, it’s just a fun little Easter egg).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim opens the door to your apartment to the welcomed smell of something savoury and aromatic simmering on the stove.

“I’m home, Shutterbug,” he calls as he toes off his shoes.

“Perfect timing, Detective!  I’m just plating dinner – how was your day?” he hears you busy in the kitchen.

“Not too bad, baby.  Dinner smells gr-” Tim’s voice cuts off when he drops his keys in the key bowl on the foyer table but doesn’t hear the familiar clinking of his keys with yours; he looks down to see the reason: a flyer that’s been thrown into the bowl on top of your keys. 

The Midnight Palace.  What would you be doing with a flyer for a local strip club?  For this particular strip club?

He’s still turning it over and looking at the images of silhouetted body parts bathed in neon pink lighting as he hangs his suit jacket on the back of his dining room chair, sitting just as you come out with two steaming plates of food.

Setting down his dinner, you lean over to plant a sweet, welcome home kiss to Tim’s lips, letting him know with your tender, but lingering brushes against his irresistible pout that you’ve missed him all day.

“Thank you, Shutterbug, dinner looks amazing.”  You beam at Tim’s compliment as you sit.

“How come you have a flyer for The Midnight Palace?” he holds up the flyer he found.

You giggle, “Oh! Do you remember when Mimi had her bachelorette party at that pole dancing class?”

Did he remember? Yeah.  Tim remembers that you came home and sat him on the edge of the bed so you could show him the off-pole moves you had learned in class.  He remembers the way you had arched your chest forward while perched on the chair you placed in front of him and extended your limbs seductively while slowly opening your legs - only to snap them shut at the last second and swivel away from Tim’s lustful gaze, but not before he spied the darkening spot on the front of your panties.  Tim remembers how his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets following the hypnotic sway of your hips as you moved to straddled the chair with your back to him so that you could strip down to your lingerie while throwing him the occasional smirk over your shoulder.  He also remembers how he had taken you on all fours right there on the floor after you teasingly crawled towards him with your tits falling out of your bra and your juicy ass pointed up in the air, wiggling for his attention.

“I remember,” he grins through a mouth full of vegetables.

“Well, Meems has been attending the class semi-regularly ever since – she really likes the workout, says its good for the core,” you gesture cheekily to your own stomach that’s currently rumbling with hunger, “and her instructor works at The Midnight Palace.  Anyways, once a month they have an Amateur Night and the owner lets Sasha invite her students as a way to give them some fun practice in a different setting and to help them build up their confidence.”

Tim nods slower, still chewing as you carry on, “Anyways, Meems is going to do Amateur Night this Saturday and she needs a hype squad, so a bunch of us are going to make a girls night out of it.”

“That sounds nice,” Tim says carefully, he can tell you’re not done and he’s still listening, but the detective part of his brain that never really shuts off is starting to boot up from sleep mode.

“… and she also asked if those of us who were at her bachelorette party might also want to dance… for moral support,” you chew your lower lip, eyeing Tim’s reaction.

“Is that something you want to do, Shutterbug?”

“I don’t know?  It might be fun cause we’re all such good friends and I remember the class being really cool.  And there’s no obligation to strip or anything; Mimi says she’s just going to wear like a bra and some exercise shorts – it’s really about the pole dancing.  I thought I might go to a class or two with her this week to see if I recall any of the moves,” you hesitate, “Would you be okay with that?”

You don’t know what you really mean by asking Tim this question.  First of all, you aren’t asking for his permission and you know Tim would never presume so, likely he would probably be confused (and possibly even upset on your behalf) if you were.  Second, you know for a fact that Tim is the last person to be judgemental about any kind of sex work – you’ve seen firsthand how respectful and protective he is over some of his female informants.  You suppose you just don’t want to make him uncomfortable, even if you can’t articulate why he might feel that way – some type of possessiveness, maybe.

Tim tries to give you a comforting smile; as much as he loves to claim ownership over you when the two of you are in bed, he doesn’t have any desire to exert actual control over you or what you do.  He finds any poor excuse of a man who mistakenly thinks he’s entitled to a say over what women do with their time and bodies to be pathetic as fuck - he’s run into guys like that throughout his entire career and thrown more than his fair share behind bars.  You’re your own woman, one who Tim admires exceedingly, and the last thing he would ever want is for you to hold yourself back on his account, “Baby, you don’t need to worry about me.  If you want to get up on that stage and dance, I’m sure you’ll blow them all away.  And I know you always save the good stuff for me, anyways.”  He winks at you.

You giggle and lean over the table to kiss Tim’s cheek; he’s always so supportive - how did you get so lucky?

“But,” and Tim looks serious, “can I tell you something in confidence, Shutterbug?”

You nod.

“The Midnight Palace has a clean reputation, but… the club showed up in Mr. Pie’s accounting books and we don’t know why or what the connection is.  There could be something fishy going on there.”

Tim reaches into his jacket inside pocket and pulls out his detective’s notebook, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for and turns the notebook towards you, pointing at something on the open page, “The club name has been entered into the Pie ledgers a handful of times over the last year, always at irregular intervals.  There’s no notation in the books other than this symbol written next to it.”

You look at it: it’s a simple line drawing of a tube with some short diagonal lines drawn across the column.

“We don’t know what it means, but this symbol looks like a joint and it might denote some type of drug activity.  It could be a pick up, a drop off, a contact, a payoff location, a stash house, or who know what else.  Promise me you and your friends will be extra careful, okay?”

You melt at the look of worry on Tim’s face and nod, so touched by his concern, “I’ll be careful, baby.” When his hard lined face softens a little, you cup Tim’s face in your hands, softly scratching his facial scruff so he knows you appreciate how he’s always looking out for you; he leans into your touch, closing his eyes at this affectionate gesture.

“But, can I say something?”

Tim opens his eyes to let you know he’s listening.

“That doesn’t look like a joint.  It looks like a spring roll.”

Tim laughs, “Why would it be a spring roll?”

“I dunno?  Pie?  Spring roll?  Maybe it’s just a food thing,” you giggle.

“Alright, alright.  I’ll look into it,” Tim teases, “A lot of money in spring rolls, I hear.” 

“Woooooooooooo!!!!”

“Look at you, sexy lady!!!”

“Shake what your mama gave you!!!”

You grin to yourself when you hear your friends’ loud cheers, wolf whistles and hype-up cat calls as you get into position on stage, waiting for your music (“Dance Tonight” by Lucy Pearl) to start.  This past week you had attended Sasha’s pole dancing fitness class on your lunch breaks with Mimi and a few of your other girlfriends and not only found it to be the workout that Mimi claimed, but also just so, so much fun.

The positive, supportive female energy in the class had been uplifting and terribly contagious; by the end of the week, you found yourself not only excited to cheer on your friends and the rest of Sasha’s class at Amateur Night, but giddy with anticipation to get on the stage yourself.  The night held the promise of rowdy, empowering, unabashed fun.

You weren’t disappointed.  Not only was your group of friends in high spirits, all vibrating with enthusiasm and elation, but you were delighted to find that same caring and inclusive female comradery being extended by the women who worked with Sasha at The Midnight Palace.  The entire class was invited to come backstage into the dancers’ area to get ready, get hyped, and get into the mindset – the room buzzed with excited, feminine chatter.  All the house dancers, happy to have a more low-key night, were so encouraging: giving tips, sharing their body glitter and just being overall supportive and kind.  You were sitting in front of Sasha’s dressing table mirror, letting her apply some strawberry scented glitter gel to your cleavage (“It’s a crowd favourite,” she insisted, “trust me.”) when something sitting outside the door of the owner’s office catches your eye.

“What’s that?” you point to the arrangement of three white drawstring sacks, each the size of a garbage bag and looking so full that the contents would be threatening to burst out if not for the tops being drawn taut and tied into double knotted bows. 

“Oh!” Sasha looks over, “Shoot - they’re still there.  I was hoping that creep had come and gone already.”

Creep?  You look at her worried; Sasha catches your expression and smiles reassuringly, “Oh, don’t worry, hunny!  Chet isn’t a patron – you won’t see him out there when you’re on stage.  He’s just some loser that works for a guy that the owner’s brother got in some hot water with, so every so often the owner gets these bags ready and then Chet comes and picks them up.  I wish they would find somewhere else to do the pick up instead of our changing area though, cause that Chet is SUCH a creep.  Always leering at us and saying gross stuff; like, this guy does not understand boundaries AT ALL.  Poor Tiffany.  Her vanity is the closest to the office so he tries to chat her up the most.  Hangs around while she’s trying to get ready and asks her all kinds of inappropriate questions.”

Sasha makes a face and then looks sympathetically at her fellow dancer who does seem to be giving the offending bags a look of disgust. 

“What’s in the bags?” you ask.

“Oh, it’s all our tips!  Like the actual bills that patrons give us.  It’s not a regular thing, but we always know there’s going to be a pick-up in about a week when the owner asks us to start saving our tips.  We give her all the small bills for that week and then after Chet comes, she reimburses us in Benjamins.”  Sasha makes a silly “make it rain” motion with her hands and you laugh along with her.

“That’s a lot of small bills,” you marvel.

“Oh yeah!  Well, all the girls do it, even the cocktail waitresses – and it’s our tips for a whole week so it adds up to be a lot.  Our patrons here are VERY generous – you’ll see, babe!”

You smile gratefully at Sasha and confess that you hope you can do her and the class proud; like a clucking mother hen, she sweetly tells you she has complete confidence in you.  When she catches you looking at the bags again, she interprets your interest as unease, “Don’t worry about Chet, hun.  I didn’t mean to make you anxious – if he hasn’t come by now, he won’t until after midnight.  He avoids the crowds.”

You nod and try to give her a look that expresses relief, but internally, your heart is beating wildly.  In general, you don’t consider yourself to be a very nosey person, but you truly could not help yourself from inquiring when you saw the bags because each of the thick canvas sacks has a simple blackline drawing of a spring roll printed on the outside.  It looks exactly like the picture Tim had shown you from his notebook earlier in the week - this must be the club connection to Mr. Pie that Tim and his fellow detectives were looking for.

Even as you and your friends finish getting ready and go out to your reserved table to down some liquid courage, your mind keeps returning to Tim.  Should you call him?  Should you tell him what you learned?  Sasha said that Chet would be coming after midnight and by both her and Tim’s accounts, the pickups didn’t seem to follow any regular schedule - who knows when the next iteration would be?  You think you should call Tim – this could be important to the case and you can’t let your detective miss his chance for a solve.  You’ll call him right after your dance, you decide with some satisfaction.  Your distracted thoughts of Tim and his case keep your nerves at bay right up to when it’s your turn on stage; not for the first time, you’re grateful for the calming presence of your boyfriend even when he’s not with you.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

You’re still thinking of him when the opening notes of your song ring out and you start to swivel your body seductively to the beat.  Moving with a dancer-like grace towards the pole, you reach out to grab it suggestively the way Sasha taught you before taking off for your first, simple twirl around.  The loud cheers of your friends, the rest of Sasha’s class and the house dancers echo throughout the room and you beam, invigorated.  Hitting each low base beat with your hips, you run your hands up to your hair, mussing it playfully as you walk backwards towards the pole.  When your back hits the cool metal, you trail your hands slowly down your face, neck, then teasingly over your breasts until they get to the sash of your dress – all to the hoots and hollers of the crowd.

🎶Ask if she wants to go, Tonight's gonna be hot for sure, Be dancin' on the floor, Folks trippin' I don't know🎶

Rather than wear a skimpy outfit, you had opted for a simple wrap dress that accentuates your curves – the plan was to undo the front of the dress and let it fall apart to reveal your lingerie, then continue your dance with the dress open.  That didn’t feel too revealing or scandalous, and visually, you thought it would look nice with the fabric of the dress flowing behind you as you swung around the pole.  Sascha had emphasized in class that a lot of pole dancing was about performance. 

As the knot holding your dress together unfurls and your dress starts to fall away from your body, you stalk towards the front of the stage with a bounce in your step timed to the music so that the slinky garment unravels the rest of the way on its own to reveal your matching bright pink lace lingerie underneath.  The screams from the women in the crowd practically shake the walls:

“So fucking hot!!!”

“OOOOOhhhhh baby!!!”

“Show us that assssssssss, yasssssssssss!!!”

God, you love women.  The front portion of the room tonight is nearly all women, full of amateurs like those from Sasha’s class and their cheering friends – every single female voice is in hype mode, loud and proud: cheering on each woman who takes the stage for celebrating her own special brand of femininity, rooting for her to embrace the physicality and power of her body and sexuality, no matter her shape, size, age.  Even you’re surprised by just how comfortable and confident you feel on stage, not at all exposed or vulnerable even though you’re only wearing underwear – that’s the power of women supporting women.  There are some male patrons in the club tonight, but they’re mainly in the back of the room and are wildly outnumbered; the lights shining on the stage are so bright, you can hardly make them out.

🎶Money flyin' everywhere, Champagne, we won't go there, Bottles poppin' in the air, They'll be screamin, "I don't care"🎶

And then, as if your earlier thoughts had conjured him, you see Tim while you’re on the pole doing Sasha’s signature hook spin move that took her two whole days to teach you.  You have to do a double take on your second rotation because you barely recognize him.  For one, his normally soft curls have been pushed back and styled with product you’re sure you’ve never seen on the bathroom counter; for another, the leather jacket that currently hugs his broad shoulders and hangs open on his wide frame is like unlike anything he has hanging in your shared closet.  His white dress shirt you do recognize: one of the many that he wears for work where the crisp cotton wraps tight around his thick tree trunk arms and the buttons down the front valiantly strain trying to contain his hard chest.  Only tonight, those same buttons have been given a reprieve because Tim’s left over half of them undone so that the open neckline reveals a black knit undershirt that you’re also seeing for the first time. 

He looks hot. 

Not that he doesn’t always – Tim is one of the most gorgeous men you’ve ever met, and his clean, simple, utilitarian style (plus that gun holster, sigh) has always had an almost primeval hold over you.  But something about this near opposite outfit and his combed back hair, like you’re watching a sexy Bizarro Tim manspread on the nearly too small lounge chair as he sets his dark gaze upon you, is causing your breath to quicken and your pussy to clench around nothing.

What’s he doing here?  Tim certainly didn’t tell you he was coming to The Midnight Palace tonight.  And why is he dressed like that?

You decide it’s no matter as you smirk and shimmy to the upbeat tempo of the music, shrugging your dress off your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground - leaving you on stage in just your bra and panties.  It wasn’t the original plan, but Tim showing up wasn’t in the plan either - now that he’s here, you’re going to give him something to look at.

🎶Look what the cat hauled in, Me and a couple friends, No need to settle down, My body don't know how🎶

---

“Rockford, isn’t that-”

“Close your eyes, Calloway,” growls Tim.  He knows without a doubt that the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument.  Tim realizes he hadn’t thought through this plan.

He wasn’t able to ignore the nagging voice in his head when you told him that you were going to dance at The Midnight Palace; it wasn’t that he was bothered by you going to a strip club or even that you would be dancing on the amateur stage.  If he was completely honest with himself, he did feel a tug of something akin to possessiveness at the idea of other people seeing what he considered his – but his more practical, clear-headed self didn’t have any feelings other than pride in you for having the confidence and skill to get up on that stage.  Tim already knew, intimately, that you have impressive assets, and if you wanted to show them off, he fully supported you.  No - it was the Pie case that ate at him.  That The Midnight Palace was somehow connected to Mr. Pie and Tim didn’t know how was driving him crazy; it made him nervous that you and your friends were going somewhere where some unidentified danger might be lurking.

So, he convinced his long suffering, frequent partner Detective Arnold Calloway to go undercover with him at the club tonight, with a plan to stake it out for any clues or activity that might shed some light on The Midnight Palace’s bearing on their case.

Tim got to the club after you and spends most of his time alternating between scanning the crowd, observing the dark corners of the club for suspicious activity and watching you and your friends at your table next to the stage.  He can’t help but smile when he sees how much fun you’re having – you’re throwing back drinks and throwing down bills onto the stage with aplomb; Tim can hear your bright voice cheering on all the dancers from where he sits.  The way your eyes light up and you gasp in pure delight when a dancer does an impressive pole trick is adorable; your genuine admiration for the women that surround you and the joy you derive just from being with your friends warms his heart.  Even in a strip club, his Shutterbug is so sweet.

He had completely forgotten that you were going to dance until he sees you walk onto the stage and that’s when it hits the brilliant Detective Tim Rockford for the first time that he’s about to sit in a room with his partner and a bunch of strangers, some of whom don’t have the same supportive motives as the women next to the stage, while his girlfriend pole dances in some state of undress.  He really hadn’t thought this through.

Tim glances over and once he’s ascertained that Calloway’s eyes are indeed closed, he goes back to watching you on stage - admiring the elegance with which you move your body to the music and the fluid way you maneuver around the pole.  His breath hitches when your dress falls open to reveal the sexiest lingerie set he’s ever seen – bright fuchsia lace that hugs your curves just right, lifting and accentuating all your softness while simultaneously giving him and everyone in the room hope that you might spill over and grant them all a peek of the heaven that’s underneath.

He might drool a little.

🎶Right there I see you lookin', Sure hope that you're not took and, Don't get lost in the crowd, This place is so damn wild🎶

Tim knows that you see him.  He can actually pinpoint the moment you do because the way your hips pop to the bass beat of the RnB music gets a little bouncier.  The shake of your tits in your lace bra a little jigglier.  He sees the curve of your pretty lips crook into a little smirk - you’re giving him a show. 

🎶Go ahead and floss your ice, Go ahead do what you like, I'm feelin' just as fly, Do your thing it's on tonight🎶

As you dance, alternating using the chair as a prop and doing the periodic spin around the pole, Tim feels hypnotized.  What you’re revealing isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, nor is it particularly indecent, but something about this environment with its roars of approval and sexual innuendo, air of lust, and the eyes of others that want to see more of you – is making Tim feral.  He keeps his eyes trained on you, as if he could ever look anywhere else, as you kneel on the stage and lower yourself to the floor, crawling towards the applause and screams of your friends. 

He’s definitely drooling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a group of smarmy looking guys sitting in front of him who are all tracking you with their whole bodies – pointing at you and yelling to each other about how you were “a good one.”  Their admiring and sometimes raunchy comments about you cause Tim’s nerves to stand on end; when he overhears how you're starring in their wistful fantasies he grips the armrests of his chair so hard he thinks he might rip through the faux leather.

“You think she’ll offer to do lap dances?” the double polo wearing douchebag closest to Tim yells to his equally douchey friends.

Tim is a millisecond from pushing back his chair and dragging this dumb frat boy out of the club by the scruff of his neck when Calloway, eyes still squeezed tight warns, “We’re here to do a job, Rockford.”

Tim’s nostrils flare as he breathes tightly to try and calm down, redirecting his focus to the rhythmic sway of your body on stage as you gear up to do one last spin of the pole - revolving two, three, four times, then sliding to the floor with your knees spread and back arched to point your perfect heaving breasts to the ceiling when the song ends.

🎶I wanna dance tonight, I wanna toast tonight, I'll spend my money tonight, I wanna get freaky tonight🎶

---

With giggling bashfulness, you collect the bills that were thrown onstage during your performance and exit behind the curtain, ready to rejoin your friends and thinking you’ll pretend that you haven’t seen Tim yet just to tease him a little more (though brilliant detective that he is, you’re sure he already knows that you know he’s here).  Exiting through the side door while the stage is being prepared for the next dancer, you emerge still in your underwear (for Tim’s sake, not bothering to put on your dress), when you see Tim surrounded by a gaggle of women offering up lap dances.

It probably wouldn’t have bothered you too much except you see one of the girls put her hand on Tim’s arm and give his muscles a groping feel that he doesn’t look too keen on.  When he politely shakes it off, you see another girl get right up in his face, leaning in close by putting her hands on Tim’s upper thighs.

That’s a bit bold, you think - those hands are placed a bit higher on your boyfriend’s legs than you would prefer.  Judging by the expression on Tim’s face, his preference would be if they weren't on his body at all.  Bearing no ill will or malice towards your fellow amateur dancers, you could pretend what you do next is purely altruistic, but you can’t ignore the slow stir of possessiveness you feel simmering in your stomach.  Gesturing to your friends that you’re heading over in Tim’s direction so they don’t think you got lost, you catch Mimi and your other girlfriends’ looks of amusement when they follow the line of your pointing finger and spot Tim who currently has more than a few pairs of breasts being shaken in his face.

You come up from behind Tim’s chair, purposefully ignoring the girls that are gyrating right in front of him, and place your fingertips on his broad shoulders, pressing down possessively on the supple leather.  Tim stiffens at the initial contact, but softens almost immediately as you start to trail your hands down the front of his leather jacket, recognizing your touch by the way your fingers claw over his hard chest.

As your hands travel lower, claiming ownership over Tim’s chest and the heart contained within, Tim closes his eyes and breathes in your sweet, familiar perfume when he feels your face next to his.  He expects a chaste kiss to the cheek but instead, you dip your head so your nose nudges down past his jaw, breath fanning over where his dress shirt meets his neck.  Hands climbing into the space where the shirt opens, your fingers spread over the black knit tank underneath before you pull him back flush against his chair - the unexpected movement causes Tim to exhale with an “Oomf!”  Keeping him pinned, you lower your puckered lips to the collar of Tim’s white shirt, pressing down firmly so that you leave behind a perfect bright pink lipstick imprint of your pout – marking your man as yours.

Tim doesn’t even notice when the girls that were trying to get his attention scatter, in search of other, more willing laps – never having paid them much mind in the first place; but he does smiles smugly when he sees several of the men from the group in front throwing looks of jealousy his way at the attention you’re giving him.

“Fancy seeing you here, Detective,” you coo so only he can hear, your lips ghosting over the sensitive spot behind Tim’s earlobe.

“Just a coincidence, Shutterbug.  Remember I told you that we had some concerns about this place? Calloway and I thought it was a good night for some undercover work, isn’t that right?”

“Please leave me out of this,” begs Calloway, desperately trying to avert his eyes from his partner’s girlfriend’s half naked body.

You giggle, “Hi Arnie!”  Calloway gives you a wave in response without making eye contact.

“Ok, Mr. Undercover – take me to a private room,” you lace your fingers through Tim’s and pull him up out of his chair; right before you head off with Tim in tow, you call out to Calloway, “Keep your phone handy, Arnie - Tim’s going to text you!”

Still looking anywhere but at you, Calloway looks stricken at the prospect.  Tim’s confused by your declaration as well, but is too busy grinning at the shocked expressions of your other admirers to pay it much attention – in fact, he might make it a point to give your panty-clad ass a firm palming as the two of you walk away.

Once you pull the curtains closed on the private room, you lead Tim to the velvet couches that line the back wall - climbing on top to straddle him once he’s settled.

“Okay, Detective, why are you really here?”

“I told you, baby - just routine police work.”

You grind a little over the crotch of Tim’s pants, eliciting a little groan from the back of his throat and he grips you tighter around the waist.  Stopping yourself from rolling your eyes at Tim’s answer, you put on an exaggerated look of concern, “You didn’t come because of me?  You came here to look at other half naked girls?”  Pressing your breasts together with your arms, you push them up towards Tim’s face and give him a pout.

Detective Tim Rockford is well known for his skills in the interrogation room, but he knows when he’s outmatched, “Ok, Shutterbug.  I admit it.  Just wanted to keep an eye on you – I was worried.  The Midnight Palace doesn’t have a reputation for anything seedy, but I can’t ignore that there’s a connection to Mr. Pie’s organization.  We don’t know what it is, so I can’t help but imagine the worst.”

Smiling down at your sweet detective, you kiss Tim passionately, using your tongue to soothe his worrying heart.  Tim’s rough hands run up and down your bare back and over the lace that covers the plush globes of your ass, lightly kneading and making you moan - his hands feel so good and warm, but you can’t get distracted.  Pushing yourself off from Tim’s solid frame, you beam, “Lucky for you, I do know.”

“Know what, gorgeous?” Tim is leaning forward, trying to chase your lips again, but your next words jolt him out of his lustful haze.

“I know what The Midnight Palace’s connection to Mr. Pie is.”

Tim’s eyes widen as you tell him about the money bags with the small bills, the reluctant cooperation of the club owner trying to pay her brother’s debt, and how the girls are all creeped out by Chet, the pick-up guy.

“Sounds like money laundering, but probably just like a basic first layer – the small bills probably go on to get further cleaned somewhere else,” you muse thoughtfully as you finish up.

Mouth agape and face stunned, Tim can’t quite figure out what to say to express just how impressed and utterly in love he is.  Once again, you think of his work not as something that he does in his time away from you, but as something important to him and you treat it accordingly: listening when he tells you about his cases and using your own smart mind and sharp observation skills to help him.

“You should tell Arnie!  And maybe he can get a private room with Tiffany?  Sasha says that that Chet guy bothers her the most - I bet she would be more than happy to help if it meant getting rid of him,” you point towards Tim’s pocket to indicate he should text Calloway.  Tim does just that, exactly as you had predicted he would before the two of you came into the room.  He also texts a secondary team about possibly needing to set up surveillance and a tail.

When he’s done, Tim looks up to see you standing, cute little mischievous smile lighting up your face, “So, what should we do for the remainder of our private room time, Detective?”

Tim teases you right back, “Dance for me, Shutterbug?”

Shyly, you nod and start moving your body to the beat of the music streaming in from outside the room.  You place your hands on Tim’s thighs and spread his legs wide so you can dance in closer, swiveling your hips as you lower yourself between his knees, rubbing his inner thighs suggestively.  Rising slowly, body still moving in time with the music, you run your hands over your own body – drawing Tim’s darkened eyes to everywhere your delicate fingers graze: up, up the sides of your hips, along the lace trim of your panties, in lazy circles over your soft belly, over the swell of your tits and crossing over one another to lightly push the straps of your bra off your shoulders.

All the while your smooth legs brush up against his, getting dangerously close to Tim’s growing bulge.

Right before the falling straps of your bra start to tug down the lace covering your delectable curves, you spin around abruptly and bend over, putting your luscious ass on display - shaking and bouncing it provocatively in Tim’s face.  Just a few seconds of this tantalizing view has Tim snapping and reaching out with his meaty hands to grab you by your hips, yanking you back into his lap.

You yelp and laugh, throwing your arms around Tim’s neck and tease, “Hey, Detective!”  Pointing to a sign above the curtained entrance, “No touching.”

It’s all in good fun though as you kiss him, open mouthed and eager.

Tim grins back, “Call the cops on me then, Shutterbug,” as his hands roam over every inch of your body, groping and massaging fervently, as if to defy the rule on purpose.  You moan when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck that always makes you lose your mind; Tim sucks and licks while his fingers tug down the lacy cups of your bra to find your nipples already waiting for his touch, pert and pointy.

“Never seen this lingerie before, gorgeous.  Is it new?” Tim murmurs into your neck as he expertly pinches, rolls and tugs at your peaks the way that always gets you panting; you roll your hips over nothing, seeking to sooth the ache that he’s started to build up in your core.

“Mmmmmhmmm - wanted to surprise you when I got home later,” you breathe, eyes closed, your hands messing up Tim’s styled hair - tugging at his curls whenever his efforts cause an electric jolt of pleasure to run through your body.

“Looks good, baby.  And you looked really good on-stage tonight, Shutterbug.”

You tilt Tim’s face to yours with a little pull on his locks and gently press your lips to his, “Thank you, Tim.”  Your eyes are soft and grateful.

The two of you look longingly at one another as Tim’s hands drop to your waist, hands so big that his fingers reach around to your back where he rubs tormenting circles into your skin.

“You look good too, Detective.  I like this look on you,” you coo.

Tim blushes, “Thanks, baby.  It’s just some undercover stuff I’ve had forever.  Not even sure it fits right anymore.”

Not letting Tim get away with this self-effacing comment, you run your hands in an admiring manner over the soft leather of his jacket before raking your hands down his chest; fingers catching on the open V of his dress shirt before sliding under to caress the soft knit of his undershirt, “Fits pretty good from where I am, Detective.”

You kiss down Tim’s neck, past his collar bones and swipe your tongue along the neckline of the black wife beater, mouthing over the material and giving it a little nip with your teeth in between your words:

“Took my breath away when I saw you sitting in the club, baby.”

“Look so fucking hot and like such a bad boy.”

“Thought I was going to soak through my panties on stage and that everyone was going to see how wet I was for you.”

Tim groans at your dirty praise and slips a hand down the front of your lace panties, growling low, “How wet, gorgeous?”

There’s no need to answer - Tim starts to swipe through your folds with his thick fingers and finds you sopping wet and desperate.  He teases you mercilessly – dragging his fingers up and down your seam, paying little to no attention to your throbbing clit; occasionally brushing it only lightly before cruelly ignoring it in favour of dipping his fingers back down to your entrance, every so often even venturing to spread your ample slick down to your other hole.

“Please, Tim,” you whine against his lips.  You feel him grin.

You would say he takes mercy on you, but it hardly feels like mercy when Tim lowers his head to take your breast in his hot mouth just as he plunges two of his fingers deep into your cunt.  The sudden double sensation has you crying out and seeing stars – you chant your detective’s name softly and moan how good he makes you feel while Tim sucks and nibbles on your nipple and continues to saw in and out of your tight hole.  He reaches parts of you so deep and unexplored, even by you, eager to mark and lay claim to a land that will only ever be his.  Fuck, you love him.

Singing it so he knows, your melodic voice drips with lust and devotion.  Tim hums appreciatively against your chest; his response is to switch his worshipping mouth to the other side of your chest and push a third finger into your needy cunt.

The stretch is sharp and delicious - any sting of pain morphs quickly into pleasure; charmed by the way Tim curves his fingers against your tight walls, your pussy leaks shamelessly with fresh of arousal.  You buck a little in his hand, trying to chase the heel of his palm in order to give your poor aching clit some relief.

“Use me, baby – yeah, make yourself come on my fingers,” commands Tim, mouth still full of your soft, perky tits.

Bracing your hands on Tim’s broad shoulders for stability, you grind down, meeting each thrust of Tim’s hand so that his open palm spanks your pussy with a loud, wet slap every time.  The sound is debauched, pornographic, and it makes you gush even more.  When Tim angles his thumb to draw devastating circles on your clit, you nearly sob from near overstimulation, “I’m so close, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come…”

Tim continues the looping of his rough thumb over your slippery nub while dragging his face away from your chest so he can lick up your neck, back to the sweet spot that started it all.  He bites down with a little smirk and grits out with your delicate skin still between his teeth, “Come.”

You let go and fall with a soundless scream, toppling over the edge of ecstasy, but, as always, with a warmth that blossoms in your chest in the knowledge that Tim is there to catch you.  Always right there to coax you through your high with his touch, his words, his love.

After you’ve caught your breath, Tim helps you right the lingerie that he helped christen and put on your dress.  As he’s retying the front sash for you, brows furrowed in concentration (he’s so much more used to undoing the knot), you ask, grin still spacey but eyes a little worried, “Did I do okay, Detective?”

“What do you mean?” Tim looks up to the sound of the trepidation lacing your voice.

“It’s okay that I asked about the bags I saw?  I don’t want to overstep when it comes to your investigation,” you’re chewing your lip adorably and Tim just wants to kiss away every little concern lining your pretty face.  Instead, he finishes adjusting your clothes, then slips his big hands under your dress to pull you close by the back of your thighs.

Tim presses his chin into your soft body and looks up at you adoringly as you card your fingers through his hair, “It’s more than okay, Shutterbug.  You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t take the opportunity to help when you see it.  I’m so lucky to have you help me, baby.”

Taking Tim’s face into your hands and running your thumbs through his facial scruff the way he likes, you lay the deepest, tenderest kiss on his lips – letting Tim lick in slow and sensually into your mouth, claiming your every breath as his own.  Pulling apart only when the little melodic bell that indicates private room times are up starts to chime, Tim gives you more than the necessary bills for the private time as you walk out.  When you tell him it’s too much, he closes your fingers over the cash with his hand, “You earned it, baby.”  You were going to give it all to the house dancers anyways, so you accept without any further fuss.

Before letting you go, Tim glances quickly at his phone while still squeezing your waist, “Calloway’s got Tiffany in a private room now.  I’m going to go join them… hopefully get some more info so we ID this Chet guy.  Will you be okay getting home, Shutterbug?”

You nod and the two of you mouth I love yous, before going your separate ways.  After rejoining your friends, you try not to let your mind wander to what Tim is doing too much as you cheer on the remaining dancers from Sasha’s class and flit the night away with your friends. 

Although you don’t see Tim again for the remainder of your time at The Midnight Palace, you spot his Crown Vic still parked in the lot when you and your friends leave the club.  It rained while you were inside and it must have been a warm summer storm because in the chillier night air, the cars in the lot all have a thick layer of condensation on their windows.  Doing your best to sidestep the fresh rain puddles that glow pink from their reflection of the club’s neon signs – you make it to Tim’s car and write “I love you” across his windshield with your finger, hoping it’ll still be there when he finally gets to leave.

You hardly see Tim for the next few days, which is unusual even for him.  In the wee hours of the morning following your night at The Midnight Palace, you received a picture of Tim’s windshield, your faded finger art still visible with a new word more recently added beneath to now read, I love you more.   

Going to pull an all-nighter, Shutterbug. 

Will try to get some shut eye on the couch in my office. 

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, baby.  Love you.

You’re busy the following day and don’t get a chance to visit Tim at the precinct or message him much, never mind badger him about making sure to eat or getting enough rest.

You suspect that he doesn’t do much of either, because you return home around dinner time to find takeout containers left for you on the kitchen counter and a loudly snoring Tim passed out in bed.  He barely stirs when you kiss his temple and wish him sweet dreams.

He’s gone again when you wake up, leaving you a good morning note to let you know that he misses and loves you as much as you do him. 

A busy work day for both of you has you once again missing the other’s calls and relegated to a few text messages here and there.  You’re really starting to miss him.

Finally, fate deigns to realign your and Tim’s schedules after two full days apart; you happily scramble to sit up in your nighttime bath when you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey Shutterbug,” Tim’s smile is soft, his eyes relieved, his entire stance exhausted.

“Hey yourself, Detective.  Long time no see,” you coo, resting your arms and chin on the side of the bathtub and gazing up at your handsome boyfriend, “Come in the water, baby.”

Tim undresses swiftly and slides into the warm water, fragrant and bright pink from the bath bomb you dropped in earlier.  It smells like jasmine and lemongrass, your shampoo and a fourth scent that Tim can never place but just always associates with you.  You sit behind Tim, legs bracketing his hips as you wash his hair and scrub down his body with a pouf.  Wherever it's needed, you try to apply some groan inducing pressure to Tim’s back with your slippery hands in order to work out some of the more stubborn knots - the office couch has not been kind to Detective Rockford’s back.

Despite the lack of sleep, the ache in his muscles, and missing you, Tim can’t help but grin widely – it’s been a hell of a last 48 hours in the Pie Case. 

“You were right, Shutterbug.”

“Hmmmm?” you’ve got your chin hooked over Tim’s shoulders, soaping up his beefy arms and thick chest.

“They were spring rolls.”

Thoroughly amused, you laugh a light musical laugh that sends Tim’s heart soaring, “That little emblem on the bags wasn’t a joint, it was a spring roll?”

Tim nods and then he tells you what he’s been doing for the last two days. 

After revealing their identities to Tiffany in the security of the private room at The Midnight Palace, she had been more than happy to help them take down Chet as you had correctly surmised.

The police easily set up surveillance and a tail that picked up Chet after he came by to grab the spring roll marked bags, which now contained stacks of marked bills that Tiffany helped sneak in.  The surveillance and the marked bills helped the police trace an intricate network of money laundering schemes over the past two days, of which, as you had also theorized, The Midnight Palace, was just an insignificant player.  But being able to pick up the money trail at such an early point of the overall scheme allowed the police to map out and uncover much more intricate and convoluted parts of the laundering network: bank accounts had been tagged and flagged, other local businesses implicated, international banks subpoenaed.  Chet himself had been picked up late this afternoon and sang like a bird.

The work was far from over, but a hell of a lot of progress had been made in the last two days – the whole precinct was riding on a high.  And Tim can’t help but swell with pride that they owed much of it to your keen eye.

You feel your face flush at Tim’s praise.  You don’t know what to say – it seems only natural for something that’s so important to the man you love to be on the forefront of your mind at all times; so instead, you ask a question to which you truly wish to know the answer, “Why a spring roll?”

“Ah ha!” Tim smiles, this was, he had to admit, rather clever, “The smaller bills collected in the Spring Roll bags were earmarked to be deposited at the bank under an account for a fake food court business selling Chinese food.  The bank never questioned it – large volume deposits of small bills for a food court stall seemed perfectly appropriate.”

“That is clever!” you muse, “But not clever enough.”  When Tim tilts his head back you kiss him with affection, proud of your brilliant detective’s mind.

Once satisfied with the state of Tim’s cleanliness, you wrap your arms around Tim’s neck and cheekily nip at his earlobe, “So… for my help, do I get paid in spring rolls?”

Tim hums, his hands finding the dip of your hips under the water, massaging them appreciatively, “We could do that, or you can redeem another prize from the Detectives’ Rewards Incentive Program.”

“Oh really?” you giggle at the inside joke from that first unforgettable night Tim took you to bed and grin into his wet hair - your pussy already throbbing with want.  You press your tits into Tim’s back, “What do I qualify for, Detective?”

“Let me show you,” Tim smirks.  Then before you can register what’s happening, Tim rolls over in the bath, sending bright pink water sloshing over the side of the tub as his hands find and latch onto those soft curves that he’s been dreaming of for the past two nights.  You yelp, squeal, then moan - putty in Detective Rockford’s capable hands as he shows you just how much you’ve been missed.

Audio and visual aids for this fic:

[trulybetty]

october x 500 | masterlist

for the month of october I've set myself a challenge to write 500 words a day, and me being me thought why don't I do some prompts? because you know, I haven't got enough going on. but the reality is I wanted something that wasn't tied to anything currently a WIP so I could just focus on getting out of the state of mind of 'this has to be the perfect finished version on the first go' and embrace just writing and seeing what happens. are any of these going to be any good? probably not. will many of them make sense? not at all. will they mostly be marcus pike? very likely. will I hope to have fun and stick to something for 31 days straight? hopefully.

prompts list used.

oct' x 01 - ruffled hair (joel x gn!reader)

oct' x 02 - apple scent (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct’ x 03 - full of colours (tim rockford x f!reader)

oct' x 04 - walks in the forest (strings!joel x reader)

oct' x 05 - autumnal (dieter x gn!reader)

oct' x 06 - falling leaves (gold rush!joel x charlotte)

oct' x 07 - chestnuts (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct' x 08 - umbrellas (will miller x gn!reader)

oct' x 09 - ravens (maverick!frankie x reader)

oct' x 10 - oktoberfest (sequins!joel x reader)

oct' x 11 - pumpkin spice (marcus x reader)

oct' x 12 - cornfields (sequins!joel x f!reader)

oct' x 13 - black cat (tim rockford x gn!reader)

oct' x 14 - spooky (dieter x gn!reader)

oct' x 15 - first wine (sequins!joel x reader)

oct' x 16 - flying kites (frankie x reader)

oct' x 17 - whispers (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct' x 18 - picking apples (sequins!joel x reader)

oct' x 19 - ghosts (dieter x f!reader)

oct' x 20 - sweater weather (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct' x 21 - acorns (tim rockford x f!reader)

oct' x 22 - pile of leaves (frankie x gn!reader)

oct' x 23 - harvest (gold rush!joel x charlotte)

oct' x 24 - fog (tim rockford x f!reader)

oct' x 25 - jack-o-lanterns (marcus pike x reader)

oct' x 26 - campfire (frankie x reader)

oct' x 27 - witches (sequins!joel x f!reader)

oct' x 28 - samhain (tim rockford x gn!reader)

oct' x 29 - stormy days (sequins!joel x f!reader)

oct' x 30 - seance (tim rockford x reader)

oct' x 30 - seance (chiffon!dieter x ofc!bryony)

oct' x 31 - trick or treat (marcus pike x reader)