#detective tim rockford

[somethingtofightfor-shares]

Part 2 is here! <3

To: You, From: Santa (2)

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,912

Summary: You have a better idea where you stand with Tim, but that only makes things a little more complicated - especially when it comes to figuring out your next moves.

Rating: M: language.

Author's Note:

Part 2 is here!

This is not connected to Black Days. Reader works in Tim's precinct, but not as a fellow officer/detective.

I really enjoyed writing this story, and I'm glad I was able to get something holiday themed out this year, even if it's not as extensive as I've written in the past.

Thanks for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

(Part 1)

Over the next week, Tim focused on the hours you’d spent together at the mall and dinner, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that those thoughts occupied an unusually large amount of his mental bandwith. 

He was disappointed that the movie tickets had been sold out, because it would have been a perfect way to introduce the idea of the two of you seeing it together in a low stakes way. It would not only have been bringing a conversation full circle, but getting a feel for whether or not you liked the idea of seeing him again when there was no underlying need. 

He thought that you were into the idea. He certainly was, and had been somewhat upset by the fact that the restaurant he’d chosen hadn’t had much of a wait, meaning that you were seated and served quickly. The conversation throughout dinner had been constant - both of you using the opportunity to get to know each other better and in a more relaxed situation.

It had strayed into flirtatious territory a couple times - just like the hours in the mall had - but neither of you took that any further. It was probably for the best; dating a coworker, even casually, was a tricky thing to navigate. Even though we work in different departments. Even though there’s not really conflict of interest. Even though … He raised the coffee cup to his lips and wrinkled his nose at the lukewarm liquid. “Even though I think I want to date her.” 

He hadn’t had any real reason to visit you in the evidence room, but he’d still gone down on two separate occasions to say hello. You’d been happy to see him, taking a few minutes to talk to him between your other duties, but you hadn’t brought up seeing him outside of work again - so Tim hadn’t either. 

But you had thanked him for dinner. And you had sent him a few texts throughout the week, sending links to things that had made you laugh. And it was those messages - and the memory of you the previous weekend - that motivated him to return to the mall to buy you the dinosaur socks as the final part of your gift.

Tim had also bought a new roll of paper for your gifts, wrapping each of them separately first and then all three together in a larger box. There was still a week before the party, but he didn’t want to leave anything until last minute, since he knew how easy it was for him to get sidetracked with a case. 

It happened on that Friday, Tim poring over files in his office until a knock at his door startled him. He figured it was one of the other officers on the floor, but was stunned when at the call of his voice to come in, the door cracked open and you peeked in, an anxious look on your face. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but I was on my way out and saw your car was still here, so…” Opening the door all the way, you held up a bag. “I ordered dinner for you.”

“You what?” He flattened his hands atop his desk, the pressure of his fingers making the paper crinkle. “Dinner?” 

“Yeah, I …” You took a few steps closer, still holding the bag out. “I ordered from the place we talked about the other night, but I didn’t know what you liked so I guessed.” 

“And what did you guess?” He stood, rounding the desk and walking toward you, letting himself imagine what it would be like to slide an arm around you and pull you closer for just a few seconds. I’d like that a lot. “Let’s see how well you know me.” 

“I don’t know you well.” He took the bag from you but made no motion to open it, instead keeping his eyes on you. “But um…” You crossed your arms, lifting your shoulders in a quick shrug. “You had that peanut butter brownie thing the other night at dinner, so I figured you weren’t allergic to nuts.” 

“I’m not.” He fought back a smile, fingers tightening around the bag handle. “Good catch.” That got a brief grin from you, Tim watching as some of the anxiety bled from you and you relaxed the set of your shoulders.

“I got you Kung Pao chicken and fried rice. I think they gave me extra because it’s almost closing time, but -” What? He looked down at his watch, both eyes widening at the realization that it was nearly 11 PM. 

“Fuck, it’s late. I should…” He looked back at his desk, sighing. “Why are you here so late?” 

“There was no coverage. Someone called off, and I volunteered to stay until they could find someone else. Mina just showed up a little while ago and I’m off tomorrow anyway so it’s fine.” His stomach growled, both of you glancing down at it. “Sounds like it’s a good thing I came up here.” 

He agreed. He hadn’t even realized just how hungry he was until that moment because he’d been so wrapped up in what he was doing. But if she handed me this whole bag, where’s hers? “Did you order anything for yourself?” He frowned, reaching up to pull his glasses off and tuck them into the front pocket of his dress shirt. “Please don’t tell me you only ordered me food, you need to -”

“I did.” You pointed at the door. “I just asked for it to be packaged separately so I could leave yours with you.” You bit your lip and he didn’t even try to keep himself from looking down to watch, his own lips parting at the sight. “I’m going to eat at home.” 

“Eat with me.” He took a half step closer, Tim’s heartbeat elevated. “Unless you need to get home, I mean. I can shove this shit off to the side, and -”

“No, you can’t.” You laughed, taking a deep breath. “We both know you’re not going to shove any of that to the side.” She’s right. “But I’ll go back into the break room and get my dinner and by that time, I’m sure you can clear off some space for us to eat by stacking everything into neat little piles.” It was your turn to wink at him, the action catching him by surprise - but it made him want to reach out even more. 

He managed to stop himself - barely - as you headed out of the office and back into the main area, and Tim only gave himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts before he moved. He stacked his notebooks and folders into two short piles, clearing off enough space that you could both eat without risking messes. And he thought about what you bringing him dinner might mean the whole time, going back and forth over whether or not to say anything when you came back into the room. It might weird her out. And I don’t want to do that, especially since I have a gift for her next week. 

You knocked briefly when you reentered, but didn’t pause until you were sitting down across from him and pulling your own food out of your bag. He watched for a few seconds and then cleared his throat. “It’s much nicer having you sitting across from me than the people who are usually in that seat.” He sat down and then reached for the bag with his food in it, ripping the staples open. “Bet this conversation will be more pleasant, too.” 

And it was. You and Tim talked while you ate, his attention focused on the way you paused between bites to think, only looking away from where he sat when you were deep in thought. As time passed, he realized that it was more than a crush or a physical attraction - Tim was interested in you. 

“You’re spacing out.” You reached across the table, poking the back of his hand gently with your fork. “Is dinner not good?”

“It’s great.” He picked up a chunk of chicken with his chopsticks, holding it up. “I don’t usually get this, but maybe I should start.” You looked worried for a few seconds and he shook his head, chewing and swallowing quickly. “Cashew chicken and Mongolian beef are what I go between.” He pointed at the container in front of him with one finger. “But you were close. It’s impressive.” 

“Just because I work in the evidence room, that doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to y- to things, Detective.” You’d recovered quickly but he’d heard it, and you both knew it. “Now I know for next time.” 

“Next time here, or …” He took a deep breath. “Or next time in general?” Tim’s tongue darted out to lick sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Because I’d be alright with either of those options.” 

It was a risk. He was putting himself out there, tentatively telling you that if you were thinking about something not related to work, so was he. “Would you?” He heard the hopeful note to your voice, your lips parting as you waited for his answer. He didn’t say anything, but instead nodded, not breaking eye contact. I hope this wasn’t a mistake. “I would be too.” 

The admission hung in the room between you, and for a few seconds, Tim held his breath. But when you grinned at him, he let it out, closing his eyes and smiling back at you before covering his face with one hand. Really? “Feels pretty ridiculous, right?” He lowered his hand, tipping his head to the side. “Two adults getting nervous about admitting something like this?”

“Not ridiculous.” You closed your takeout container before putting it carefully back into the bag and tying the top closed. “Cautious, maybe?” Leaning back in your chair, you crossed your arms. “We work together. It’s good that we’re …” You narrowed your eyes. “You said you wouldn’t ever date someone you worked with, so -”

“I said it gets messy, not that I never would.” He wiped both hands and then dropped the napkin on the top of his desk. “And between us, there’s no rank differential to worry about, so that’s irrelevant.” Is this really happening? “We should still be … careful though.” 

“I agree.” You stood up, looking down at where Tim sat. “Which is why I think I should go now.” 

“What?” He stood, too, keeping the desk between you. “Why? It’s late, I should go home, too, and -”

“It is late. And you should go home.” Your smile was back, Tim watching as your eyebrows rose. “But I’m not sure either of us expected things to go this way tonight, so if we aren’t careful, we could fuck it up.” 

“How?” He crossed his arms, watching as your eyes locked on his chest and the way his holster harness moved with the motion. I’ll remember that. “How are we going to fuck it up?” 

“Do you want me to be honest?” He nodded, watching as you took a quick breath, steadying yourself for whatever you were about to say. “Ok.” You glanced up at the ceiling and then met his gaze again, unblinking. “If I don’t walk out of this office right now, I’m going to come over there and kiss you, and as much as I’m dying to know what that might feel like, I don’t want to kiss you for the first time after eating takeout food in your office.” 

He was stunned - not because you admitted to wanting to kiss him, but because you were actively explaining why you didn’t want to do it then. “I agree. That kind of kiss is …” He shrugged, pushing his lower lip out as though he was in thought. “Third or fourth date territory.” 

Your return laugh was a welcome one, and as you cautiously stepped forward, you steadied yourself again, to Tim’s surprise. “Thank you for understanding, Tim. I thought …” You trailed off, and before he could stop himself, Tim reached for you with both hands. When you took them, fingers sliding across his palms and then curling around his fingers, he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Get your shit together. “I thought you’d be upset.” 

“I’m not.” He squeezed your hands back, saying your name. “We’ve got time.” And then, before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he pulled his hands free from yours and wrapped his arms around you, urging you closer to his chest. You paused for a moment and then hugged him back, one hand against the center of his back and the other higher. He held you close until he felt your shoulders shaking and then released you, worried that he’d overstepped. But she’s laughing? I don’t understand. 

“The holsters.” You pressed your lips together, backing away as you lifted a hand to bite down on one knuckle, head moving back and forth slowly. “I’ve thought about touching that harness more times than -” Unbelievable. I was so worried for nothing.  

“Go home.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as you started laughing. “Go home now or I’m going to count the breakroom as date one, that visit to the evidence locker as date number two, the mall as date number three, and this as -” 

“Goodnight, Tim.” You went back to the chair you’d been in and pulled your coat on, fighting back laughter. “I hope you get out of here at a decent hour.” He hoped so, too, but knew that realistically, he’d still be there for a few more. 

“Can I walk you out to your -”

“No.” You picked up your leftovers, shaking your head. “Because if you walk me out there, we’ll end up talking. And that means you’ll work later. I don’t want that.” You paused by the door, turning to look back and over your shoulder at Tim. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer.” 

He wanted to say something else, but chose not to, instead just giving you a quick smile and sliding a hand into his pocket. You closed the door behind you, and once you were gone, Tim tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, rubbing hard at one eye. 

Knowing you felt the same as him was one thing - but moving forward in a way that wouldn’t fuck it all up was another. 

You were excited for the party, and knowing that you’d finally get to give Tim his gifts made you almost giddy. 

There hadn’t been much time for you to talk at work since the night you’d taken him dinner, but you’d managed to have a few short conversations… and the texts that had flown back and forth between the two of you was a completely different story. 

It sometimes took him a while to respond, but when you had Tim’s attention, you had his full attention. The flirting had continued in the messages, the fact that you were interested in each other being out in the open a welcome relief. 

You hadn’t made any further plans aside from seeing each other at the party, but you had a feeling that it was coming. Tim knew you were off for two weeks, which meant that aside from the actual holidays, your schedule was wide open. I’m not traveling, so that frees up even more. 

When you clocked out and headed home to get ready, you spent extra time on yourself, dressing up a little more than you normally would have. Just because. And when you got back to the precinct and stepped inside, you were glad. 

There were plenty of people in uniform and in typical work clothes, but the others that were off and in on their free time had dressed nicely, too. You said hello to a few people as you walked in, stopping to talk to David and Amy and complimenting her for organizing everything - but you had a goal. 

People were putting their gifts on the desks of the recipients, and after a quick look around told you that Tim was not in the main group of people, you headed for his office.Maybe he just lost track of time. 

But his door was closed and locked, and there wasn’t a light on inside. Maybe he isn’t back yet. Your fingers tightened on the package you held, teeth digging into your lower lip as you tried to figure out where to leave your gift that he’d find it. Maybe the tree in the break room. “Rockford and Bales are gone.” Turning, you saw Marty leaning against the wall a few feet behind you. “They got called out to a case earlier today and didn’t come back yet.” 

“Oh.” Trying to swallow your disappointment, you held up the wrapped box. “I had Tim for the Secret Santa, and I was trying to leave his gift, but …” 

“Yeah, he’s not here.” Marty sighed. “Sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You stepped closer, giving him a quick smile. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll just put this under the tree and let him know he can pick it up next time he’s in.”

“I’ll walk back with you.” He fell into step beside you, and spoke again after a few steps. “I want to apologize.” What? You both stopped, and in surprise, you turned toward him. “I came on pretty strong when I kept asking you out. You said no once, and I shouldn’t have asked again. I didn’t mean to weird you out.”

“It wasn’t weird. It was just … I didn’t want to be mean about saying no, but I really didn’t want to lead you on.” He nodded, and then gave you a smile, extending his hand. “Thank you for your apology.” You took his hand and shook it, smiling back. “And to be completely honest with you, I think asking Anna out for coffee or something would be a good idea.”

“Really?” You nodded as his face lit up. “I didn’t think she… huh.” A few months earlier, watching someone that had been interested in you pivoting so quickly to someone else would have hurt, even if you weren’t actually into them. But this doesn’t. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gestured to the gift you held. “Have you checked for yours yet?” 

“No.” You stopped walking as you reached the main room again, the sounds of the party getting louder. “I hope no one took it down to evidence, but since I’m not on shift, I don’t think they would.” 

He smiled, nodding. “I hope you find it. And I hope you have a good holiday.” 

“You, too.” You separated then, Marty disappearing into the crowd as he called out to one of his fellow officers, and you heading for the tree. His apology had been unexpected but genuine, and you appreciated the effort. Maybe seeing that I was uncomfortable was all he needed. 

There were a few gifts under the tree, and as you read through the names, you frowned. Yours wasn’t among them, which either meant that the person who had your name hadn’t arrived yet - or they had taken it down to evidence. Fuck it. I’ll go check later. 

You set Tim’s present down in the small pile with the others and then straightened up, letting out a breath. He’d get there when he could; there was no point in focusing on the fact that he hadn’t shown up at the beginning. 

But even as you made your way over to where the food table was, part of you was saddened by the fact that if he didn’t make it to the party, there was a chance you wouldn’t see him for two weeks. 

You spent the next few hours mingling. 

It was nice to associate with your coworkers on down time, and even though some of them came and went briefly as they took breaks or began and ended their shifts, you enjoyed talking to them. You’d interacted with just about everyone in the precinct at one time or another thanks to your position, which meant that people were friendly and knew you by name. 

But Tim and his partner still hadn’t arrived by 9:30… and neither had your gift. So you took the elevator down to the evidence locker and stepped into the quiet room, a plate of cookies and a can of Diet Coke in hand. 

“Anthony?” You called out to your counterpart as you got closer to the counter. “I brought you cookies before they all got eaten.” He popped up from behind the desk, his curly hair bouncing as he stood. 

“Oh, shit! Thank you!” He reached up, removing one of his earbuds. “I could probably go up and hang out for a few minutes, but knowing my luck that’s when someone would need me.” You laughed, sliding the plate and can across the counter. “Am I missing anything good? Any gossip?” He picked up a frosted reindeer, biting one of the antlers off. “Did anyone sneak alcohol in like last year?”

You laughed at that, shaking your head. “No. No alcohol that I could tell. Everyone’s just stuffing themselves with cookies and those little snowball bread things.” He groaned, eyes dropping to the plate. “I couldn’t grab those, though, so if you want one, you’ll have to go up there.” You leaned against the counter. “And no good gossip either. I’ve just been listening to people talk about what they got their kids, or what they hope their husbands and wives got them.” 

“Boring.” He rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should go up. I need to get my present anyway.” You nodded, looking around the room. 

“Did anyone bring mine down? People have been leaving them on desks and in offices, so I thought…”

“No, you’re the first person I’ve seen in two hours.” He bit into another cookie. “No one brought anything down for you… or for me.” Oh. “It wasn’t upstairs?” 

“Nope.” You tapped your fingers on the countertop. “I checked under the tree a couple times, and nothing. I figured people were still coming in, but…” You shrugged. “Maybe my person forgot.” 

“There are a few people that were out today.” He pulled the plate toward him and then set it down on the desk behind the counter. “Maybe you had one of them.” 

“Maybe.” You looked up at the clock. “But I think the party’s over soon, so if you wanted to go up, you should do it now. That way you can thank whoever got your name before they leave. Unless they already did. And maybe Tim will have… 

It hit you then - if Tim and his partner weren’t at the party, and your gift wasn’t at the party, it was possible that one of them had drawn your name. What are the odds? You said goodbye - and Merry Christmas - to Anthony and headed back upstairs. 

The first place you checked was the tree. Your gift to Tim was still beneath it, and so were a few others including Annthony’s, but most had been claimed. Still nothing. Pulling out your phone, you scrolled to Tim’s text messages, the most recent one from the previous day. It’s weird that he didn’t say anything about not coming. Or being late, or … You typed one quickly, not pausing before you sent it. 

You’re missing the party, Tim. Hope you’re ok. 

It was stupid to be concerned; you knew how long it could take to process a crime scene and interview witnesses. If they’d had to go out of town, it would take even longer, and the last thing on his mind would have been the party - or a present. But he needs to have it before tomorrow, or… You tapped your foot on the floor and looked back over at the tree. 

People were beginning to file out, saying their goodbyes and making their way toward the door, and you realized that there was no reason for you to stay. It’ll look desperate if I’m just waiting, and who knows if he’ll even come in. 

You checked your phone once more - the message to Tim unread - and made your decision. I’ll leave him a note. There were Post-It notes in the breakroom, and you scrawled a message onto one, keeping it brief. 

Left a gift for you under the tree. 

-- Your Secret Santa

Once it was written, you went back to Tim’s office and stuck the paper to the glass in his door, hoping that it would stay until he found it. That’s all I can do. That done, you headed back to the main space, where the crowd was much smaller than it had been only minutes earlier. 

You said your goodbyes, too, laughing with one of the dispatch girls about how you didn’t know what you were going to do with all of your free time, and then with one last look beneath the tree - Tim’s present and his partner’s two of the only few left there - you turned for the door. 

The air was damp again as you drove home, but there wasn’t much traffic on the road, which made your trip short. There was still no reply from Tim by the time you were inside and changed into your pajamas, so you plugged your phone in and then curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

You hoped that wherever Tim was and whatever he was doing, he was alright. And you hoped that when he made it into his office, he got your note … and liked your gift. 

He was pissed. 

There was no other way to put it, and despite the fact that Tim kept his expression even and his hands loose on the steering wheel while he and Bales headed back to the precinct, inside he was seething. 

They’d driven out to the crime scene together earlier in the day, and even with Tim’s methodical approach to the job, it had taken hours to wrap - but none of the delays had been his fault. Goddamn Bales and his need to talk to everyone. 

He glanced over, eyeing the other man’s lit up phone screen in the passenger seat. “The party’s over.” Bales cleared his throat. “Naomi said to tell you there’s leftovers in the break room fridge, and that the presents are -”

“Of course it’s over.” Tim muttered the words under his breath, reaching up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “It wouldn’t have been if we’d left when I wanted to.” 

“What? I didn’t hear you, Rockford.” 

“I said, if we’d left when I wanted to, we could have caught the end of it.” He tightened his grip on the wheel. “And we wouldn’t have to hope someone saved us cookies.” He wondered what you’d thought when he hadn’t showed up. He hoped that you’d still had a good night, and that you weren’t too disappointed that there hadn’t been a gift waiting for you.

By the time they pulled into one of the empty parking spaces in the lot, it was almost midnight, and Tim barely took the time to say goodbye to Bales before he veered off and toward his office. He saw the Post-It from down the hall and sped up to get there faster, wondering if it was from you. 

He’d seen your writing before - both in the logbook in the evidence room and on the sheet you’d turned in for your Secret Santa list, and Tim knew immediately that the note on his door was from you. “That means…” His heart thumped almost uncomfortably at the realization that not only had he gotten you for the exchange … but you’d gotten him in return. 

He stuck the note into the pocket of his coat and then unlocked his office door, crossing the room to his desk. Your gift was sitting on top of it, neatly wrapped and waiting, and without thinking twice, he picked it up and turned back toward the hallway. 

Tim stopped long enough to pick the gift with his name up from beneath the twinkling lights on the tree. There was more writing on the tag, though your name still wasn’t included. But it’s her. He thought about opening it right there, fingers itching to tear the paper off, but Tim stopped himself. 

It was late - probably too late, but he didn’t care. Tim set both gifts down onto one of the tables and then pulled his phone out. It was the first time he’d looked at it in hours, and his stomach dropped at the sight of two missed messages from you. The first was from while you were at the party, and the other had come later, and seemed more urgent. 

I know you’re busy, but it’s strange that you haven’t even looked at the first message. Please let me know you’re alright. 

“Shit.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, checking the time. You’d sent the most recent one almost an hour earlier, and he knew, even from very limited time spent with and talking to you, that it meant you were worried. But is it too late to text her back? 

He decided moments later that it wasn’t, and after he’d sent the message he stood waiting, phone in hand as he reread the words. 

I’m fine. Got stuck at a scene, and just made it back to my office. I’m really sorry I didn’t answer earlier. 

He was sorry for more than just not getting your message sooner, but it didn’t seem right to apologize for the other things via text. He ignored Bales calling out his name and just stared at both gifts on the desk, working his lower lip over with his teeth. 

It was probably bad idea, and he knew it, but Tim didn’t give himself too long to think before grabbing both gifts again and heading for the doors that led to the parking lot. 

You hadn’t replied by the time he parked in front of your place, but he only paused briefly to put his glasses onto the dashboard before striding to your front door, gifts in hand. I can just leave hers here. She’ll get it in the morning. Tim glanced down at the wrapped package, watching as his thumb rubbed over where he’d written your name on the tag. No. 

Shifting both gifts to one arm, he raised his hand and knocked three times on the door before taking a step backward, letting out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. If you didn’t answer, he’d take it as a sign. She’s probably sleeping. It’s late. 

But there was still a light flickering behind the blinds in your window that looked like it was coming from a TV, and he figured that if that was still on, there was a chance you were in the room with it. I hope she is. I hope … fuck. 

He shifted back and forth while he waited, contemplating knocking again … and then he heard the sound of the deadbolt turning, followed by the slight creak of the doorknob as it twisted - and then your face peeked through the crack after it opened. “Hel- Tim? What are you doing here?” 

You flung the door all the way open, and even though he wanted to answer right away, he couldn’t. Instead, he was stuck on the way you were dressed - more casual than he’d ever seen you in an oversized sweatshirt and joggers, both feet stuffed into slippers. “I…” Get it together, Rockford. “I’m here because I missed the party.” He inched forward, holding up his gift. “And I thought my Secret Santa would want to see me open the gift she got me.” 

He watched the expression on your face change, going through at least three different emotions in only a few seconds, and despite his experience in the field, he couldn’t read any of them. Is she mad? “What time is it? I fell asleep after I texted you, and …” You reached up, rubbing at your eyes with both hands. “Shit. Come in, Tim. It’s cold out.” 

He stepped into your front hall and you reached around him to pull the door shut, your arm brushing along his side. “Should I take my shoes off?” 

“You can.” You stepped back, and he was pleased to see you looked more alert - and there was a glint of happiness in your eyes. “And your coat, too.” You pointed. “There’s a hook on the wall.” And then you held your hands out, your smile growing. “I’ll hold those.” He handed over the gifts and made quick work of removing the long, cream trench coat he liked to wear in cooler weather, and his shoes, looking down long enough to see how they looked next to yours. Stop it. “We can sit in the living room if you want. C’mon.” 

He followed you wordlessly, one hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. There was a blanket balled up on one end of the couch, and when you reached over to lift it after setting the wrapped gifts onto your coffee table, he finally spoke, swallowing hard before he started. 

“I shouldn’t have come. It’s late, and you didn’t answer. But I thought you seemed concerned, and I wanted … I got back to the precinct and saw the note on my office door.” You straightened up, crossing your arms and pressing your lips together as you stared at him. 

“I was worried. I knew you were at a crime scene, but it seemed… I don’t know. It seemed really late. And you said you were looking forward to the party, so I thought it was weird that -”

“I was looking forward to giving you your gift.” He pointed at the table. “I wanted to see you open it.” Your lips parted as your eyes moved away from his face and to the table, arms dropping to your sides.

“We got each other.” You laughed, closing your eyes. “When my gift didn’t show up tonight, and you and Bales were out, I thought … I thought maybe it was one of you. But I helped you shop, Tim. I didn’t ask for a hat, and that’s what you bought, and -”

“You picked out a hat for my niece.” He shrugged, taking a couple steps closer. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” 

“No you’re not.” You moved in his direction, the smile still on your lips. “You did it more than once. When we were in the break room, and when you were in the evidence locker, and -”

“I did.” Tim cocked his head to the side and shrugged. “But it was for a good reason, and it meant I got to spend an afternoon with you.” He put a hand on his hip, gesturing with one finger on his other one. “But you lied to me, too. You told me that…” He trailed off as you shook your head slowly, your smile widening. 

“I never lied to you. I just told you nothing about who I had to buy a gift for.” You were right, and both of you knew it. “But yes, Tim. I picked your name. And after spending time with you last weekend, I thought maybe …” You looked away, and he caught the uncertainty on your face as you chewed on your lower lip, eyes on the front window. “Fuck it.” 

You moved before he understood fully that it was happening, closing the distance between you and reaching up with both hands to touch his jaw, guiding his mouth toward yours. Holy shit, she’s… 

The kiss was brief - more of a touch of your lips to his than anything else - and then you broke away, taking two steps backward and covering your mouth with one hand, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have … shit, Tim. I’m -”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Tim reached out, his fingers closing around your elbow. “But I think we can do better than that.” I know we can. He pulled you toward him, his other arm winding around you, and that time when you kissed, it was Tim that initiated it… and he didn’t pull away immediately.  

You didn’t know what you were more surprised by: the fact that Tim had shown up at your house after midnight with two gifts in hand, or that the two of you were standing in front of your couch kissing. It’s definitely the kissing, you realized as it continued, his lips soft against yours, one hand moving slowly up the center of your back. 

And when you curled your fingers against the material of his shirt, the soft fabric wrinkling against your palms, you were certain of it. 

When Tim backed off to breathe, he didn’t go far, his exhale washing over your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” 

“I have too.” You shivered, the admission easier than you’d imagined would be. “I should have kissed you in your office last week.” 

“Nope.” He chuckled, the sound low. “I’m glad you didn’t.” He lowered his hands to your waist, looking into your eyes. “It was worth the wait.” That made you smile, and even though you could have spent the rest of the night standing and staring into Tim’s eyes, there was something else for you to do, too. 

“Do you want to open your present now?” You straightened your shoulders, taking a slow breath. “It’s late and I’m sure you’re exhausted.” 

“I do.” He nodded, the palm of his hand moving back and forth over the elastic at your waist. “And I am. But …” Leaning in, he kissed you again, that one accompanied with a smile. “A couple more minutes won’t hurt.” 

It was almost unbelievable that you’d gone from being unsure that your feelings for Tim were reciprocated to having him in your living room in the middle of the night with his hands on you and the feel of his kiss fresh in your mind. But we’re here and he’s … I like this. “I guess not.” You pushed him away and then frowned, thinking. “Can I get you anything? I’m sure you didn’t remember to eat, and I’ve got stuff to drink, and -”

“I’m fine.” He waved you off and then held out a hand, gesturing to your couch. “Want to sit?” 

You did, taking a seat beside him, and you were pleased when Tim didn’t leave much space between you, instead settling in so that your thighs were pressed together. “You can open yours first. My house, my rules.” He nudged you with his elbow but reached for his gift, turning it over in both hands before beginning to unwrap it. You watched anxiously, unsure about your choice of gifts. It’ll be fine. “Your list was … well.” 

He hummed, pulling the tape back and then taking the lid of the box off to expose the tissue paper inside. “You wrapped everything separately?” He looked over, brows raised. “You didn’t have to do that.” Shrugging, you kept your lips pressed together. 

He opened the card first, which included the first gift, a $5 scratch off ticket. That got a laugh out of Tim, who held the ticket between two fingers as he scanned the text of the card - and your admission that you were his Secret Santa, and that while you hoped he won something on the lottery ticket, you didn’t want it to mean that you never saw him again. He set both things down onto the table before reaching over to set his hand on your knee and squeeze, thanking you. “You’re not done yet, Rockford.” 

He went for the larger of the two gifts next, picking it up and tearing through the paper to reveal the socks, which got another laugh out of him at the same time you started speaking. 

“You said that your feet get cold, and I thought they were funny, so…” 

“They are.” He rubbed at his eyes with two fingers, his smile wide. “They’re perfect.” Tim set the socks down and then reached for the final gift, moving the larger box back to the table before he opened the flat box and peered into it. “You got me tickets to see Die Hard?” 

You couldn’t read his tone - he was surprised, sure, but you couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or an annoyed one. Buying the tickets was a risk, and you’d known that. But it’s the main gift, so if he doesn’t like it… “They were sold out, though. How… how’d you get them?”

“I ordered them online the day we talked about it, and then went to the theater and printed them out.” You clasped your hands together in your lap. “You mentioned that you liked the movie, and I figured that even if you worked tomorrow during the day, you could go to the movie at night, and -”

He said your name and then reached over, his arm going back around you to urge you closer. “Thank you. It’s perfect. I’m supposed to be off tomorrow, and after today, I’m definitely taking the whole day.” 

“Good.” You rested your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes droop shut. “You deserve it.”

“And you,” he whispered, leaning forward and reaching for the second gift. “Deserve to open your present now.” You took it from him and then sat all the way up again, eyeing the tag. 

“It’s supposed to say Secret Santa, Tim. You wrote -”

“I wanted you to know it was from me.” He cleared his throat. “Open it.” You pulled the paper away, making note of the fact that he’d done an excellent job wrapping it, which didn’t come as a surprise. 

And when you pulled the box top off and pushed tissue paper to the side, it was your turn to laugh at the sight of the individually wrapped gifts. “We had the same idea.” You lifted the pair of socks from the box, ripping the paper off and turning them over to look at both sides, biting back laughter. I did like the dinosaurs the most.  

“My place does get cold.” He said your name, voice quiet. “And I figured that if I had you over to watch a movie with me, you’d want something warm to wear.” Wait, what? 

“Is that an invitation to your house?” He nodded. “So you planned on asking me to… fuck, Tim. That would have been enough of a gift to -”

“I had a limit I needed to spend.” He wrinkled his nose, and you were thrilled to see that he was as amused - and relieved - at your response to his admission. “And there’s other stuff in that box, too. So keep opening.” 

You reached for the second item, lifting it and sucking in a breath when you realized what it was. “This wasn’t on my list.” 

“It wasn’t. When I was down going through that evidence that last time, I heard you complaining that the ice in your drink melted too fast, so…” He pointed. “That thing’s supposed to keep that from happening for longer and keep your cups or water bottles from leaving rings on tables, too. I guessed on the size, so I hope it’s alright.” 

You didn’t know what to say. He was observant; that wasn’t in question. But you were stunned that in the short time he’d spent with you, he’d learned enough to know what you’d like, and what was useful. “It’s great.” 

“There’s something in it.” He pointed. “Last gift.” You peeked into the fabric and pulled out a gift card, turning your head toward Tim when you saw what it was. The coffee place I like. “Now you can try it out and see if it works.” 

“I’ll do that next time I go.” You tucked the card back inside and then put everything into the box before leaning forward to put it all on the table. “Look at me, Tim.” He did, shifting his body so that he could face you. You didn’t hesitate when you reached forward and took his hands, thumbs gliding over his knuckles. “Thank you. You put a lot of thought into that, and I appreciate it.” 

“You did, too.” He narrowed his eyes briefly and then nodded. “Do you have plans tomorrow?” The question caught you off guard, and it took you a few seconds to answer, telling him no. Why? What does he want? “Do you want to come see a movie with me?” He jerked his chin toward the table. “I’ve got an extra ticket.”

“That’s not why I bought two. I figured you had someone that you’d want to take, and -”

“I do.” He tightened the hold on your hands. “You.” Tim licked his lips, the tip of his tongue appearing between them briefly. “And maybe we can get a late dinner afterward?” 

“I’m off for the next two weeks.” You smiled and he did, too, the expression pushing his cheeks upward and deepening the creases at the outside corners of his eyes. Fuck he’s handsome. “That means there is no late for me.” 

“Good.” He mumbled the word as he leaned in, Tim’s eyes drooping shut. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” 

That time when he kissed you, his lips were parted, giving him the opportunity to draw your lower one between them. He sucked gently on it and the pressure made you gasp, Tim using that as an opening to flick his tongue against it before he bit down, the drag of his teeth making you groan.

“You keep doing that and I’m not going to want you to leave, Detective.” You lifted one hand, pushing your fingers through the hair at his temples and humming at the softness. “In fact,” you continued, sighing as you kissed him again. “I already don’t.” 

“I’m here as long as you want me to be.” He spoke quietly, Tim’s voice low and full of need. “Your house, you can kick me out whenever y-”

You had no intention of kicking him out. You didn’t want him to leave, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t want to let him go, and when you tugged on his hair and twisted your fingers into his shirt, urging him to kiss you again, you hoped that he got the hint. 

There was no hesitation on Tim’s part then; he met you open-mouthed, slipping his tongue past his lips to meet yours. At the first taste of him, you knew that you were done, and were almost angry at yourself for waiting so long to make a move with him. Because he wants this as much as I do. 

He brought a hand up to the back of your neck, fingers curling around it to hold you steady, and when it became necessary for you to separate, you were both breathing hard. “Well, shit.” He smiled, eyes bright. “I could get used to doing that.” 

“Good.” You repeated his words from a few minutes earlier. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” 

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Has anyone else done this?

[magpiepills]

Overtime

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Tim passes the time on a long double shift.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, fingering, cream pie, unethical pairing, dubious consent, handcuffs, implied infidelity, etc. no use of Y/N, reader has hair. No editing, no proofreading, no betas!

ACAB, please go vote if you’re in the US!

A word from the author: special thanks and consideration to my girl @strang3lov3 for checking in on how our boy Tim is doing! I’d say he’s doing alright!

masterlist

Turgid Members Club

The Late Shift (this is the same Tim and same reader!)

At 1:12 AM, Tim pours a cup of coffee. It’s too hot and too weak, the powdered creamer he pours in to mask the flavor clumps dryly. He tries to break them up, pressing them against the side of his cup with the flimsy plastic stirrer before sighing and dumping the whole mess in the sink.

Tim walked back to his office under the buzzing fluorescent lights, his shoes squeaking softly against the stained and chipped terrazzo floor. He’s restless. Relegated to an overnight shift in addition to his first late shift, he was to cover the desk, a warm body to field any emergency dispatches. The night was quiet, though. In a town this small, the officers in the field could handle most of the calls, leaving Tim little to occupy him for the rest of his shift. He thought of you.

Sitting in his squeaking chair, running his hand over the top of his desk, straightened during the first silent hour of overtime, he tried to conjure the smell of your cunt. He wanted to remember the way you felt on his lips. His cock twitched in his slacks and he looked around the empty department before sinking a little lower in his seat to rub his wide, paddle shaped palm over his thickening length. He was reserved, giving himself a little counter pressure, but not stroking, exactly. He grunted and closed his eyes. Your face floated in his mind, the pout of your lips, the glass of your big Bambi eyes. He thought of your tits, the color of your nipples, the weight of them in his hands, and he jutted his hips upward against his flat hand.

Tim loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his limp and wrinkled shirt. Gripping the arm rests of his chair, he tried to reason with himself. He’s alone, but he’s not alone. Down the corridor there are guards, the janitor was here somewhere, pushing the grubby yellow mop bucket, daubing gray pine-sol water across the floor in a pantomime of cleanliness.

And you are here. Down the first corridor, through a locked door, up a flight of stairs, another locked door, and tucked in a cell all alone in a mostly empty block of cells meant for wayward ladies. He can’t go to you. It would be wrong. He can’t come in there and wake you up from your already shitty sleep and shove his aching cock down your throat. He can’t.

But he should do some rounds. Check that all is in order, all doors are secure, all protocols are being followed. He’s on the clock, after all.

The keys on the big master key ring click as he fixes it to his belt. He stretches and adjusts this shoulder holsters and palms his half hard dick once more before leaving his office. He walks slowly, his face arranged in a serious line. No nonsense. He takes his time, checking logs as he goes, exchanging brief notes with the guards on duty, all in the name of duty. He observes the men in the cells, cost of them frequent fliers, lying on their bunks or sitting and mumbling. He nods at the ones who bother to look up as he passes.

The locked door clangs open, and clangs back shut. Tim locks himself into the stairwell and starts casually, unhurriedly toward the women’s unit. He unlocks the door at the top of the stairs, no doubt announcing his arrival, and carefully relocks it. The corridor is quiet. The stale air is barely circulated by a slow turning fan overhead. It has probably been on for 90 years, Tim thinks, walking softly past empty, dimly lit holding cells. His blood rushes faster as he nears the last cell at the end, speeding to his neck and his cheeks and his heavy cock.

He finds you, finally, just as he had imagined you. A little devil in repose on your single bunk, pants kicked onto the floor, stiff jail-laundered top rolled up over your belly, one leg dangling over the side. Were you waiting for him?

In your sticky, humid, dreamless sleep, you heard his steps. You heard the heavy fall of the door, the turn of the lock, but they were far away. Only the rhythmic tapping of metal against metal roused you. It was much closer, more insistent. You rubbed your eyes and slowly put together the sound with the shadow darkening your little compartment.

Detective Rockford. Tim. His gold wedding band clicking against the cold bar keeping you inside your cell.

“Tim?” You rasp, voice soft and sleepy.

“Hey jailbird,” he coos, “just came to check on you. Make sure everything is in order.

Your hair was mussed, your face puffy and bleary, it made you look sultry and seductive, he thought.

“Need to inspect, sweetheart,” he apologized and dangled a pair of handcuffs from the end of this thick finger, “turn around for me. Against the wall.”

You moved slowly, still groggy, but Tim didn’t rush you. He watched you move, from your pink painted toes up your bare legs, round little ass in your too-tight panties, your belly, and those tits he knows are waiting under your shirt.

When you’re against the wall, legs spread and hands behind your back the way is expected, Tim lets himself in. He cuffs you carefully, as if the cuffs were bracelets, and this was a real date, a night in the town.

He lifts your pillow, glances under the mattress, and shakes out your blanket, bringing it to his face to inhale your scent before tossing it back down.

“Looks like you’ve been on good behavior. Still need to pat you down, though.”

You hum, amused at how far he’s willing to take his farce. You know why he’s here, your pussy thrummed from the moment you realized who had come for you.

Tim’s broad frame looms over you, wide hands on your shoulders, sweeping your hair away from your shoulder, sliding over your chest, down over your hips, stopping there to squeeze before disappearing under your top.

You kept your cheek flat against the white painted cinder block wall as he crowded you, kneading and pinching your breasts, rutting his hips into your ass as he mouths at your neck, sucking and nibbling, soothing himself, working himself up.

When it’s not enough, he turns you around.

“Shhh. Gotta be quiet now.” He lifts the front of your shirt and stuffs it into your mouth, accomplishing two things at once.

He rolls your panties down your thighs, waiting for you to step out of them before shoving them into his pocket.

Taking a step back, Tim rolls his sleeves up his forearms as he watches the way you shift your hips, little cunt so needy. He makes his assessment, then begins the methodical process of your undoing.

“Been a good girl? Need a little reward for staying out of trouble?” He whispers.

You nod, desperate for his touch, whining quietly.

His touch is precise. His thick finger slides up the wet length of your slit, gathering slick that he brings to his full lips, sucking his finger clean before he goes back for more. Just one finger sliding over your seam, glossing past your clenching hole and your throbbing clit, covering his digit again.

Like a painter, he daubs your wetness over the tips of your breasts, he swirls his finger around your pointed bud and blows, letting you feel the way they cool even in the too-hot cell.

Tim is greedy, and he sucks each nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth faintly scrape against your tender flesh as he licks you clean.

As if to make up for the last time, he was generous with your pleasure. His rough hand worked between your legs, fingertips strumming your clit, and two thick fingers spearing into you from behind, pumping until your legs were weak and your head was cloudy. Your orgasm soaked his hand and wetted your thighs. You whimpered into his chest.

“Turn around.” He pants, drugging at his pants, unable to free his cock fast enough. He’s in a hurry, he needs to feel the tight grip of you around him. He pulls your hips back roughly, arranging you just so, digging his fingertips into the plush of your ass as he lines himself up and slides home, every inch of his turgid member pushing the air from your lungs as he fills you completely. Wiping your mind of any thoughts or second guesses.

He pulses there, thick cock head against your cervix, letting you feel him, really feel him.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent whine when he begins to move, gathering steam like a freight train until he’s pounding into you hard and deep, narrow hips colliding with your ass, warnings to stay silent forgotten when he groans and stalls, emptying inside you with heavy spurts of white.

Tim tucks his cock back into his pants and sits heavily on the side of your bunk while you remain against the wall, catching your breath and dripping come down your thighs. He regards you with curiosity, a certain fondness he didn’t usually feel for inmates. He turned you over in his mind and then put you away, steeling himself as he was trained to. He let himself out of your cell, and motioned for you to turn so he could remove the handcuffs. He was gentle, apologetic as you rubbed your wrists.

“I’ll tell laundry to bring you a fresh outfit, maybe see about getting you another pillow,” he said, his voice back to business already, devoid of the need from just moments ago. He disappeared down the hallway, and you tried to go back to sleep.

[baronessvonglitter]

Welcome!! My name is Adriana, a very ambitious person who is also quite lazy, and I love to write. My blog is all about Pedro, with a few other fandoms sprinkled in.

Please check below for works on your favorite Pedro boys! (I do not write RPF.)

Feel free to leave an Ask and say hi, discuss fics, or plain just fangirl with me! Some people live in reality; I live in my maladaptive daydreams and I'm so happy here.

(Please be aware that this blog is for those 18 years or older, minors DNI)

Joel Miller fics

Din Djarin fics

Tim Rockford fics

Marcus Moreno fics

Frankie Morales fics

Dave York fics

Jack Daniels fics

Javier Pena fics

Max Phillips fics

Marcus Pike fics

Reblogs and comments appreciated! I love that shit ♥️

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

[londonspirit]

just to have them all in one place

[popcornforone]

Be A Good Girl

A Detective Tim Rockford Fic

Day 5 of Pedrotober (Esquire Photo shoot prompt)

Masterlist

Day 5, the return of everyone’s sexiest Detective. If you’re not here for Tim Rockford, then I’m sorry I feel for you. I wanted to include Tim & thought this would be a very fun way to do it. Have him show all his sides & then have you hanging on his every word. & that Esquire look Pedro had going… damn. Could have used so many photos for this, but ended up just going for this one.

Synopsis:- Your photo shoot falters when your model is late, how can your hot boyfriend help out.

Word count:- 1200

Warnings over & above:- mentions of being tied up durring sex, talk of sex, persuasion, good girl & god cop bad cop kinks, handcuffs basically don’t let me write sexual tension for Tim Rockford it’s not healthy for me.

Thanks as always for the read peoples & please thank @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for the prompt list for the month.

There you sit waiting for the hot model to come in to do this month’s shoot for Esquire. The outfits are laid out & ready to go. The couple of sets & props are ready to have some 6ft skinny model pose on them that you then need to try & make hot as you know they won’t be your type of man. But he’s not arrived. You’re running out of time to do this, it’s important for both the magazine & your portfolio to get some photos done today, this is a huge deal. Esquire don’t usually ask someone like you to do a photo shoot for them.

Instead you sit there & wait. Your boyfriend had even tagged along today. He wanted to see exactly what his girlfriend of 6 months did. You knew all too well what Detective Rockford did. It was rare for him to have any relaxation time with work, but with no case to work on, without a real suspect yet, he decided to spend this afternoon with you. Not that he’s spending it with you. He’s in his jeans, which make his arse look like a delicious peach, & shows exactly what you get to enjoy every time you are with him. He’s got a white vest on under dark blue shirt, his jacket he left in the car. He’s got adidas trainers on too. But more importantly he’s playing with the make up artists dog, letting her lick his face as he calls her a good girl & she continues to play. Each time you hear the words good girl you gasp a little. Thinking about how he whispered those words into your ear last night as you came, the clinking of the handcuffs chiming in your mind as you pulled against them, the bed frame creaking . You got the good cop bad cop in the same night & he got to watch you hit back to back orgasms in 3minutes, making him cum so hard you thought he was going to pass out.

“Fuck baby” he growled. You’re busy thinking of this when your iPad lights up with a call regarding this shoot.

“Well it doesn’t look like he’s showing up”

You sigh after coming off a call with his agent & Esquire. Everyone in the room groans. Tim looks up slightly from the dog. His hair now slightly disheveled as he’s been rough with the dog. “Let’s not make today a complete waist of our time though I have an idea” you put your iPad down & run across to Tim.

“Baby this is a huge ask, but if you could grab that jacket to the left & find some boots over there in your size, can I photograph you, just so then Esquire know the look I wanted to go for, they then might let me do it for another month”

“Me?” He asks shocked. His head looks up, if you didn’t think your boyfriend was hot before, you did in this exact moment. Those eyes are smouldering. You can also tell my the radiating face that he’s secretly excited to be apart of your shoot.

“Yes you” you plead,”please baby. I’ll do whatever you want”

“Really?”

“Yes”

“really really?”

“Yes” he then steps into your personal space, moving that stay hair off your face & whispers into your ear.

“What I want is after the shoot, is for everyone to leave & for you to lay on that dirty mattress over their & for me to investigate what’s under your clothes”

“Tim!” Blushing crimson doesn’t match how red you’ve just gone that he’s said this in a room full of people. Yes he whispered it but it was in a seductive way. You’re aroused instantly.

“Can we do that” you pause & look at the smirk across his face. You tug at his belt, he’s getting excited. His jeans are always tight fitting but that outline is much more prominent than it was a few minutes ago.

“If I can’t get the mattress & props clear it up, I promise we can head back to yours to do a thorough inspection.”

“Good girl” he whimpers. You gulp & you receive a sloppy kiss on the cheek. He then walks over grabs the boots & a jacket & lays across the sofa, the dog coming up to sit next to him. “Let’s get this over with”

You take the photos, but your mind is thinking about what Tim will do to you later. He has no idea that you actually have matching pink lace underwear on today. Hed lie you on the dirty mattress or his own bed like a man possessed. Your head hearing his dirty words from the night before.

“You want it baby, you need it, good girl, such a good girl for your bad cop”

After a few photos you look down at your camera & flick through them. Tim stands behind you looking over your shoulder.

“Hmmm there’s life in the old dog yet” he says as he slips his hand inside your own trousers. You hear the sigh as he feels the lace from your underwear & you hope no one else heard it.

“Thank you Tim, that means the world that you did that”

“Hmmm so when do you get to come to my work for work experience” he asks as costume ask for the jacket & boots back & he has to remove his hand from your arse.

“I’m not sure the police department would like that”

“Don’t care” he says bluntly now back in his trainers but he hasn’t put the blue shirt back on he’s just in that white vest. Your hands instinctively move to his muscular arms. Stroking and caressing each inch of him. Vests don’t usually do it for you at all, you prefer a man in a suit, but damn he’s rocking it all today. Neither of you are caring about the room being cleared around you “your my girl & if I want you for some hands on help, by god you’ll be in my office assisting me”

“Just assisting?”

“Orally”

“Obviously” you snigger. “Cos good girls…” you pause & tug on his belt”are obedient”

“& bad girl…” he reply’s he tugs at your hair”… know they don’t need permission” his lips vilonly crash with yours. That large hand goes around the bottom of your neck. You don’t care if he’s been licked by a dog all afternoon, he still tastes of Tim as your tongue entertains his, & he pushes his groin, hardening still, into your thighs. A small whimper escapes your lip.

“Take me home Detective” you moan when your eye lids eventually flutter open & realised the room is all but cleared. “I think I need you to work out what I have in store for you”

“Oooh beautiful” he moans & he scoops you into his arms & starts to carry you towards the door “if your let me give you a strip search, I’ll let you cum while your tied up, so be a good girl baby”

[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.”

[d4rm4nd4]

Sweet, tart and very easy... key lime pie from Black Days Headcanons by the wonderful  @something-tofightfor ♡ thank you for the inspiration!

More detective Tim art here and here

[amyleepascal]

Happy National Bakery Day

[something-tofightfor]

To: You, From: Santa (1)

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 8,952

Summary: Participating in the office Secret Santa exchange shouldn't be nervewracking ... but when Tim Rockford is involved, that changes.

Rating: M, just for language though.

Author's Note:

I meant to have this done for Christmas in July, but didn't... so have my annual cheesy Hallmark Christmas story for actual Christmas instead. Also, it was supposed to be like 6 k max, and now it's pushing 17. whoops.

This is not connected to Black Days. Reader works in Tim's precinct, but not as a fellow officer/detective. I have no idea how the actual evidence rooms work, so suspend disbelief here a little when it comes to chain of custody, please and thank you.

Part 2 is completed and scheduled to post on Wednesday, December 18.

Thanks for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

He was paid to figure things out, but Detective Tim Rockford was stumped when it came to choosing a gift. 

He’d happily joined the department’s Secret Santa exchange, filling out the form with his name and his interests along with a few gift suggestions - just like everyone else. And he’d hoped that whatever name he’d drawn would be a simple buy - a gift card or a pair of thick socks or even a bottle of wine or chocolates, like it was every year. 

But the moment he’d unfolded his chosen name, Tim had known that things wouldn’t be that easy. Because he hadn’t drawn Betty in accounting or David in dispatch. It wasn’t as simple as getting his partner’s name and cutting the season’s gift buying number down by one. 

Instead, Tim had drawn your name … and that was a problem - which meant that he’d need to take drastic measures to solve it. 

Your job was typically an easy one, with long lulls between in person interactions. 

As an evidence officer for the police department precinct, you had it good. It was a lot of paperwork, but it was easy, and it meant that you could zone out and listen to music for the majority of your shift. It was much better than the last assignment you’d had, and despite the difficult situations many of the people that came to see you were in, they were usually pleasant enough. 

Especially Tim Rockford. 

He had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but whenever he came down to see you, he was nothing but friendly. You assumed that it had to do with the fact that without you - and your help - his job would have been much more difficult, but you liked to pretend that that wasn’t the case. 

You also liked to think about what it would be like to see him in normal circumstances. 

You imagined sitting in the courtyard with him, talking about things that had nothing to do with police work or evidence, his glasses discarded on the table beside him as he leaned in closer. Other times, you let yourself daydream about seeing him at a bar or a restaurant, or even a store, and the two of you conversing without a time limit.

But in reality, you’d never said more than a few words at a time to him outside of work requirements - nothing more in-depth than a hey, how’s it going? or a have a good weekend, get some sleep. Because if there was one thing you knew about Detective Tim Rockford, it was that when he was at work, he was focused. 

It was why he had the second highest close rate in the county. It was why other departments and divisions turned to him for help, sending over files and evidence that you needed to check in and out to him. It was one of the reasons why you’d chosen to admire him from afar for the year that you’d worked with him. 

You heard the rumors about his dating life, because the other women in the department liked to gossip. In the rare moments you were up on the main level of the building, you’d glimpsed him interacting with other officers and employees, his lips quirked into a small smile as his attention was focused on them. You had a feeling that he could truly turn on the charm when necessary, and while part of you was very interested in finding out exactly what being the focus of that felt like, you knew that it was probably a terrible idea at the same time. 

So you kept to yourself for the majority of your day, ensuring that the evidence logs were organized and everything was accounted for. 

You talked to the people that came down for various reasons, and helped them find things when it was necessary. 

You did your job and did it well, the praise coming in emailed memos from your bosses and coworkers, and in the form of treats like cups of good coffee and snacks from some of your favorite local places left at your window or handed directly to you across the counter.

It made the days go faster, and it gave you a chance to get to know some of the men and women that relied on you at the same time. Which meant that it didn’t surprise you when Amy, one of the dispatch girls, came up to you in the break room one day just after Thanksgiving, shaking a small box back and forth. 

You were thrilled to participate in the Secret Santa exchange, and looked forward to shopping for whoever you picked from the remaining names - until you unfolded the paper and saw familiar handwriting scrawled across the different sections. 

It was just your luck that out of about 50 possible matches, you’d pulled Tim Rockford’s name. 

You had one headphone in and were scrolling through your phone, a half eaten bag of chips on the table in front of you when you heard his voice. “Can I sit?” Glancing up, your eyes widened slightly at the sight of Tim Rockford standing just beside your table, a grease-spotted paper bag in one hand. “All the other tables are full.”

“Sure.” Nodding, you gestured to the chair in front of him. “I’m almost done anyway, so you’ll have it to yourself soon.” You still had nearly 20 minutes before you needed to be back downstairs, but the truth was that you didn’t know if you trusted yourself to be in his presence for that long, or if you’d be able to make coherent conversation with him if he was interested in talking. 

Because that day, Tim was a little more disheveled than usual, his hair messy and tie loosened so that the top button of his shirt could be undone. You liked the way it looked - probably a little too much - and didn’t want what would likely be the longest conversation you’d ever had ruined by your awkwardness about the peek of skin at his throat. 

He unpacked the bag, pulling out a white container that you recognized as from the preferred Chinese restaurant for most of the department. It was followed by a small plastic tub of wonton soup. “This is probably the first time in weeks I’ve gotten to eat while my food’s still the right temperature.” 

“Yeah?” You pulled the earbud out, sliding it back into the case and snapping it shut. “No cases to crack?”

“We actually just wrapped one up,” he started to speak while he opened the container, dumping in the bag of crispy noodles that had come with it. “The Boulton case? That old lady who -”

“Oh, the one that killed her husband all those years ago?” Tim noded, carefully stirring the soup before lifting a spoonful to his lips. “It’s done? I wondered why you hadn’t come to visit me in the evidence room lately.” 

“It’s done.” He confirmed with a nod, eyeing you over the rims of his glasses. “Made the final arrest this morning, and now we wait for the trial.” 

“Congrats, Detective.” You raised your drink in salute, giving him a smile. “That had the whole department stumped.” 

“It did. We were all going in fucking circles.” He chewed, nodding as he narrowed his eyes and looked at you thoughtfully. “And there’s plenty more for me to work on, but I decided …” He leaned in, grinning. “Fuck it, I’m taking the rest of the day to myself.” 

It was officially the longest conversation that you’d had with Tim, but you’d already learned something valuable to you - and your search for the right gift for him. And it’s got to do with his food preferences. “And yet you’re still here, eating take out, and -”

“I’m observing.” He wrinkled his nose. “I have to figure out what to get my Secret Santa, and I’m not going to do that by going home.” He pointed at the door, shaking his head. “I’ve already done my rounds and talked to a few people, asked a couple questions.”

“Who do you have?” Leaning back in your chair, you cocked your head to the side. “Maybe I can help. I’m in here a lot and -”

“I can’t tell you that.” He took a bite of rice, rolling his eyes. “Defeats the whole purpose of a secret Santa, hmm?” It did, he was correct, but you’d still had to try. “Who do you have?” 

“If you’re not telling, I’m not telling.” Eating one of the chips, you scowled at him. “It’s only fair.” Plus I want to see if I can figure something out for you that isn’t a gift card or a magazine subscription. He laughed again, returning to his food. “Why don’t you just get one of the things they asked for? We all filled out three suggestions, so that makes it simple.” 

“I’m a detective.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, staring at you. “I should be able to figure out something that’s not a standard $25 gift.” 

“I have faith in you.” You finished your drink, twisting the cap back onto the bottle and setting it down. “I’ve seen the way you go through evidence. And you’ve still got like two and a half weeks.” 

“I do.” He sighed, rubbing a hand against his jaw. “And now that I’m not thinking about this case 25/8, maybe I’ll have time to figure it out.” That made you laugh, and after a few seconds Tim joined you, the sound of it filling your chest with warmth. “At least tell me this.” He crossed his arms and then tapped his finger a few times against his bicep. “Are you buying them something that they put on the list?”

“I hope not.” Giving him a onceover, you shrugged. “Nobody puts personal things on these damn lists, though. It’s all ‘candy’ or ‘a gift card’ or ‘fuzzy socks’ or ‘lottery tickets’.” You checked the time, sighing as you realized your break was almost over. Get one more question in. “What did you put on your list, Tim?” 

He pressed his lips together and then reached up, taking his glasses off and setting them on the table before he rubbed at his eyes. “Lottery tickets, a gift card to the grocery store by my house and the first throw blanket that came up when I searched Amazon because my feet get cold when I lay on my couch and watch movies.” You tried to hold back your laugh and failed, because even though you’d known that those things were on his list, hearing him say them was amusing. “I know. It’s a shitty list, but me telling my family what I want is just as bad.” 

“You just want to win the lottery so you can quit your job.” He chuckled, his smile soft and his deep brown eyes glittering in the fluorescent lighting. No one should look that fucking handsome in this lighting. No one.

“But if I quit my job, I won’t have lunch breaks like this one to look forward to.” You sighed, pushing to your feet and gathering your trash so that you had an excuse not to meet his eyes. He’s not flirting. He can’t be. “Time to go back?”

“Yeah, I’m going to turn into a pumpkin unless I get back to the evidence locker on time.” He snorted, poking his fork into the container again, though he didn’t look away from you. “Have a good rest of your relaxing day, Detective Rockford.” 

He assured you he would, nodding once before you turned away and headed for the door. You were proud of yourself for holding an actual conversation and not making a fool of yourself. You’d even made him laugh without trying too hard. All in all, things could have gone much worse. 

The only problem was that that single conversation had turned your manageable crush on Tim into a full-blown interest, and you didn’t know how to deal with that. 

Over the next few days, Tim turned his attention to other cases, painstakingly making his way through information that he’d previously collected and trying to see if there were things he’d missed. He found a new clue here and there, adding information to the files and making a few phone calls to talk to witnesses and others that had been involved. He even made a couple appointments to meet with people, scheduling them out so that he had time to prepare. 

But he hadn’t made his way down to the evidence locker at any point, because there’d been no need to. And that disappointed him, because after the conversation you’d had in the break room, Tim wanted to talk to you more. 

He’d gotten no good ideas from you for your gift, which was to be expected. That didn’t mean he hadn't learned anything, though. 

The short conversation across the table had shown him that you had a sense of humor. It told him that you could keep up with his jokes, and that you weren’t afraid to speak your mind. It also told him that your face lit up when you were amused, and that you made eye contact when you spoke directly to people, even if it took you a few seconds to warm up. 

It would have been easy enough for him to ask you out. He knew from others in the office that you weren’t seriously seeing anyone, and that you’d moved to the area after a long term relationship had ended. He’d also looked through your social media for more clues about who you were outside of work, and what he’d learned, he liked. 

You liked reading. You liked movies. You liked coffee and animals, and had a penchant for using emojis in your comment replies to family and friends online. He’d also learned that you were planning on taking almost two weeks of vacation at the end of the year, beginning just after the holiday party and timed so that you had both Christmas and New Year’s off. 

It would mean that for those two weeks, he’d be dealing with Anthony if he needed access to your storeroom or anything in it, and at the realization, Tim’s nose wrinkled. That’s enough of a reason for me to request time off then, too. He didn’t, though, only entertaining the thought for long enough to consider the fact that his Lieutenant had said they’d be short staffed over the holidays as it was. And so I stay here. 

He replayed your conversation over and over in his mind while at work and at home. By the time he actually needed visit to the evidence room again, he was almost desperate for a second one, which was out of character for him. 

You weren’t at the window when the elevator doors opened on your floor, and so Tim did the only thing that he could think to do: he leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, trying to peer around the corner and see if maybe you were down one of the aisles. It wouldn’t be unattended. No way. 

He was right. When you appeared a few seconds later, two boxes in hand, he let out a breath in relief, pushing away from the wall and heading toward you. “Afternoon.” He nodded twice, settling his hands on the countertop. “I’m sure this comes as no surprise, but I need your help.” 

“Of course you do. Why else would you be down here?” You set the boxes down and then picked up the phone, dialing out. “Give me two seconds.” He waited, keeping his eyes on you as you completed the call and let someone know that you had their evidence ready, and all they needed to do was come down and sign for it. You looked tired, and when Tim saw you stifle a yawn, he briefly wondered what it was that had kept you from sleeping soundly. None of my business, though. “What can I do for you, Detective?” 

“Need to take a look at some evidence from an open case.” You nodded, clicking on your computer screen and then looking expectantly at him. “Malwes. From about three months ago.” You nodded, typing, and then a few seconds later, you tapped on the screen, your smile widening. 

“Got it. Are you signing it out, or just using the room to go through it?” He’d planned on taking it back up to his office, since the main thing he needed to look at was a logbook. But unless he was mistaken, there was a hopeful tone to your voice. Does she want me to stay? 

“I’ll stay down here.” He scratched the side of his neck. “Can’t hurt.” You tapped a few more times and then reached for your sign-out sheet, sliding it across to Tim. He took the pen from you and scrawled his name in the right space, watching as you initialed it and entered the time before unlocking the door. 

He entered the room and once the door was shut - and locked - behind him, you spun away from the counter and motioned for him to follow you. “Should be right at the end of the shelf. I remember seeing that name the last time I was in here.” He eyed you as you walked ahead of him, confidently leading him down the aisle before reaching for the box and handing it over. “See? I was right.” 

“You were.” Your fingers brushed against his when he took the evidence from you, but you didn’t bat an eye, instead just grinning before you pointed back at the lobby, letting him know where you were headed. No, I want to see you.  “You want me to sit out there with you? I didn’t know if you’d want me to hang out in here.” 

“If you don’t mind.” Sighing, you lowered your head. “It’s really dumb, but the guy I just called to come get files? He’s … asked me out a couple times, and I figure maybe if someone else is sitting there, he won’t do it again.” He felt his jaw lock into place, and Tim watched your posture as you spoke, trying to figure out just how bothered you were. “He’s not being a creep about it or anything, but just hasn’t gotten the hint yet.” 

“Of course.” He set the box down and then slid into one of the seats while you headed back for the counter, leaning against it to look over at him. “So you don’t want to go out with the guy?” 

“No.” You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. “I just don’t think we’d have anything in common. He’s not my type.” And what is your type? He watched you for a few seconds longer and then hummed in agreement before turning to his work. 

He glanced over at you a few times over the following few minutes, watching as you sipped from a plastic cup that was half filled with ice and some sort of liquid. He smiled when he heard you grumble about the ice never lasting. Hmm. That’s helpful. But it wasn’t until the elevator doors opened that he truly let his attention waver. 

Tim halfheartedly flipped through the pages of the book as he listened to you talk to the other person there - a younger officer named Marty. You were friendly, though you made no attempt to engage the other man in additional conversation, Not like she did with me.  When you stepped away from the counter to head back into the file room for a different box, Tim finally looked all the way up, meeting Marty’s eyes and giving him a single nod. 

“Didn’t see you back there, Detective.” He sounded disappointed, and Tim was barely able to hide his reaction, biting the inside of his cheek to conceal his smirk. “Decided to visit the evidence cave today, too?”

“I did.” He leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Sorry I’m using the table.” The younger man waved him off, rising onto his tiptoes to peer around the corner and look for you. “Which case are you working on?”

“Drug bust with weapons. I need to check some numbers and make sure one of the serials matches the -”

‘Here.” You appeared again, holding up a small bag. “Not in a box.” You stepped back as Marty began to rifle through what was in front of him, occasionally scribbling something down into a notepad that he’d pulled from his pocket. He slid everything back toward you when he finished, and you marked down the time in your ledger, tucking that back beneath the counter as you gathered everything up to carry back to the shelves. 

“Got any plans this weekend?” Seriously? “There’s a movie theater at the mall that’s rereleasing a bunch of holiday movies between now and Christmas, and this Saturday’s Edward Scissorhands. Tickets usually sell out pretty quick, so I thought I’d ask now.” 

“Saturday? I …” You sighed, and Tim could see that you were trying to come up with an excuse. She shouldn’t need to. “I’m off work, but -” 

“She’s going to help me out.” Tim cleared his throat, gesturing with one hand. “I’m stumped with my Secret Santa gift, and need someone to tag along while I shop.” Marty frowned, disappointment evident on his features for a few seconds. Good. “I figured we’d go later in the day and grab dinner as a thank you for her help, so…” He finally looked over at you, unsure of what to expect - and was floored with the gratitude he saw in your expression. 

“Didn’t they give you like …three ideas for gifts?” Marty tucked the notebook away, frowning. “Just buy something from that list. That’s what I did.” Of course it is. 

“I could do that.” Tim nodded, adjusting his glasses. “But my giftee only gave me one idea, and it was a hat, and I have no idea what to get.” He paused, thinking. “What other movies are they showing?” 

“I…” Marty was flustered by the question, but recovered quickly. “I don’t know. Gremlins I think. Die Hard. National Lampoon. Elf. They -” 

“Die Hard’s one of my favorites.” Tim laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “People say it’s not a Christmas movie, but it definitely is.” 

“I agree.” You spoke up, the attention of both men immediately on you. “My family had that argument a lot “ Tim’s smile widened while Marty’s expression went even more sour, the second man sighing loudly. “And I appreciate you asking, Marty, but even if I wasn’t going with Tim, the answer still would have been no, just like it was last time. I’m not trying to send any mixed signals here.” 

“That’s fine.” Marty shrugged. “Just trying to be nice. I won’t ask again.” He spun away from the counter and headed back for the elevator, you and Tim staring after him. 

But neither of you spoke until the doors closed, and it was you that did first, covering your face with both hands and muttering good, you jackass. He shifted in his chair, angling his body toward you, but Tim kept quiet, waiting to see if you’d say anything else. “Thank you, Tim.” Lowering your hands, you shook your head. “You didn’t have to say anything. I just … I don’t think he liked being turned down in front of someone, and -”

“No is a complete sentence.” He shrugged. “You’ve said no before, he shouldn’t keep asking.” 

“Some people just don’t get the hint.” Biting down on your lower lip, you gestured to the boxes and bag. “I’m going to put these away. If anyone comes down, can you tell them I’ll be right back?” 

“Sure.” He watched you go, chest rising and falling as he replayed the previous few minutes. It had been a kneejerk reaction to make up plans that involved the two of you, but your reaction hadn’t been what he was expecting. Does she actually want to go with me? 

No one came down while you were gone, and when you reappeared, Tim looked over at you, stunned to see that you were nervous. “I don’t know if you really meant that you needed my help on Saturday, but I don’t have plans.” You paused, and he watched as your fingers flexed, curling in toward your palms. “So if you want -”

“I meant it.” His heart thumped in his chest, Tim fighting to keep his smile from erupting. You have no idea how much I meant it. “Shopping and dinner. But only if you want to.” He jerked his thumb toward the elevator. “If you tell me no, I’ll accept it.” 

There was a silence that stretched for a few seconds between you, and for a moment, Tim wondered if you were going to turn him down. But then you grinned, nodding your head and dropping back into your chair without taking your eyes off of him. 

“I bet you don’t hear no too often, Detective.” Arching a brow, you continued. “And you’re certainly not going to hear it from me.” 

It was just an afternoon of shopping and a quick dinner, so you didn’t know why you were so anxious about it. 

Tim had offered to pick you up because of limited parking options, and you’d agreed but that only made it worse. It meant that you’d be in the car with him for almost a full hour between the two destinations, which meant filling those rides with small talk. 

You were almost certain that he was interested in you - at least physically - based solely on the way he looked at you. His brown eyes focused on your face when you spoke, though you’d seen him eyeing you almost greedily when he thought you hadn’t been looking. It didn’t bother you in the way that it did when other men leered, though. Because you believed Tim when he said he’d respect your decisions, and his disgust with Marty’s behavior hadn’t been for show.

But knowing that he reciprocated your interest was one thing - and finding the right way to act on it was another. 

He pulled up a few minutes before he’d planned to, and when you stepped out to meet him, you wrinkled your nose at the fine mist that was falling. Pulling your hood up, you made a dash for the car, surprised to see that Tim had exited his side and was moving toward yours. “No, Tim! It’s gross out, stay inside.” You waved him off, laughing as you flung the door open and slid into the front passenger seat, Tim getting back in next to you and groaning. 

When you looked over, you laughed harder at the sight of the lenses of his glasses, which were covered in water droplets. “I was just trying to be nice.” He grumbled the words out as he reached for a cloth to wipe them clean. “Hi.” He looked over at you once they were situated on his nose again. “You ready?”

“Hi.” He was even more handsome up close and in the confines of his car, the interior of it almost cozy. It’s warm and it smells like his cologne. “Thanks for coming to get me, Tim.” 

He nodded in reply and then pulled away from the curb, staying quiet until you were on the main road. “I thought we’d go to the mall. There’s a lot of stores there, so I can look for a couple things that aren’t for my Secret Santa, too, if that’s alright.” He looked over at you, waiting for your nod. “And then we can pick somewhere in the mall or around it for dinner, as long as you’re not sick of me by then.” 

“I might be sick of the crowds, but I don’t think I’ll be sick of you after a couple hours.” You nudged him with your elbow. “I hope we find something today.” 

“Me too.” He sighed. “I’m running out of days off.” Laughing quietly, you settled into the seat, briefly closing your eyes as you inhaled. If the first few minutes were setting the tone, the rest of the day was going to be fun. 

You made small talk until you parked at the mall, choosing an entrance via one of the department stores instead of the main one. It worked to your advantage, and when you were inside, you and Tim stepped off to the right of the doors, making a gameplan. He wanted to go into four stores, but they were in different sections of the mall, which meant that you’d pass others on the way. 

“You said you’re looking for a hat?” He nodded as you started to walk through the store, Tim walking to your left. “You won’t tell me who, but can you at least tell me if it’s for a man or a woman? Or if you’re looking for something universal? I need something to go on if I’m going to help you.” 

“It’s for a woman.” He eyed a rack of clothes as you passed it, and then turned his head to look at you. “But I don’t want to buy anything over the top. She wrote in a color preference.” That helps. But if she said that much, he could have picked something. “Blue, green, or black were her top three colors.” You nodded, thinking. “What about you? Do you need to look for your gift while we’re here?”

“No, actually.” You stopped to browse a rack of hats and gloves, flipping through piles that you were certain had been neatly folded earlier in the day. “I took care of mine earlier this week.” Looking up, you gave him a broad smile. “Ordered it online, and -”

“What did you get?” He moved to stand next to you, picking up a black hat and then making a face when he saw a giant bow on the side of it. “Was it something on their list?”

“Nope.” You held up a hat in hunter green, Tim reaching over to take it from you to look at the design on the interior fabric. “And I’m not telling. But it’s something for them to use and not just to have.” 

Part of you hated teasing him, but you knew that once he opened his gift, he’d immediately understand your clues. I just hope he likes it. And that he’s not … that he doesn’t assume anything. “I could interrogate you.” You both stepped away from the display, Tim once again walking beside you. “I’ve been told that I’m pretty good at it.” 

The thought made you weak in the knees, and though you wanted to believe you could handle his questions, deep down you knew that it was more likely you’d cave almost immediately under the intensity of his gaze. Who wouldn’t? 

“I’m sure you are.” You exited the department store and stepped into the mall, the sound of Christmas music and an assortment of chatter from the other shoppers loud in your ears. “And I’m sure you could, but that wouldn’t be fair, Tim.” 

“Probably not.” He laughed, stepping closer to you to get out of the way while a group of teenagers passed in the opposite direction.”Do they always move in packs?” 

“They do.” You pointed at a second group, which was gathered around a pair of benches in the center aisle.  “Gives them more confidence for when they’re being annoying little shits.” That made Tim laugh again, and you were pleased to realize that he didn’t move away even when the crowd thinned, giving both of you more space. 

“It’s been so long since I was a damn high schooler. I must be out of practice.” He guided you toward another store with a single touch to the back of your arm. “And speaking of high schoolers, I have to pick up a game for my nephew. It should be waiting for us.” You liked the way that sounded - us - but didn’t say that out loud. It would be weird. 

There was a short line at the counter, and while he waited in it, you looked around, trying to keep yourself busy. It also gave you time to think - and to process Tim’s behavior in the little while you’d been together. The touching was new, and so was the joking, at least to the extent of it that day. So would it be ok if I touched him back? There was no way you’d do anything as bold as taking his hand or putting your arm around him, but looking through shelves and displays meant you’d be near enough to rest your hand on his back, or even squeeze his arm to get his attention. 

It was silly, and in some ways as juvenile as the behavior of the teenagers you’d seen, but there were plenty of factors to consider when it came to being forward with Tim. Namely our jobs. You could have just asked if he was interested. You could have told him you were, just to see what happened. You could turn up the charm and flirt enough to let him know you were open to hooking up with him. But I don’t know him well enough to begin to guess what he’s thinking. So I won’t. I’ll just - 

“Got it.” He stood in front of you, holding up a bag. “Ready to brave the crowds again?” You nodded in agreement, giving him a onceover as you did, and letting your gaze linger - just for a few seconds - on his face. 

For someone as perceptive as Tim, you decided that subtlety was the way to go - because if he caught it, then it meant that he was watching you just as closely. 

He was almost certain that you were flirting with him, but he didn’t know what you wanted him to do about it. 

There was a chance that it was just because for the first time, you were together outside of the precinct. He was getting to see you outside of work, to talk to you about whatever came up and without the end of a lunch break or the approach of someone else that needed one of you looming. 

And you’d been staring at him occasionally, especially when you’d thought he was otherwise occupied. The truth was that he liked it, and it had been a little while since the feeling things out stage of a friendship had excited him. 

He thought that if he asked you point blank if you were into him, you’d answer honestly. He also had a feeling that if he made his interest in you known, you’d respond well to it. But if she doesn’t, then … it complicates things. It would make working with you awkward, and it had the potential to make you feel uncertain about him and his intentions. The fact that he’d driven you to the mall was another consideration, because he didn’t want you to feel trapped. So we’ll just do this. 

You made your way through the mall, looking into niche stores as well as ones that sold winter clothing, and Tim was enamored with the fact that you took shopping seriously, even when it was for things he was looking for. 

He had no intention of buying you a hat, and was actually searching for one based on his niece’s preferences. But being near the hats also put the two of you close to the other cold-weather accessories, and that was helpful. He watched the things you looked at, making note of the ones you picked up to take a closer look - a pair of gloves compatible with a touch screen in soft gray, a fringed scarf that had a pocket near each end for you to stick your hands in, and a slouchy hat that you contemplated trying on but then decided not to. 

You tried to stay focused, though, redirecting the your attention to him and asking more questions about his shopping goals … but you managed to sneak a few more personal ones in there, too. He answered them, being mindful of oversharing, but also found an opportunity to ask a few of his own in at the same time. 

He found out more about your holiday plans, and about your vacation time. He learned what you’d already bought in the way of gifts for your family and friends. And even though it was potentially overstepping, he decided to ask you the most personal thing he’d mentioned that day while the two of you stopped to take a break, planting yourselves at one of the food court tables with drinks. 

“Do you have anyone special to buy a gift for this year?” He worded it specifically to see what type of answer you gave him, and to Tim’s relief, you didn’t disappoint. 

“Do you mean a guy?” He nodded, eyes locked with yours. “No, I don’t make it a habit of buying gifts for men that I go out on one date with before deciding not to see them again.” You removed your coat as you talked, draping it over the back of your chair. “I broke up with my long term boyfriend about a year ago, and ended up having to move. That’s why I wound up working this job.” 

“That’s a long time.” You rolled your eyes, sipping through your straw while you shrugged. “Nothing since?”

“Nothing worth talking about.” Pushing your drink to the side, you linked your fingers together and narrowed your eyes. “But since you brought it up … if a year’s a long time to be single, what about you? People talk, Tim, and nobody’s talked about you having a girlfriend in the time I’ve been there.” 

“Dating’s shit with my hours.” He dragged his thumb over the top of his cup, thinking. “It’s unpredictable. Women don’t like that.” He thought of the arguments he’d had with the woman he’d most recently dated, wincing at the memory of her accusations of feeling ignored. “I’ve tried, but nothing lasts. My Secret Santa gift will be the only gift I get this year for a woman I’m not related to.” You laughed at his words, closing your eyes as you nodded in agreement. 

“There are plenty of women in the precinct that would date you.” Biting your lip, you blinked innocently at him. “I hear them talking. I’m sure you do, too.” 

“That gets complicated.” He frowned, trying to figure out if you were trying to bait him into digging deeper, or if you were just making conversation. “Messy, especially when there’s different ranks involved.” Is she trying to get me to ask who’s interested in me? “And I like my job, so…” 

Your face fell - just briefly, but it was enough to make him certain that you were in fact one of the ones interested in him, and that the thought that nothing could be done about it was upsetting to you. I should reassure her. I should - 

“Detective Rockford?” He recognized the voice and groaned at the sound, both of you turning toward the source. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s cruel to put an old woman in jail right before the holidays.” His gaze flicked over to you, and he saw confusion written on your features as you stared at the redheaded woman, your head cocked to the side. Shit. 

“Ms. Boulton, we shouldn’t speak to each other outside of the -”

“I don’t want to talk to you, I just want you to listen.” She stepped closer to your table, and for the first time, Tim noticed the shopping bags hung over her arm, some of them bulging. “My grandmother did nothing wrong. And she’s going to prove it in -”

“We wouldn’t have arrested her if we didn’t have evidence. I understand that she’s family, but …” He stood up, turning his attention onto you again and hoping that you recognized the pleading look in his eyes. “But it’s still an ongoing case, and I can’t say anything more than that.”

“You’re dating someone that arrests old women.” She turned her attention on you, her body angled toward where you were still sitting, fingers wrapped loosely around your cup. “Old women that did nothing wrong except try and keep their family’s legacy alive.” She pointed at him, head whipping back and forth. “So that’s the kind of man you-”

“If Tim arrests someone, he’s got a reason to.” You stood then, reaching for your coat. “And if he is wrong about your grandmother? That’ll come out in court.” Zipping your jacket, you straightened it once you were done. “But you causing a scene in a mall food court isn’t going to help anything, so I suggest you listen to his advice and don’t make this worse for yourself right now.” 

Tim watched the redhead’s expression shift from anger to disbelief and then back to anger before it softened into defeat. It sucks for her, but holy shit that was hot. “I can’t believe you.” She spun away and stormed off without saying anything else, and Tim watched as you watched her go, your features set in a thoughtful expression. She’s amazing. 

“I’m sorry about that.” He bit his lip and stuck a hand on his hip. “I didn’t think -”

“That from your case last week?” You finally looked at him, your expression softening. “I can’t blame her for being upset, but I don’t … I don’t know what she thought was going to happen.” 

“It’s not the first time I’ve been approached in public by a family member or friend, and it won’t be the last.” He sighed, reaching for his shopping bags with one hand and the empty cup with his other. “I’m just sorry you had to deal with it, too.” 

“Don’t apologize.” You headed toward trash cans and then to the opposite side of the mall, Tim once again beside you. “You can’t control what other people do.” You were right, and when he mumbled a thank you, he was rewarded with a bright smile and a wrinkle of your nose. The combination of the two lightening the mood immensely. “You ready to finish shopping?”

He nodded once, and then after only a moment of thought, he reached out with his free hand, setting it gently against your back, urging you forward. 

“What about this one?” He held up a deep green hat with metallic thread woven into the pattern and a puffy ball at one end. “Would you wear it?” 

“I would.” You took it from him, nodding. “It’s big enough that it’ll fit over just about any hairstyle and onto anyone’s head, it’s slouchy enough that it doesn’t have to be pulled tight over someone’s ears to make it look good, and the color is nice. I think this is a winner, Tim.” He beamed at you, and you were happy to see that the interruption from Maddie Boulton hadn’t put a damper on the remainder of your day. “You want to go pay?” 

“Sure.” He nodded twice, dropping his gaze from your face back to the display. “Unless there’s… oh, shit, look at those.” He stepped to the side and you followed, confused as he reached for pairs of fuzzy socks, which were haphazardly loaded onto a circular display. “These are…” He laughed as he picked up a pair featuring penguins on candy cane skis, holding them up to you. “Who comes up with this?”

You reached past him, grabbing a pair that had dinosaurs in Santa hats on them. “I don’t know but these are great, right?” He chuckled, returning the first pair to the pile and then pawing through them to grab a second. “Oh, reindeer with lights in their antlers? A little predictable, but still a classic.” 

“I like ‘em.” He shrugged, eyeing the socks before he set them down. “They’re soft. Probably really warm.”

“You should get yourself a pair. You said your feet get cold, and you might not get that blanket you asked for.”

“Today’s not about buying myself things, or I would.” He looked back at you. “We can go pay, if -” Tim frowned and stopped mid sentence, reaching for his pocket and then pulling his phone out. “Shit, I have to take this.” He answered the phone. “Hey, I’m here. Give me one second, alright?” He reached toward you, holding the hat out until you took it, keeping the phone pressed between his cheek and his ear. “Take this, if you want to go pay, that way we can get out of here and you won’t be standing and waiting for me." Tim took money out of his wallet and handed it to you, still smiling. “I’ll meet you by the exit. It’s work, so…”

He trailed off but you agreed, taking the money, too, and watching as he returned to the phone call. He greeted another detective by name as he spun away from you and walked back the way you’d come. It was an abrupt change in pace for the day, but as you eyed his retreating shoulders, you realized that it also gave you an opportunity. He’s not getting the blanket from me, but the socks… I can get him the socks. 

You selected the pair with the reindeer and then made your way over to the nearest cashier, getting in line. It went fast, even with two transactions, and after you’d stuffed Tim’s socks into the interior pocket of your jacket and zipped it shut, you headed off to find him. 

He was still on the phone, but smiled and nodded as you approached, holding his hand out to take his change - and then the bag - from you, mouthing the words thank you before returning to the conversation. 

You didn’t want to hover, so you walked a few steps away and sat down on a bench, pulling your own phone out. You figured that dinner was next on the agenda since Tim had finished his shopping, and while part of you was relieved that the outing had gone smoothly, another part of you didn’t want it to be over. 

Hanging out with Tim was nice. Getting to know him was even nicer. And being the focus of his attention for longer than the span of a single conversation at work was the nicest thing of all, if you were being honest. Maybe we can do it again sometime. You looked up and over at him just in time to see that he was sticking his phone back in his pocket, lips set in a thin line. That doesn’t look good. 

When he made it over to you, though, he gave you a small smile, holding his hand out to help you up from the bench. You liked the way it felt to have his fingers curl around yours and were sad to lose the contact when he let go. “Everything alright? That was a long call.”

“Yeah, he was just updating me on something with one of our cases. They made some progress while working on something else, and wanted to ask my opinion. It’s important, but not important enough to cut this,” he said while gesturing between the two of you, his smile growing, “short.” 

“But you’re done. All we’d miss out on is dinner, so if you need to go, I can -”

“No. Dinner’s the part I’ve been looking forward to most.” He stepped next to you while you started walking again, Tim close enough that his arm hit yours every few steps. “Aren’t you hungry?” 

“I am.” Your chest filled with warmth, and you wondered if he caught the smile you attempted to hide by looking down and turning your head to the side, away from him. “So where do you want to go? Somewhere in the mall? We can eat at the food court.” 

“I’m not taking you to dinner at the food court.” He laughed, tossing his head back and giving you an incredulous look. “We’re going to figure something else out.” You agreed, letting your mind wander to contemplate what was between your house and the mall. But when you felt Tim’s hand on your arm again, you stopped, focusing on him. “Oh, shit, this must be the movie theater Marty was talking about.” 

You looked to the right and saw that instead of the usual ‘COMING SOON’ posters, one wall to the side of the theater was adorned with posters depicting Christmas movies and dates that they were playing. Yeah, it is. I didn’t realize we’d walked this far. “It must be.” You pressed your lips together. “Looks like tonight’s sold out, though.” Pointing at the poster, you sighed. “If only I’d agreed to go with him, we could be sitting inside the theater and watching it snow.” 

“You’d rather be here with Marty? I’m offended.” Tim nudged you, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time I think about asking you to hang out.” Your heart soared at the implication that he wanted to see you again, even to do something as mundane as run errands. But he said it. And even if he’s joking, there’s still some truth to it. 

“I’m perfectly happy here with you, Detective Rockford.” Cocking your head to the side, you took a deep breath. Just go for it. “If you ask me to hang out again, I would not require an outside excuse in order to turn you down.” That got another laugh, but you also saw his nod, Tim’s eyes glittering as he stared at you. 

“Even better.” He rubbed a hand over his cheek and then looked over your shoulder and to the box office, the tip of his tongue flashing against his lips as he wet them. “But I really kinda do want to see Die Hard, so if you give me a second, I’m going to go and see if I can grab tickets.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took a second to respond. “You’ll have the night off?” He nodded, one corner of his mouth rising as he smiled briefly. “I’ll wait here.” He spun away from you and you watched him go, fingers curling into a loose fist at your side. I hope it’s sold out. Otherwise … 

The afternoon you’d talked about it in the breakroom, you’d gone online and bought two tickets to the movie as Tim’s main Secret Santa gift. Since the showings were discounted, you’d still had some budget leftover, which was why you’d chosen the socks - and still had a couple extra bucks remaining for the final part of his gift. But the tickets might be redundant if he buys one tonight. 

There was no way for you to clue him in without giving yourself away, though, and so you watched and waited as Tim stood in line, occasionally glancing back in your direction. You wondered if it was just one of his mannerisms; constant awareness of his surroundings was a big part of his job, after all. But another, more hopeful part of you believed that he was specifically looking back and for you. 

When he turned away from the counter and headed back to where you waited, you felt a cautious optimism. And that feeling intensified when he rolled his eyes at you, frowning. “They were sold out.” He confirmed the news when he was only a few feet away, dodging and weaving through people to get back to you. “Just haven’t updated it yet.” That’s great. 

“I’m so sorry, Tim. That’s too bad.” He agreed, shrugging his shoulders and gesturing toward the direction you’d come from. 

“It’s the night after the gift exchange at work, so maybe I’ll just stay at home and watch it. Some streaming platform’s gotta have it on there, right?” 

“Right.” Stepping closer to him to avoid a teenager on a motorized elephant racing their friend - who was riding a panda - you groaned. “Those things are the worst damn addition to the mall. It’s always a herd of them zooming down the aisle.” 

“I always hope the batteries die.” He leaned in, turning his head so that he could talk into your ear. “Them scattered everywhere is still less in the way than people riding them around.” He was right, and you shivered at the way his low voice sounded in your ear, the end of his confession lifting slightly into a laugh. It felt right to be joking around with Tim, both of you quick to catch onto each other’s quips and moods. It’s almost too easy. 

Neither of you said anything else until you were back at the car, Tim opening the trunk so that he could put his bags inside. “Did you think more about dinner? We should probably decide before we pull out of the parking lot.” 

“We should.” He leaned forward, eyes locked with yours. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah.” You crossed your arms. “Of course I do.” 

Tim stared at you for a few seconds without blinking and then he closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Ok. Good. Get in.” He opened his eyes and then winked at you before arching a brow. “That alright?”

It was more than alright. I don’t think he even knows hes flirting. “I’ll let you know after we get there.” Instead of giving you a verbal reply, Tim tapped one hand on the top of his car and licked his lips again, turning toward the door. 

But I definitely do.

[galaxyedging]

Tim Rockford x f!reader

Warnings: Smut. Anal sex. Sex work. Blow job.

WC:1.9

The rain battered the old windows of the loft. The wind howled past. The weather had turned around midday. You noticed it somewhere in between finishing up a paper and preparing for his arrival. As it got heavier, you wondered if it would put him off coming. It was doubtful. He was old school, made of sterner stuff. It would take more than a little rain to keep him from an appointment he'd made with you. 

From the conversation you'd had with him, he needed this appointment. Another one of his cases was driving him insane. The answers were just out of his reach and it was maddening. He told you to prepare yourself for him. When you'd ask him specifically how, he just told you for anything. Usually, there was a specific thing he wanted. There was a plan. The man was nothing if not methodical.

Laying in the bed in the middle of the open plan loft, body as ready as it could be, you let the excitement of the mystery burn under your skin. Is this what it felt like for him to solve a case? The mystery, the intrigue? Waiting for the pay off? Glazing at the clock to see that he was late, you recognised his frustration in the things that he wants being just out of reach. 

The minutes ticked by, five minutes turned to half an hour. Half an hour laying naked on your bed, aroused and prepped for him, wondering what he would do to you. The memories of your previous appointments dancing through your head. His hands on your body. His tongue roaming your skin. The scratch of his moustache against your most intimate parts. Your hand moved of its own accord. Two fingers slid inside you with no resistance. A flex of them brushed up against where you needed him to be. His name came out in a moan. As if he was summoned, your buzzer rang. 

As if you'd be caught in a compromising position, you pulled your fingers out quickly. Slightly panicked you pressed the button to let him before returning to the bed to make your presentable for him. He was just a client. He shouldn't have this effect on you. You shouldn't put off changing your sheets after his head was thrown back into your pillow as you rode him, just to have his scent linger just a little longer.

The door opened, his wary footsteps entered, then it closed behind him. A small draft made its way through with him, causing a shiver up your spine. The shiver grew as you watched him getting ready. He shrugged off his dripping rain mac. He hung it up like he was in his own home. Next, he removed his shoes and socks before placing them on the mat inside the door. His badge was then placed on the side. He undid the buttons of his shirt cuffs to roll up his sleeves. When he finally moved to the bed to acknowledge you, he was only wearing his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. His black slacks, ironed with a perfect crease down the front, and his holster. The holster than fit snuggly to either side of his broad chest and gave you all sorts of wicked ideas.

As he approached you legs had been crossed at your ankles. 

"Spread them for me." He tapped your foot. 

A low gasp left him as you spread your legs wide. He could see you were dripping for him and the jewel between your cheeks showed that you had thoroughly prepared yourself for him. 

"Good girl. All ready for me. Now come and get me ready." He rasped, undoing the button and zip of his slacks. Leaving them open enough for you to see the outline of his erection through his tight boxer briefs. He stood perfectly still, allowing you the illusion of control. Pulling he underwear down you released his thick cock from its confines. The sharp intake of breath at the contact was followed by the release of his restraint. He'd allowed you a brief moment of control, now it would be all his again. He couldn't control what went on out there. He couldn't instantly summon all the answers. Or control the justice system once he found them. In here, he could control you. You would let him willingly. He work all his frustrations out on your beautiful body. He could grip your pump, soft flesh, hold you in place to take his pleasure and you would still ask for more. You gave him everything that he paid for. It was simple. No mystery. No puzzle to unravel. He paid you to use your body and you happily let him. His cock twitched in your hand at the thought of it.

His large hands gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail. 

"Beautiful girl." He breathed looking at you with those warm brown eyes. 

This was as much gentleness as he afforded you. It was the calm before the storm. 

"Put your lips on my dick." He hands gripped your hair tighter guiding you to his throbbing length. 

That sinful deep voice grew even deeper as the warmth of your mouth took him in. "Fuck. Just like that." His hands just gently positioned you at first. His utterances of 'fuck' and the sound of his length sliding over your spit slick lips filled the air. They were soon joined with your choking as he held your head in place to ram his cock into your throat. 

"Oh shit. Good girl. Taking it so well. Fuck, take my cum too. Take it, ta…" his groan reverberated in your own chest as he spilled his warm release down your throat. He shuddered as you swallowed around him.

When he finally pulled out, you lay back to catch your breath. "I'm not paying you to lay down." A sting bloomed across your chest as he swotted your right breast. He roughly massaged it away before leaning down to seal his hot mouth over your nipple. A harsh suck sent a fresh wave of arousal gushing between your legs. Another one proved too much as you instinctively pushed at his face, only for him to grab your hand. Lifting his head off you he brought your hand to his face. His eyebrow arched as he sniffed it before sinking two of your fingers into his mouth. 

"You touched yourself." There was no question in his tone.

"I…" you began.

"I asked you to prepare yourself, to get yourself nice and wet so I don't have to waste my time doing it. So I can just come in and wet my cock." His hand wrapped around your jaw pinching slightly at you cheeks. "But this is all mine." He drew his fingers through your slick. "Every drop is mine to taste. You greedy little whore. You couldn't even wait for me…"

"You were late…" it came out before you could stop it.

The world spun as he forced you down face first on the bed. An odd moment of comfort came from the softness and the fresh scent of the sheets. It was lost as he dragged you to the bottom of the bed by your hips. 

"Show me what you were doing." He tugged your ass up into the air. When you didn't move fast enough, he cracked his palm against your ass cheek.

Steadily yourself, you managed to slip those two fingers back inside. 

"So desperate to be filled, hmm?" His fingers trailed down your spine until he reached the butt plug. A gentle pull and it came away, your muscles clenched, searching for it. It was quickly replaced by the head of his cock. Your muscles eagerly accepted him. He stretched you so slowly and fully you completely forgot about your own movements.

"I didn't say your could fucking stop." He drew his hips back, slamming inside you. The suddenness of it made you whine. The stretch of him coupled with the pleasure was near debilitating. Heeding his warning you picked up your movements again. The man could take you apart with the same precision as he picked apart a case. It didn't take long for you to feel your climax coming.

"Don't you dare…" he warned as he felt your walls tightening. 

"Please." Your voice shuddered out with the force of each thrust. Thrusts that stopped for a moment as he shifted behind you. 

Something slipped over your head, when it came to rest against your bare neck you felt it was some sort of strap. Self preservation made panic flare inside you. 

"It's just to keep you in line. You act like a bitch, I'll put you on a leash. Now, don't you dare come." He tugged the strap around your neck just enough to apply pressure.

He resumed pounding into you. "Keep going." He reminded you to keep working your fingers in and out of you. There was no way you could keep it up with the way he was fucking you roughly.

"I can't…I can't." The strap tightening around your neck drew your back flush to his chest. His thrusts slowed to a grind as he wrenched your hand out from between your legs. Pulling it up to his lips, he sunk your fingers into the heat of his mouth. His tongue rolled around your digits while his fingers rolled around your clit. His other hand joined in, spreading you so he could strum your clit faster. The 'leash' that he'd been holding dropped onto your chest. He used that damn shoulder holster. As he forced you closer to coming he began to pump himself inside you. Once you collapse near boneless, he fucked you into the mattress and filled your ass until he dripped out of you. 

"Fuck. Do you like being full of me?" He growled as he slowly pumped the last of his release deep into you.

"I love it. I love…" you were interrupted by Tim groaning as he spread your cheeks to see what he had done to you.

"Of course you do." He finally started to strip out of his clothes. Before he took off his slacks he fished his wallet out and placed a couple of hundred dollar bills on the nightstand.

"You need to throw another hundred on there." You sighed as you stretched out.

"Another hundred?!" His eyebrows shot to his hairline.

"Cumming in my ass cost extra." You shot at him.

"You loved it." He laughed dropping on the bed next to you.

"It doesn't matter. You still have to pay."

"How I am going to explain that to my wife?"

"Tell her that you gave it to a struggling student to treat herself with."

"That might actually work. She's a student herself."

"Really? What does she study?"

"I have no idea. She's so sexy, I get distracted sometimes when she talks." He climbed onto the bed next to you, peppering kisses on your bare shoulder.

"Really? Did you get distracted when she told you you need to help her clear the attic out next weekend?"

"I must have."

"You heard 'Rent an Airbnb for the weekend so we can fulfil your sex worker fantasy' well enough."

"Every word, Honey."

Tags @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass

[trulybetty]

dec' x 30 - silence

Prompt: silence Pairing: tim rockford x reader Word Count: 855 Warnings: true crime references, smoking, Christmas traditions, playing fast and loose with facts to make this work Summary: it's a frosty night when you think you hear Tim arrive home, only to met with silence. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

You padded down the stairs convinced you’d heard the door unlock. You’d paused at your desk, one AirPod out of your ear straining to hear the familiar sounds of Tim emptying the contents of his pockets on the hallway console, but silence filled your ears.

A tentative step off the last of the staircase into further quietude had the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Instinct told you to call out Tim’s name. But three years of true crime podcasting and a decade before that in law had your voice caught in the back of your throat.

Stepping further into the hallway, a cold chill whisked around you, eliciting a shiver. It was minus something fierce outside, meaning none of the windows should be open.

Which meant only one thing. 

Turning on your heel in the direction of the kitchen you saw him. Well, you saw the lit end of the cigarette he was smoking first. The glow illuminated through the glass of the sliding doors that let out to the modest deck. 

Grabbing your thick knitted cardigan that you’d left hanging on the back of the kitchen chair, you crossed the now chilled tile floor, pausing only to slip on your shoes reserved for pottering around the garden, and slid the back door open. 

He exhaled smoke and tapped the end of the cigarette before speaking, “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I was editing.”

While an easy silence fell between you, you could feel the tension coming off of him in waves. 

“Rough day?”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth and away from you.

“If you can call it that.”

“Talk to me,” you urged, stepping closer, watching as another puff of smoke curled into the night air, mingling with the frost that hung heavy.

He flicked the cigarette, sending a spray of embers cascading to the ground, a stark contrast against the snow. “Just the usual,” he said, but the way he avoided your gaze told you it was anything but usual.

The silence stretched, filled only by the distant sound of a car passing on the street and the occasional rustle of the wind. You wrapped your cardigan tighter around yourself, stepping closer to him and with the hand that wasn’t holding the lit cigarette, he pulled you against him. While he may not have had the words to say it, he was grateful for your presence. 

“Tell me about the case you’re working on for this week's episode,” he said, before you heard him take another drag of his cigarette.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling your head against his chest, “It’s about this year's Kentucky Derby.”

“Equine true crime now?” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Keeping it light for the holidays,” you responded with a jab to his side, earning you a small laugh and kiss to the top of your head, “there’s been an update on the theft of the purse.”

“Wasn’t it like three mill or something?”

You nodded, “Yup, but it never was missing.”

“No?”

“Nope, seemed like it was just a cover for a more interesting theft. The entire collection of past Derby Trophies, all fifty of them.”

“How does no one notice a whole collection go missing?” Tim asked, and you heard another intake of breath from his cigarette.

“Fakes,” you yawned, the crisp fresh air filling your lungs, “they only noticed this week that the entire collection had been switched out. 18-karat gold and raw material alone running at ninety thousand dollars a pop.” 

Tim let out a low whistle, “How much is that alone?”

“Four point five mill for the material alone, and that’s nothing on the value in trade for its worth on the collectors market. Pales in comparison to the pitiful three million purse they were running around after.”

Another silence fell between the two of you, taking in the silence of the night that surrounded you. Punctuated only by sounds of far-off traffic and the sway of the tree branches from the neighbours' yard. The chill in the air told you that snow would soon be on its way.

“I have something else that might lighten the mood,” you ventured, a small smile playing on your lips despite the sombre atmosphere.

Tim turned, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

You gave him a wide grin, “Two words, matching pj’s.”

It caught him off guard, and a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Matching pyjamas? Really Cagney? You know how I feel about that.”

You chuckled, knowing full well how much he secretly enjoyed the silly tradition you had started since your first Christmas together. “But you love it. Admit it, it's the highlight of your festive season.”

He hung his head reluctantly not wanting to admit that he found the tradition endearing. He stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette. 

You reached out, taking his hand and pulling him back toward the warmth of the house. “Come on, let's go get warm and I'll show you this year's selection.”

[ninebluehearts]

Your Hero

Prompt: Can I request Nurse Reader x Tim Rockford where he saves her life from a shootout and gets shot, she takes him home and patches him up, can be fluff or smut, whatever you wish <3 ily!!  

A/n: Sure thing honey!! Thank you so much for this request! Ilyt!! <3

Warnings: Blood, gunshot wound, mentions of a toxic relationship.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Take off your pants and get on the couch.”

“Damn, aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?” Tim asked, groaning in pain as he laughed at his own joke, hobbling over towards your couch.

You roll your eyes, leaving his side long enough to rush to the bathroom to grab the med kit you kept in the closet. It looked like one of those old books you’ve seen in the movies, a layer of dust covering the top of the box, easily falling from the plastic with a simple blow of your breath. 

You wrinkled your nose as you walked back into your living room, trying to ignore the tickle of dust in your nostrils. “Alright. I’ve got a numbing spray in here somewhere, but I don’t think it’ll work too well for something this bad.”

“Well, good thing I’ve got a high pain tolerance, right doc?”

“Technically I’m not a doctor, but yes, that helps.” You’ve been rushing around trying to sterilize your hands and tools that when you finally took a second to look up, you were met with a sight that you’ve seen a million times before, but for some reason, this time you just had to stop and look. 

Tim sat on the couch with his arms crossed against his chest, legs spread open in front of him, his strong thighs exposed now that his pants were bunched up in a ball beside him, as though he were desperate to get them off and out of the way. And considering the fact that there was a hole in the side of his thigh, anyone would be.

You shook your head, hoping you could shake the dirty thoughts from your mind. Sliding on a pair of rubber gloves, you kneeled down before him as you opened a small packet that had a disinfectant wipe inside. “This may sting.” 

Tim didn’t really move when you began to clean the area, his hands gripping the edge of the nearest throw pillow being the only indicator that he was in pain. 

As you fell into the flow of caring for your patient, your hands seemed to fall into autopilot for you, leaving your brain to run wild with thoughts of the night. How could you have been so reckless?

You just needed eggs. 

You figured you’d walk in, grab the eggs, pay, and then you’d be done, free to go home and go to bed after a long day. You had just finished a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, still covered in way too many bodily fluids and such to identify at the moment. 

You were so close to being done, proudly hugging a carton full of a dozen eggs against your chest as you stood in the checkout line. You wanted to scream when you heard your name being called from behind you, the familiar voice of your ex already igniting the ball of rage in your belly. 

You decided to ignore him, handing the cashier the carton when it was your turn. You handed her a ten-dollar bill, telling her to keep the change so you could be out of there faster. 

Your ex was hot on your tracks as you hurried out of the building, ignoring his calls. It was a messy, but simple break-up. He cheated on you, and you left his sorry ass. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Baby, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry, huh? Come on, you’re being ridiculous!” Tired of your silence, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, making you turn to face him, pure rage and exhaustion etched all over your face.

“Carl, if you don’t let me go right now, I swear to God I will scream.” You gritted out between your clenched teeth, your hands tightening into fists.

Carl only tightened his grip, his expression twisting into something sour. “Jesus Christ you’re so dramatic. Just listen to-” But you didn’t even give him the chance to finish, letting out a high-pitched scream as you looked him dead in his eyes. 

He yelled at you to stop, but you refused, ignoring the judgmental looks you received from the surrounding strangers. 

“Is there a problem?” A man asked as he made his way over to the both of you, flashing his badge to show that he was an officer. 

You immediately stopped screaming, clearing your throat to try and ease the slight sting of your now irritated throat. “Yes, there is, officer. Please get this asshole FAR away from me so I can finally go home already.”

Carl sighed, placing his hands up in the air. “Nothing’s going on, officer. My girlfriend’s just being dramatic.”

You barked out a laugh, rage boiling up in your chest as though a little red monster was clawing at your insides, just begging to be set free. “I dumped your ass! What do you mean girlfriend?”

After a bit of back and forth between you and your boyfriend, things progressively got heated. Even more so when the officer tried to get between the two of you when Carl tried to grab your hand for the umpteenth time, resulting in Carl pulling a gun out from behind his back. 

The officer tried to reason with him, slowly reaching for his own gun from his hip, but Carl shot him before he could reach it, running off once he realized what he had done.

You heaved a long, heavy sigh, spraying the area with the disinfectant as you tried to push any thoughts of Carl from your mind.

“May I ask what happened? With you and that guy.”

Or not..

You shrugged your shoulders, threading the tip of the string through the eye of the needle. “Nothing really happened. He cheated on me, and I wasn’t willing to stay and give him another chance. That’s all, really.”

“I get the feeling there’s a lot more to it than that.” Tim said, keeping his eyes focused on what you were doing.

“There is, I just don’t feel like getting into the lies and manipulation.” You said with a hollow laugh, gently poking his thigh with the tip of the needle. “Did you feel that?” 

Tim simply shook his head, focusing on keeping himself as calm as he could so you could work. 

“Perfect. Let’s get to it then.”

-

When you woke up, Tim’s head was resting on your shoulder, a red blanket draped across both of your laps. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to wake yourself up enough so you wouldn’t fall back asleep. 

You spent over an hour trying to stitch up and bandage Tim’s thigh last night, and after you did, he somehow convinced you that a few glasses of whiskey would be good for the pain..

You glanced over at the clock on the wall, your shoulders slightly caving inwards when you saw that you had less than two hours to get ready for work.

You tried to slowly slip your shoulder out from under Tim’s head, holding your breath as though it could be a factor of waking him up, but no matter how quiet or slow your movements were, Tim gripped onto your arm, snuggling his face deeper into the side of your neck. 

You thought about actually waking him up, feeling guilty for wanting to stay and cuddle with an unconscious stranger. But when you listened to those soft snores and felt the way his chest slowly fell, only to rise again a moment later, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

This was probably the best sleep he’s had in awhile, you reasoned with yourself. The crazy granny case probably kept him up most nights, and now you have the chance to allow him to rest..

And so, you sank back against the couch, gently laying your head atop of his.

Just thirty more minutes. Thirty more minutes and you’d both get up and go your separate ways. 

A small smile tugged at your lips, your eyes slowly falling shut as your whispered. “Thirty more minutes.”

[lady-bess]

💜Just A Date💜

A LadyBess Valentine's Special 🤍

8 Pedro Characters - 8 Valentine's Dates! 🤍

All character pairings will be with gender neutral readers! All stories will have 18+/Mature themes, but content will remain fluffy and SFW! 💕

💕 Valentine's Masterlist 💕

Jack Daniels/ Agent Whiskey Joel Miller Tim Rockford Frankie Morales Marcus Pike Din Djarin Javier Peña Agent Ortega

💕 For more works by me, see my masterlist! 💕

Happy Valentine's to you all! - LadyBess xox

[baronessvonglitter]

One-shots:

Playing Dangerous (Tim x f!Reader)

divider by @cafekitsune 👑