#detective tim rockford

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Has anyone else done this?

[wardenparker]

Private Dick

Tim Rockford x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11.8k Warnings: Plus size female reader with anxiety and internalized fatphobia/dysphoria. Tim is divorced with a shitty ex. Food/alcohol. Biting, fingering, shower sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, blink and you'll miss it vague reference to a pregnancy kink, brief mention of body shaming/bullying, a lot of talk about one character being vegan. SO MUCH FLUFF. Supportive love is a wonderful thing. Summary: Things are getting serious with your boyfriend, and that means that it's time for your anxiety to come out to play. But if there's one amazing thing about Tim, it's how much he cares. Notes: We just really needed some supportive fluff and hot smut this week, guys. I don't know what else to say ❤💛🧡

“So uh, there’s gonna be a get together at my mom’s house this weekend.” Tim fastens his watch and looks around for the toothpick that he had set down. He swears he has to lay off the pepper beef, the shit always gets trapped in his teeth, but every time they order from Happy Dumplings for the office, he gets the same thing. Standing up, he slides his boxers back up over his hips and looks over his shoulder. “I might have told her that I would bring you.”

"You told your mom about me?" You were halfway out of his bed and hunting around the floor of his bedroom for your panties when he said it and your head snaps up to look at him. God, the man really has a fantastic little ass.

“Well…yeah.” Tim frowns as he reaches for his pants. “She tried to set me up with some chick from her church, says I need a good woman to take care of me.” He snorts, remembering how his ex-wife used to say she would take care of him until the late nights and crushing pressure of the job had sent her into Tommy Litchfield’s bed. The divorce hadn’t been pretty and he had seen the kids four weeks out of the year. “Figured we had been…. seeing each other long enough, so I told her.”

It's been almost seven months since you and Tim started seeing each other, as he puts it, and you know the time right down to the day. Six months, three weeks, and one day. That was the best accidental first date of your life, and even though his job is demanding, you don't mind. You have hobbies and friends - your family and your own job - all to deal with. Time with him has been the icing on the proverbial cake. Hell, the first time he called you his girlfriend was barely a month ago and you had nearly giggled yourself silly, still in that first blush of happiness in your relationship. "So...what kind of get together is this?" Your panties had gotten hooked on his bedpost and you delicately pull them down with a smothered snort. "Should I be dressing up or are jeans okay?"

“Backyard party.” He tells you. “My brother-in-law pretends he can grill worth a shit, while he gets drunk off his ass.” Tim chuckles. “We eat burnt hamburgers that a dog wouldn’t touch while the kids play in the pool. Or just lounge around it and bitch now that they are older.”

"The kids...as in...your kids?" You know the rundown - the divorce, the custody negotiations, all the bullshit that he went through ten years ago. His ex-wife had been awarded primary custody of his then ten-year-old twins and she had barely allowed him to see them each year since. In fact, he had gotten to see his niece and nephew a hell of a lot more, and as such he has a pretty good relationship with them as adults.

“Yeah.” He shrugs into his shirt and starts to button it up. He has to go back to the office to go through witness statements. Barely getting enough time for lunch and a quickie, he hopes that you aren’t tired of him yet. “They are home for the weekend from college.”

"Okay." Your agreement is instant, although it's muffled somewhere inside your dress as you pull it back over your head. Both of your lunch breaks are almost over and you both have to get back to your offices. "Yeah. Count me in. Absolutely." Well...this is gonna be all you think about until the weekend...

“Good.” He flashes you a grin when your head pops through your dress and he reaches for the gun that’s on the nightstand to loop back through his belt. “Make sure you bring your bathing suit.”

"I don't—" Oh god...that's right...he mentioned a pool. A quiet panic wraps itself around your heart and squeezes your chest, and you duck down to find your shoes so he won't see it in your eyes. "Uh—right. Bathing suit. Got it." You'll just have to pretend you forgot when the day comes, that's all. No harm there. Just silly and forgetful old you.

“Fuck, we need a longer lunch break.” Tim grumbles, stepping over to zip up your dress and he kisses the back of your neck. “Want me to come over tonight if it’s not too late?”

"I always want you to come over," you admit softly. He really does have that effect on you - always reducing you to a puddle of a grown-ass-woman when he's sweet and affectionate like this. "Baked pasta for dinner? I can warm you up a plate if it's late when you get out." There are strains of real domesticity in your relationship and you like that it's stayed functional. You're separate people with separate lives, but they're starting to fuse together in little ways.

“I love your pasta.” He admits, reminding himself that you are far too good for him and despite the fact that he was often beaten up by his workload and the grim reality he deals with on a daily basis, you are becoming a safe haven for him. “But if it’s too late, I just want to slip into bed with you.” He admits. “Wrapping my arms around you and falling asleep.”

"Here..." Your purse is sitting on his bureau against the wall by the door, and you pad over to it to pull out your keys. It's a great big, giant gesture to make, but you unclip your house key from the ring and cross the room again to hold it out to him. "I think we're both adult enough to make this step, don't you?" There's a spare key in a little ceramic rock positioned specifically in your front garden that will make its way onto your key ring when you get home, but you want to make this step. You want to show Tim that you're serious about him – especially if he wants you to meet his family this weekend.

He frowns at the key as he looks down at it, noticing the logo of the manufacturer. “I’m going to change your locks this weekend too.” He decides with a grunt. “These locks are shit.”

Even as you’re rolling your eyes, you can’t help but smile. His way of showing affection isn’t always obvious, but you’ve learned to see the signs. “Just take the key, baby. Accept the gesture and take the key.”

“Here.” He digs into his pocket for his own key ring. There’s already a spare on his other key ring, so he quickly works the key off and hands it to you. “You know, for when you plan to meet me and maybe you need to pee. Or you want to come over and jump me in the middle of the night.” He jokes with a small wink.

“So…for all the time?” It’s less sexy and more awkwardly charming when you throw a wink back at him, and you reach up to give him a kiss. “Come on, sexy. We have jobs to get back to.”

He chuckles and pats your ass he you turn around. “I’ll give you a call, m’kay babe? Let you know about what time I’ll be over.”

"Sounds good." As much as Tim always insists he likes your ass, you always have to bite back a small frown when he pats it - there's just too much of it. Too much of you in general. Nope...don't go down that road right now...just check your reflection in the mirror to make sure your hair is okay and reapply your lipstick before you get back to the office. You'll be fine. "See you tonight, baby."

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He promises, watching you walk towards your car with a small grin on his face. While he had made mistakes, been married to his job for too many years, he was trying to do right by you. Wanting this new relationship to work. He’s crazy about you and he can’t wait for you to meet his family.

******

It's four excruciating days of worry until the day of the get-together at Tim's mother's house is finally here. He came over late last night after an interrogation and climbed into your bed to wrap himself around you and fuck both of you into exhaustion. To that end, he is still asleep upstairs while you putter in the kitchen. Coffee made, a pan of apple cobbler in the oven and whipped cream made from coconut cream because he had told you months ago that one of his daughters is vegan. There's a great big container of cold peanut noodles with all kinds of veggies in your fridge, too. All that nervous energy you have has gone into cooking, and you frown behind your coffee cup when you remind yourself that habits like this are why you hate looking at yourself in the mirror.

Tim has gotten used to waking up in your bed, probably far faster than he should have, but there is a connection with you that he hasn't felt in a long time. So it doesn't take long for his hand to seek out your soft, warm skin in his sleep. He had pulled your nightgown off of you and tossed it on the floor, both of you staying naked after he had fucked you. His frown precedes his eyes opening when he finds nothing but the cool spot on the bed where you should have been. Where did you go?

Heavy footsteps on the stairs are your giveaway, and you pour a cup of black coffee for Tim after turning down the volume on your music yet again. “Morning, handsome.”

"Why didn't you wake me?" He squints at the bright light, your curtains and blinds already opened. He could kiss you when you offer the coffee and he does, reaching for you to pull you close for a quick kiss to thank you.

“It was early.” Even though you shrug apologetically, the kiss is welcome and so is the place in his arms. “And you work hard, so you deserve the sleep.”

He hums and rubs your back softly. "Would rather spend time with you." He kisses your forehead and then pulls back, taking a sip of his coffee. "It smells good in here." Standing in your kitchen in his boxers should look odd, but it feels normal. He's been here enough that he knows the layout pretty well.

“I made my apple cobbler that you like…” you admit with a sheepish shrug of your shoulders. “But I made it vegan so your daughter can have some. And…my peanut noodle recipe is vegan anyway, so that’s in the fridge.” He had insisted that you didn’t need to make anything to bring to his mother’s house today but here you are, cooking up a storm.

It takes a moment for that to register and then he's sighing softly. "You are too good, you know that?" He asks, setting the coffee cup down again so he can pull you in for another kiss. "I – you are amazing and thoughtful." He knows he wouldn't have even thought about making something for Zara. Not because he's neglectful, but because he wouldn't even know where to begin making something vegan. "Everyone is going to love you."

“I hope so.” You’re not naive enough to think that his grown kids will automatically love their father’s girlfriend for any reason, and you’ve got just enough in the way of self-esteem issues to be worried. But you fully intend to make the best impression possible today.

"Do you want to shower?" He asks, smirking slightly. "I brought my overnight bag." He routinely keeps a bag in the trunk of his car in case of overnight cases and needing a change of clothes. "We can swing by my apartment to change into something more casual on the way."

"I keep telling you to put clothes in that overnight bag." The offer of a shower is tempting, though, and you glance at the timer on the oven. "The pan comes out of the oven in two minutes. Then I'm all yours."

"I do have clothes in the bag." He grumbles at you. "Work clothes." He watches as you move gracefully around your kitchen, admiring the way you work so efficiently. There's a small smile on your lips that he's pretty damn sure you aren't even aware that you have, but it makes you look even sexier in his eyes.

"Then we'll stop at your apartment on the way." His divide between work clothes and civilian clothes is stark, and you don't begrudge him that for one second. You certainly have two sections of your closet, and hardly ever wear work clothes on the weekends.

The timer goes off and he smiles, sipping his coffee as you rush over to pull the pan out. "Now it's my time." He growls playfully, setting down the cup and moving behind you as you set it down on the oven mitt.

Even as he hauls you backward you have the urge to remind him not to try to pick you up. Thick thighs and too much tummy and saggy arms that you hate are too much for his perpetually bad back and knees after decades on the force. "Come on, handsome," you laugh softly when he presses a kiss to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "Let's go take that shower."

The softness of your ass against his groin makes his cock start to harden. Making him groan as he pushes it into you with a suggestive thrust. "Mhmmmm, we could get dirty first." He chuckles and nips at your pulse. "Or would you rather I fuck you in the shower?"

"I thought that's what showers are for?" Your shower, anyway. The cramped space in his apartment is no good for anything but being functional. Your house, however, has a large shower stall with excellent water pressure and a separate overlarge tub in the master bath. It had been half the reason for buying the house in the first place.

"That's what should happen in every shower we take." He groans, smirking into your skin before he pulls away to take your hand. "What do you think, baby?"

"I think you're a menace," you tease, lacing your fingers through his. "And I am absolutely here for it."

He laughs as he walks a step behind you up the stairs, still holding onto your hand and cannot resist slapping your ass with his other when you move up an extra step and it's in his face. "Fuck, I love your ass." He grunts.

Too big, your dysphoria supplies immediately, and you're glad he can't see your face as you climb the stairs together. You've never been skinny but it seems like since you got past your thirtieth birthday, everything got a little bigger out of protest. Everything except your tits. "I'm glad you like it," you manage, hoping you sound bright and teasing.

"Next time I have you on your stomach, I'm going to bite it." He threatens playfully, slapping it again right as you reach the top of the stairs. His cock twitches at the thought and he’s halfway toying with the idea of seeing if you would let him fuck your ass. It's not been talked about, and he's not just going to ask.

"Wouldn't be the first time you left teeth marks in me." That actually makes you laugh, remembering the first time your best friend had noticed the imprint of Tim's pearly whites when you had gone to her house after leaving his place. It was how she found out you were seeing someone, and you hadn't lived it down for weeks.

His growl catches in his throat and his hand tugs you back, spinning you around and pressing you up against the wall so he can kiss you again. This thing with you has progressed to the point where those three little words dance in his head when he is thinking of you. Still not quite voiced, they are there. Making him crave you even more when he has you nearby and he transfers that into the pressing of your lips together.

It's a sigh and a muffled groan from you, and your arms come up around his neck easily to encourage him to take whatever he wants. He's fucking irresistible and while you still can't quite grasp why he seems to want you, you're not going to question it and ruin the best adult relationship you've ever had. You're almost grateful to the idiot that broke into your office building and caused all of you to have to make statements to the police.

You had seemed to think that you needed to wear fancy lingerie when he first started sleeping with you, but the loose nightgowns you wear now are just as sexy and far easier to access. Thankful that you had taken his word and started wearing them to bed at night. His hands plunging underneath so he can cup your tit, his other hand twisting to slide into your panties as he groans into your mouth.

Tim's fingers are thick and nimble, and you never would have thought gun callouses could be sexy until you felt them slide through your pussy the first time. The hand fully encompassing one of your tits squeezes in earnest and you groan, hips already rocking against his other hand. "Fuck, Tim."

“That’s it, baby.” He grunts, kissing down your jaw and biting your ear. “Fucking love how wet you get. Pussy is gushing for me.”

Broad shoulders, broad chest, thick fingers, quick tongue, a smile that can leave you in a daze. How would you not be absolutely gushing for him? "Always," you sigh out, breath catching when he curls his fingers against your g-spot expertly. "Need you so bad, baby."

“Just what I want to hear.” His cock pulses against your soft belly and he wants nothing more than to lift you up and fuck you against this wall. Except you would squawk the entire time to put you down. Instead, he pumps his fingers diligently, eager to make you cum so he can fuck you in the shower.

The press of those thick digits inside of you has you gasping and clinging to him as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, adding a third to make you squeal and shake even harder. His eagerness makes perfect sense considering you weren't in bed beside him when he woke up, and you let your forehead drop forward to his bicep as you ride his fingers closer and closer to cumming right there in the hallway of your little house.

“You gonna cum for me baby?” He asks, always loving when you come apart for him. It’s a gorgeous sight. “Gonna soak my fingers? Squeeze them tight?”

"I—fuck—" Three fingers in your cunt and his thumb against your clit is too much all at once in the best way possible, and you're nodding against his arms as that tingling feeling at the base of your spine explodes and you start to shake apart. For a man who claims not to have dated a lot and have been rusty on intimacy when you had first gotten together, he never lost that muscle memory of how to be an amazing lover.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.” He coos in your ear, feeling your cunt sucking his fingers in deep and starting to squeeze them. “Cum for me baby.”

Your fingernails bite into his arms as you grasp him tightly, entire body tensing completely before falling apart completely – flooding his hand with cum and slumping backward against the wall so you aren't too heavy on his arm. "Goddamn, baby..." you pant with a small giggle when you can breathe again, the orgasm exploding like shooting stars behind your still closed eyes.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you.” He feels the slick coating his fingers and wants to sink inside your quivering cunt. “Shower?”

“Shower.” It doesn’t matter that your legs are jelly, you can make it ten more feet into the bathroom. Your nightgown is pulled off of you before you hit the door, and his own boxers pushed down and kicked off. Leaving you in your panties as he opens the glass door to turn the shower on.

“Just what I needed today.” You’re only half teasing as you strip off your panties and toss them in the nearby laundry basket. “To be freshly fucked when I meet your family.”

He grunts, crowding you into the shower when you climb in and turning you around to face the wall. “You want to talk to my mama with a load of my cum in your pussy?” He grins, biting your neck again. “I can make that happen.”

“You can’t just say shit like that to me.” It earns him another moan and you back your ass up against his hips eagerly. “It’s gonna be all I can think about all day.”

“Good.” He chuckles roughly as his hands grip your hips and he presses closer. His cock folding up against his body and pressing into the cleft of your ass insistently. “It’s gonna be all I think about too. Imagining you dripping. Licking you clean.”

“Gonna have to slip away to your old room to get handsy.” You tease, knowing that his mother still lives in the house he grew up in.

“Fucked my first girl in that bed.” He grunts, silently acknowledging that it would be fitting that he fucks his last girl there too.

“Gonna make me another notch on that bedpost, Rockford?” You grin over your shoulder at him as his hands knead your ass. “I bet it was some homecoming queen. Or cheerleader. Do baseball games have cheerleaders?”

“Sometimes.” He smirks and shakes his head. Aware that you have some notion that he was some kind of stud when he was younger. “But maybe that new notch will be fun.” He poses as he rocks his hips back to take his cock in his hand.

"Getting you all riled up until you fuck me is always fun." All of Tim is thick. From his muscled limbs and shoulders that test the limits of store-bought shirts, all the way to his cock. The feeling of his head pushing your pussy open makes you moan, and you brace yourself against the wall of the shower for him to take as much as he wants from you. There's a certain amount of bliss involved in being intimate with Tim and you can usually push away your insecurities in favour of seeing - and feeling - just how much he enjoys touching you. Right now, the thoughts drop away and the only thing left is yes and more and oh god.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck.” He groans as he splits you in two. “I fucking love this pussy.” His breath is heavy in your ear and he rolls his hips until he is buried deep. “Perfect, baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

Perfect. Nobody had ever called you that before, and you had instinctively laughed the first time Tim had used the word. Since then you've tried to be a little kinder with yourself, and accept that just because you don't think you're perfect doesn't mean that he can't think so. "Just for you," you groan happily, reaching back to squeeze his hip. "Only for you, baby."

His lips trail over your skin and he can’t help but continue to kiss you. Loving how you clutch him deep inside your body and the softness of you against him. Reaching for your hands, he laces his fingers with yours and lays them against the wall, sliding his feet closer.

The cold tile against your front and Tim's hot skin at your back is an intense combination that you love – an extra reason to moan with every thrust. His body seems to cover every inch of you, enveloping you in his presence, and it's almost hard to move except to grind back against him every time he fills you up. It's a gorgeous feeling that you so easily get lost in.

“Fuck, how does it get better?” He pants into your ear. “Every fucking time, you feel even better. Addicted to you.”

"Perfect." He is the perfect one, and you won't hear anything to the contrary, panting out words with every slap of his hips against your ass. "Perfect cock. Perfect fuck. Perfect man. I—" For a moment, in your rapture, the words almost slip. Thank god you manage to swallow them quickly. "So good, baby."

“I know you’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you?” He asks, rocking his hips forward to slap against your ass as he picks up his pace.

“Just like that.” You know it won’t take long now, not if he goes just a tiny bit harder like he does when he gets close, and the begging in your voice always gets him, too. Every time. “So fucking perfect, baby. Please let me cum fo—oh fuck— so close!”

Tim hisses, squeezing your hands as he rocks up into the balls of his feet. Thrusting harder into you. “Yessss, fuck, cum for me baby.”

Bearing down on his length this time, you can practically feel his pulse through the prominent veins of his cock as they scrub against your walls. The pressure is just as perfect as the rest of him and before you know it there are stars erupting behind your eyes.

Tim groans your name when he feels you start to cum. Loving how you whine and whimper as he works you through it. Sex with you has been amazing and he hadn’t been lying when he said it just kept getting better. When that final thrust comes and you are pressed tight between Tim and the tile, the feeling of his pulsing cock filling you full of sticky cum scratches that very private, very secret dream you have of one day actually having a family with this man, and you shiver a little with personal satisfaction when he groans your name into your skin one last time.

“God.” He pants, knowing that while he’s fucking you isn’t the right time to say those words for the first time. “So good baby.”

Laughing under your breath, you groan happily and let your weight go against the wall just to feel him slump against you. “Hell of a way to start the day,” you tease.

“Should start the day this way every morning.” He laughs along with you. “Don’t you think so?”

“Why do you think I gave you a key?” Twisting around just enough to kiss him, you hum against his lips and sigh happily.

He snorts and kisses you again. “So I should just swing into the house every morning as I go into work?” He asks playfully.

The impulse is there. The invitation right on the tip of your tongue. But it’s too soon. Way too soon. He doesn’t even know how you really feel about him yet — so telling him he could just give up his tiny bachelor pad and move in with you would probably send him running for the hills. “So you can stay over whenever you want,” is how you phrase it instead, hoping that that doesn’t sound overbearing or overeager.

“Don’t tell me that.” He warns you. “Your bed is softer than mine and it has the added bonus of having you in it. You’ll get tired of me.”

“No, I won’t.” The answer is too quick. You know that, but you can’t help it. Slowly turning around, the unfortunate side effect of losing his warmth as his quickly softening cock slips out of you is replaced by the benefit of getting to look him in the eyes. “I—I won’t get sick of you, baby.”

He nudges his nose against yours gently and sighs softly. “I hoped that I would make it a little more romantic than this.” He grumbles quietly,

“A little more romantic than being snuggly after sex?” You ask incredulously. Sure you’re not wrapped up in the blankets right now, but it’s still the same feeling.

“Something more romantic than shower sex to tell you that I love you.” Tim tells you quietly. “I’m not good with words or romance.”

When you deflate in front of him it’s out of pure shock, but you push off from the wall instantly to drag him down for a kiss. “I love you, too,” you promise him in that same hushed voice. “I have for—for months.” Since the night that he braved taking you to an Indian restaurant and got through an entire dinner before you found yourselves in the middle of a music festival in the park and he tried to sneak grabbing a hot dog because he didn’t want to admit to you that he didn’t like the restaurant you said you love. “I love you so much.”

He sighs in relief, pressing his forehead against yours and chuckling with joy. “Good. I was afraid I was rushing things. Or reading too much into the amazing sex we have.”

“I don’t think seven months before the first mention of love is anybody’s definition of rushing, baby.” Placing a kiss over his heart, you can’t help the way you grin from ear to ear when you look up at him. “But you’re right about the sex being really fucking good.”

“Yes, it is.” He agrees with a roguish wink. “Now we just need to clean up.” The functional portion of the shower never takes long. You’re both well established in your habits and are clean again in under ten minutes, leaving you to towel off on the bathroom rug together in no time. “So I was thinking that after my mom’s, I could stay tonight?” He asks, keeping his tone casual. “Since I’ll be dropping you off and I have a full weekend off for once?”

“I’m gonna call up your captain and tell him I have you handcuffed to my bed,” you joke, careful to keep yourself covered even while you’re drying off from the shower. It's a habit, and even if he’s just been inside you that’s no reason to force him to look at your whole blob-like body. “He can’t have you back until Monday. Girlfriend’s orders.”

“Careful now.” He warns with a grin. “I might like be handcuffed to your bed.” He’s never really thought about using his handcuffs, despite the ribald jokes from other detectives, but if you wanted to, he would let you. He trusts you.

“You? Give up control?” Raising one eyebrow at him in the mirror, you scoff playfully. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I thought you like when I’m in control?” He asks with a smirk. “But for you? I’d do it.”

“The perfume I wear is literally called ‘Good Girl’,” you laugh, motioning to the stiletto-shaped bottle on your bathroom shelf. “Of course I like it when you’re in charge.”

“That’s the stuff I like?” He asks, intrigued by the name. He never knows that kind of stuff, just that you smell amazing and he always wants to rip your clothes off when he smells it.

“Yup. The little bottle shaped like a high heel.” It’s your treat to yourself. Designer perfume makes you feel a little less like a fat girl playing dress up when you get ready to see Tim or go out with friends, and a little bit more like a full-grown woman. It’s silly, but if that’s what does it, then you can’t be too mad about it.

“I will have to buy you another bottle of that when you get low.” He hums, making a mental note of it. “It smells incredible on you.”

You won’t quibble with him now over the fact that it’s pricey or anything like that. It’s the gesture that counts, and the fact that you’re getting a little bit closer each and every day. “I don’t know how well it goes with chlorine.” With one little joke, you seize the chance in front of you. “Maybe I’ll abstain from swimming today.” No swimming means no swimsuit, which means no having to be partially undressed in front of his family.

Tim sends you a pout. “Nooo, I’m looking forward to getting into the pool with you.” He huffs, eager to see you in your bathing suit and watch you bask in the sun.

“It’s okay,” you insist, trying to play it off like it doesn’t matter at all. “Maybe next time.”

Tim frowns slightly when he realizes that you are serious and you will not be getting into the pool. “Yeah sure.” He nods. “Next time.” He agrees before he moves over to the sink to brush his teeth and shave.

“Okay.” He’s upset. He’s upset with you, and your mind goes straight to the worst possible scenario which is obviously that he’s going to break up with you over it. A lifetime of trying to deal with low self-esteem and self-worth issues but still you go straight to the worst-case scenario sometimes. “Gonna go get dressed,” you mumble quickly, retreating from the room still wrapped entirely in towels, as fast as your feet will carry you.

Tim sighs, wondering where he went wrong this morning. It had been going so well but Trina had continuously accused him of putting his foot in his mouth or being insensitive. He had been trying so hard with you and yet he can tell you’re upset. He looks in the mirror and shakes his head. “Don’t fuck this up.” He orders himself with a groan.

The warm Southern climate means swimming happens all the time, but it’s still October so you put on a light cardigan with your sundress and sandals and try to keep yourself from crying and making your eyes red before you leave the house. The last thing you need is to show up to meet his kids and his mother with bloodshot eyes. “Don’t fuck this up,” you chastise yourself, opening the dresser drawer that holds your one swimsuit just to stare at it for a minute in loathing.

“Baby?” Tim had retreated downstairs once he had dressed, sure that you needed some time to yourself. “Are you ready?” Are you still coming?

“Yeah! One second!” Out of some kind of masochistic instinct, you grab your bathing suit and cram it into your tote bag when you snag it off your dresser and rush downstairs. Clothes, jewelry, make up, all of it is in place to try to make the most positive first impression possible. “Sorry, I—” You immediately focus on getting the food packed up into a reusable shopping bag. “I almost forgot to put on perfume. Stupid, right? After we just were talking about it?”

“That’s okay.” Tim approaches you slowly from behind and he gently takes hold of your waist. “You still smell great even without it.” He promises, leaning in and kissing your shoulder. Offering a silent apology.

“Do I look okay?” It’s silly to be worried. You’re a grown woman and he’s a grown man. But you’re terrified and determined not to fuck up again today.

“You look stunning.” He promises you. “If I hadn’t promised my mother that we would be there, I would keep you here and take you back upstairs to show you how pretty you look.”

“Okay.” Nodding twice, your head hangs between your shoulders for a second before you force yourself to straighten up and take the bag full of food from the counter. “Ready when you are.”

“Are you sure you want to go?” He asks, concerned that he is pushing too fast. It seems like you’re forcing yourself to go.

“Of course I’m sure.” The brightness in your voice isn’t entirely forced. You do want to go, you’re just terrified and self-conscious. And from the look on his face, he knows something is wrong. “I’m just—” Your eyes drop and so do your shoulders. “I’m worried what they’ll think of me, that’s all.”

“Baby.” He shakes his head and sighs softly, happy that he can reassure you. “They are going to love you.” He promises. “Probably love you more than me.”

“They loved Trina.” You’ve seen plenty of his pictures of his ex-wife. Their wedding pictures, especially, and even how skinny she managed to get back to being after having their twins. She’s stunning, and successful, and smart. And you’re a dumpy little nobody who sits behind a desk and definitely never goes to the gym. “I’m not like her. At all.”

“That’s a good thing.” He promises, chuckling at how ridiculous it would be to date someone like his ex.

You let out a half-laugh, huffing at yourself, and shake your head slightly. It sounds so stupid to say it out loud, but here you are in the middle of your kitchen about to break apart at the seams over a first meeting. “She—she’s prettier than me.” In every sense, in your opinion. But especially, she’s skinnier.

Tim frowns and vehemently shakes his head. “That is not true.” He argues. “And it doesn’t matter how pretty she is, she is my ex-wife.” He reminds you. “She left me. Took my kids from me.”

“Right.” Blinking back the impending tears that will ruin your makeup and the mood, you nod your head and take a steadying, if shaky, breath. “Right. I know that. I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m being stupid.”

“You aren’t being stupid.” He huffs, hating how you belittle yourself. You are kind and generous to everyone but yourself. “It is just nerves, right? This is a big step and I’m sure I’ll be shitting myself when I meet your folks.”

“It’s nerves.” You agree, nodding again and resisting the urge to press on your closed eyes to stop the water behind them. It would smudge the eye makeup you put on so carefully. All waterproof, ironically. But not touched-with-hands proof. “I just don’t—” It is stupid, and a part of you knows that. The part that pays fucking attention in therapy every other week. “I don’t want you to finally realize you’ve been dating a cow if I put on my swimsuit,” you admit quietly.

“A cow?” He growls the comment in surprise, rearing back and wondering where the hell that idea came from. “Who the fuck called you a cow?” He demands, furious and ready to punch someone if they’ve insulted you like that.

“Nobody had to.” Your sister. Your grade school bully. The woman at the department store. A girl at camp. A boy you had a crush on in high school. Your parents. Nobody. Everybody. “I’m just a little anxious. It’s fine. I just won’t have any caffeine the rest of the day and it won’t get worse. Please don’t be upset?”

Tim shakes his head and he reaches up to cup your cheeks. “Baby, put your bag down.” He orders you softly. He doesn’t want to leave this house until he’s truly talked to you, and if that means being late, then he will be late. “Please?”

It only takes a moment of silence between you before you swallow your protest and set your purse and the bag of food back on the counter. This is it. He’s going to dump you for being an idiot. At least you got to tell him you love him before that happened, right?

He guides you over to the chair and sits you down, kneeling in front of it and holding onto your hands. “Baby, I don’t know why you are so hard on yourself.” He starts softly. “But I want you to know how I see you.” He knows self-image is just that, your image of your own self, he can’t change your mind for you. “I see you right now, and you are gorgeous.” He nods, smiling as he looks at you. “Generous, pillowy curves that make my mouth water and my cock ache.” Licking his lips, he continues. “I love the way you feel, the way you taste. I love your heart, your kindness. Your thoughtfulness. Your patience.” He stresses. “You are beautiful, inside and out and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You say cow, I say stunning, voluptuous goddess that I love.”

“I know that the voice in my head that says these things is intentionally hurting me.” Holding onto his hands like a lifeline, you end up squeezing his fingers in yours. “I’ve been in therapy for enough years to know that. It’s a skewed perspective. But there really are sometimes that I cannot shut it off. It’s like a train going off the tracks,” you explain, hoping he can follow the line of what you’re saying. “I can see the disaster ten feet ahead of me, but it’s too late to stop it. I know I’m going to go headfirst into the worst kind of hating myself, but I can’t stop it from happening.”

“I know what you mean.” He does. He’s seen the department shrink enough times to understand that. It’s like when he blames himself for circumstances beyond his control. “I’m never going to tell you that you are stupid, or dumb for thinking that way.” He promises you. “But I am going to disagree with you, tell you that you are wrong. Because there isn’t one thing about you that I would change.”

"Really?" There's a second where you're too afraid to look up at him, but you can feel Tim's eyes on you and so you raise your head in some kind of silent moment of obedience and it makes you decide to crack a smile and go for a joke. "Not even my broken brain?"

“Not even that.” He smiles at you. “Because I love you, all of you. The good and the negative.” He squeezes your hands gently, “Love you, baby.”

"I love you, too." You lean over to kiss him, half in disbelief that he didn't ask for his key back and walk out your door. "Thank you. For...for listening. And not thinking I'm crazy for overreacting."

He chuckles and leans down to kiss your hand. “Baby, I think you are crazy for putting up with me, not for how you feel.”

"You're amazing, and it's never putting up with you. I love spending time with you." The sigh that comes out of you is deep and long, but you feel better. The weight on your shoulders has lifted, if only for now, and you manage an honest smile. "We should get going, baby. You don't get to see the twins that often and I don't want you to miss a minute of it today."

“Okay.” He waits another moment, searching your eyes and then he pats your thigh gently. “Let’s go. I can quickly change.”

It's a fast enough trip to stop by his apartment on your way to his mother's house, and once he's swapped his work clothes for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, he slides back into the car beside you and you're off to the races again. At this rate you'll be no more than five minutes late, and that is nothing at all.

Driving the familiar route home, he points out places he used to go as a child and then a teenager. Sharing glimpses into his life. Holding his hand in yours as he pulls up to the two-story house that he had been raised in. “I'm right here with you.” He promises, kissing your hand again. “And they will love you.”

"As long as you love me, I'm okay." That's the pep talk you were giving yourself on the way over, and you're feeling a little more settled after the glimpses into his past. You didn't grow up around here so you can't do any such tour for yourself, but it's nice to see a slightly different side of the town you've lived in for years.

“Are you ready?” He asks after he cuts the engine, turning towards you slightly. “Or do you need a minute?”

"Let's do it." If you sit in the car and procrastinate you'll only give the negative thoughts time to come back, so you lean over to kiss him and buck yourself up. "I'm good, baby. I promise."

“You are always good.” He tells you with a wink before he climbs out of the car and hustles around to open your door for you. Taking the dishes you had protected on the way over so you can get out.

There is plenty of noise coming from the backyard of the beautiful little brick house, and the sound of splashing is already obvious along with music playing and people chatting at various volumes. This is definitely a family party, and it seems like the family is already here.

"Uncle Tim!" The call comes up from the pool first, as his nephew catches sight of him first and waves. "Holy shit! Y'all, Uncle Tim actually left his desk!" The teenager teases with a cackling laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tim rolls his eyes in good fun as he waves back. His hand immediately goes back to the small of your back and he slowly guides you forward. “Come on baby, we’ll put up the food inside and then come back out.”

"Holy shit Uncle Tim brought a girl!" A teenage girl's voice calls after you, with as much excitement as shock, and you're in the middle of a fit of giggles when he opens the sliding door to let you into the kitchen from the back porch. "So that's your nephew and niece, huh?" You snort, smothering the sound with one hand even as you try to stop laughing.

“Brats.” He huffs, his sour look simply for show. “You would think I was a ball-less hermit.” He snorts, setting the travel bag for your dishes down and then opens the fridge to see if there’s room.

"Language." His mother's warning tone is playful from around the corner, but she still means it. Foul language stays outside, it doesn't come inside her house. "Timothy Alan, don't make me send you outside if you're going to be vulgar."

“Me?” He points at himself as he exclaims. “They are being vulgar. And I’m the one in trouble?” His question doesn’t stop him from immediately moving around the corner to engulf his mother in a hug. “Hey Ma.” He kisses her cheek and urges her to come into the kitchen. “I brought my girlfriend.”

"They're outside and I can't hear it," his mother teases, blissfully aware of her arbitrary rules and the fact that nobody is actually in any trouble whatsoever. "Honey." She reaches out both hands to you after giving Tim a hug. "He's been hiding you from me knowing I'm gonna steal you away to have a cooking friend again. It is so good to meet you, sweetheart."

"It's really nice to meet you too, Mrs. Rockford." Even as she envelopes you in the same tight hug that Tim got, you look over her shoulder to shoot Tim a surprised expression.

Suzanne Rockford is far from a petite woman. She is sturdy, hearty. Obviously heavier and he has never told you that, honestly believing that it didn’t matter, but now he wonders if he should have. Maybe you would have been less self-conscious if you had known. He shoots you a smile and a half shrug. “Where’s Vanessa?” He asks, looking around for his sister.

"Upstairs, looking for god knows what in the attic? Unless she’s found it already, and then who knows." Suzanne waves one hand and pays that no mind. "Did Tim offer you a drink yet honey?" She asks you, giving you her absolute full attention. "We've got a whole bar out on the back porch, and the fridge under the car port has beer and soda. But I keep the wine in here." Apparently that is a conspiratorial secret, because she waggles her eyebrows at you. "Whatever you want, I'll grab you a cup."

"I'll grab a soda when we go back out," you promise her, not wanting to start drinking too early in the day. According to Tim, his mother's parties are a strictly all-day affair.

“Ma, she brought an apple crisp and a noodle dish. Vegan, for Zara to enjoy.” He tells her, beaming proudly. “Where do you want me to put them?”

"In the fridge, honey. There's room on the bottom shelf." She looks just as proud as he does, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand. "She's doing well with it, you know," she nods authoritatively. "Talked to her doctor about making sure she gets protein and all her vitamins. Doing some really creative cooking, that one. Once she's got her mind set on something, that's it. It's do or die." Suzanne smirks. "Gets that from her Dad."

“I tried some of that vegan cheese.” Tim tells his mom, shuddering slightly. “The sliced stuff is shit, but the shredded stuff actually melts pretty good.”

“What matters is that you tried.” Suzanne nods approvingly. “Have you two gotten to say hi yet?”

“Not yet, we wanted to get the food put up.” He explains, coming back over to kiss his mom’s cheek again. “I’m looking forward to seeing them. Texting when we get a chance sucks.”

“Go introduce everybody,” she encourages, shooting a smile your way before shooing him off. “There’s things to snack on out there already. Lunch in an hour, or whenever Ricky gets that grill going.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles, knowing that Ricky will fight with the grill for at least ten minutes. He moves over to you and takes your hand. “Let’s go see the kids, baby.”

You let him usher you back out into the bright, late morning sun, and for the first time you get a good look at the backyard in its entirety. There are a lot of people here — more than a dozen for sure — and you can hear another car honk as it pulls up in front of the house. The mood is pure happiness and even a tinge of nostalgia, as people greet each other who haven’t seen each other in ages. The air of absolutely everything is positive, and you take a deep breath to bring some of that into you as well.

Tim sees the first one that he wants to introduce you to. “Vanessa!” He half cups his mouth with one hand to shout his sister’s name. “Get your ass over here!”

"Hi to you, too!" His younger sister rolls her eyes and kisses the woman she was talking to on the cheek before hustling across the lawn. She has a beer in her hand and sunglasses on top of her curls, and she has the same stout and strong figure as their mother but with a little bit more grace in her movements.

He lets go of your hand only so he can wrap his arms around his sister and hug her tight. Making her squeal when he squeezes too tight. “How have you been? It’s been a month or so.”

“Yeah, you’ve been busy.” She raises both her eyebrows at you, waggling them for comedic effect, and then promptly nudges her brother away so she can shake your outstretched hand.

“Sorry if I’ve kept him away from you,” you apologize, not ever wanting her to think that you were intentionally keeping Tim away from his family.

“Are you kidding me?” She laughs, giving your hand a squeeze. “It’s fantastic. I’ve barely seen him sulk in months.”

“I don’t sulk.” His lips immediately form a pout as he glares at his sister. “I was gonna be happy to introduce you to my girlfriend, now you can fuck off.” Even though he says that, he immediately tells her your name before pointing at her. “This is Vanessa, the pain in my ass all my childhood.”

"It's really nice to meet you." He's told you a lot about his sister and you already knew she was a ball buster, but meeting her now feels like a relief. They're close and it's fun to see Tim relaxed like this with his family. "Believe it or not he's actually only told me great things about you."

“Oh, I’m sure.” Her tone is sarcastic and she’s rolling her eyes, but her grin gives her away as she transfers her attention from her brother to you. “I’m a hugger.” She warns you before she pulls you in for a less formal greeting than a handshake.

"It's okay, I am too." It's a far sweeter welcome than you expected to get, both from his mom and his sister, and you let yourself squeeze her back just for a second before letting go. "I'm just really excited to meet everyone."

“I was so excited that Tim told Mom he was bringing you.” She tells you with a smirk at her brother. “It’s been forever since he’s introduced us to someone, and she who shall not be named isn’t exactly ‘fun’.” She confides.

"Oh?" Having been under the impression that his family had liked his ex while they were together, you tilt your head curiously. "Well, uh...we figured it was time," you offer with a shrug. "It's been more than a few months, ya know? And...and things have been really good. Tim is just—" You glance back at him and end up grinning. "He's really amazing."

“He’s a good guy.” As much shit as she gives him, she would be the first to defend her brother and she knows he is much the same way. Siblings in the sense that she can tease him but she’ll kick anyone else’s ass who does. “And he talks about you a lot, so I think he likes you.”

"You talk about me?" Yes, sure, he told you he loves you less than two hours ago, but you still soften in surprise hearing that.

“Oh he doesn’t shut up about you.” She insists, smirking wickedly at Tim who looks very interested in the top of his foot in his flip flops. “Asking if he should take you here, talking about your job. I feel like I know you.” She pats your arm. “He told me he didn’t want to fuck this up.”

"Did he tell you about the fundraiser he let me drag him to?" He's blushing and it's the cutest thing you've ever seen, so if you maybe pick out something to talk about that will make his cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red then that's entirely on purpose.

“Nooooooo.” Vanessa lights up and is nearly about to bust for information. “My brother? At a fundraiser?” She sounds positively scandalized, as if she could never imagine such a thing.

"The nonprofit I work for has dinner dances and black-tie events during the year." You explain, feeling Tim shift self-consciously next to you in the grass even though he's smiling. "He's actually been to two of them now."

“You got my brother to wear something other than those horrible dress pants and button ups?” She gasps. “I swear the ties were from Christmas when the twins were four.”

“We rented him a tuxedo for one event.” The admission brings a dramatic sigh from Tim but you lean over to put your arm around his waist and smile broadly. “You look good no matter what, honey.” Did you climb him like a tree that night because he looked extra good in the tux? Absolutely. But he still looks delicious in his t-shirt and shorts.

“I should just buy one.” Tim grumbles. He hadn’t liked wearing it, although realistically, it wasn’t much different from a regular suit. And you had enjoyed him in it. The sex had been extremely hot once he had gotten you back to your place. “Since you want me to go to those things.”

Vanessa’s eyebrows raise at the offer, and she smirks mercilessly. Hearing her big brother make any kind of comment that trends toward commitment is practically worth celebrating. “Ya know,” She giggles evilly and takes a sip of her beer. “I hear that’s even the kind of shit guys get married in.”

Tim nearly chokes in his own tongue, wishing he had decided to take the crime scene call that had come over the radio on the way here. Even a blood bath would have been preferable to the way his sister is probing for information. He just said he loves you, if he starts talking about marriage, you might think he’s gone nuts.

“Oookay, maybe let’s not pick a topic that makes him want to implode?” You try to joke, squeezing his arm gently, and stifle a laugh. That’s exactly the kind of thing you would expect from a little sister but you don’t want Tim to think you’re crazy the way the idea may or may not have already crossed your mind in daydreams from time to time.

“Jesus, Ness.” Tim huffs. “First time you meet her and you’re picking out our wedding colors?” He rolls his eyes. “Booked the church already?”

“Mom did.” Vanessa laughs, and you can’t quite tell if she’s kidding or not as she blows Tim a kiss and scampers off to keep her husband from blowing the place up while he’s on the grill.

“Oh dear God.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll make sure Ma didn’t actually reserve the church.”

“Baby, baby—” You grab both of his hands and let a laugh burst through as you pull him closer. “She’s teasing. It’s okay. I’m sure your mom didn’t do anything like that and even if she did, who cares? It’s a funny story we’ll tell someone in the future.” Honestly? It makes you pretty fucking comfortable here knowing that his family is full of ball busters with good senses of humor. And that they’re okay enough with you to include you in those jokes.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.” He grumbles, although he’s leaning in to kiss your lips.

“Then it’s a really funny story we tell later on.” You promise him, happily taking that kiss that he offers you so easily. “I like that your sister is comfortable enough with me to tease.”

“They like you.” He points out with a grin. “Just like I told you they would.” He catches sight of the twins and lights up. “Come on, there they are.”

“This is going on the internet!” Tim’s twin girls are pulling out their phones as soon as they see their father, dramatically button smashing and pointing the devices at the two of you. “Red alert! Dad’s girlfriend is real! This is not a drill!”

“Hey!” Tim lunges forward, snatching for their phones playfully. “Don’t make me throw you in the pool!”

“You can’t.” They’re fraternal twins, and the taller one - Zara - reaches out to hug her dad first. “Your back couldn’t handle it if you tried.”

“I’d try.” He immediately wraps his arms around his firstborn daughter and hugs her tight to his chest. “Hey bug, how have you been?” He asks, kissing her head.

“I got a term paper kicking my ass, but I’m doing okay.” Zara shrugs. Her studies mean the world to her, next to her family, but she tries to stay realistic and avoid overreacting when school is difficult.

“She’s doing amazing, it’s annoying.” The slightly shorter of the twins has lighter hair and looks a bit more like their mother, but that hasn’t stopped Joey from growing up the opposite of Trina; well-adjusted and affectionate. “We need to ask you a favor, though,” she looks at both you and Tim seriously.

“What’s up?” Tim immediately frowns, sure that there is something wrong, something he needs to fix.

“We need you to throw Thanksgiving this year.” Both girls insist in unison, a habit leftover from childhood, before Joey continues to explain. “Gran said she wasn’t up to hosting on her own this year so Mom is trying to make us go to Derek’s parents’ house. But if we tell her you’re throwing Thanksgiving with your girlfriend we’ll be off the hook.” The idea that their grandmother doesn’t want to host anymore has been a bummer for everyone, but an even bigger bummer would be having to deal with their second step-dad’s snooty family.

“I—" he looks helpless towards you, hating that you’ve been put on the spot like this. Holidays haven’t even been discussed and he doesn’t know what you usually do. “Girls, look, even if—”

“No problem.” You cut in, knowing you might be overstepping a tiny bit but for the first favor you might be able to grant his kids, you’ll take that chance. “Even if your Dad gets tied up on a case, my house is big enough and I’m a pretty decent cook.” You do look to Zara though, knowing she can’t be too fond of the main event on Thanksgiving. “We’ll pick out some vegan things together, too.”

His oldest daughter immediately perks up at that idea. “Really?” She asks excitedly. “You wouldn’t mind? I know there’s like, a lot of negativity about vegans, some of them are real assholes.” She tells you. “But I just want to, you know, live pure. But I don’t blame people for eating meat, or if they can’t make me something.”

“I made a couple of things for today that are vegan, it’s really not a problem.” Her enthusiasm and her surprise at being accommodated just makes you want to reach out and hug her, but you look to her father instead. “Is this okay with you, hun? I mean my family’s Thanksgiving is clear across the country and it would be nice to…ya know…do something at home. Instead of being a pity invite at a coworker’s house.”

“What? Yeah.” He nods eagerly, both happy that the girls will be there and that you will be too. “Of course.” He looks over at the girls. “This year won’t be pizza because the turkey’s frozen.” He chuckles.

“Thank you.” Joey is the first to break the ice, reaching out to squeeze both of your shoulders. “Don’t get the wrong impression or anything, our Mom is great at some things, but hosting holidays is not one of them. Which is why it went to her mom for so long, and then whatever guy she’s married to, and—”

Zara practically elbows her sister in the ribs and smiles politely. “This is Joey,” she laughs, waving a hand at her sister. “She talks a lot when she’s nervous.”

“It’s okay.” With a wave of your own hand, you are offering both girls hugs if they want them. “I’m nervous, too. Your Dad loves the hell out of you girls and I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you.”

Zara and Joey both hug you, smiling happily while Tim looks on. He’s relieved that you seem to like the girls. And while it might be unusual that he’s just now introducing you to his twenty-year-old twins, he hadn’t wanted to force things too early. They had resented Derek’s intrusion into their lives when their mom had immediately started dating him, and he hadn’t wanted to make the same mistakes.

Getting to know Tim’s girls is fantastic. They’re good kids, smart as hell, and enthusiastic about their dad being happy again. So enthusiastic, in fact, that it’s easily an hour later when lunch is being announced that you manage to make your way back to his side after being stolen away. You’re at the food table with Zara while she scoops out a plate of your vegan peanut noodles when you give her a squeeze and tell her you’re going to go grab something to eat — and immediately drift away to Tim’s side as he brings over a plate of burgers and hot dogs to the other end of the table.

“Well hey there stranger,” you laugh, slipping one arm around his waist and sighing in relief at having the solid, comforting bulk of him back again.

“Hey.” He grins at you as he sets down the plate. “Sorry, had to rescue the day.” His brother-in-law had actually caught the grill on fire because he hadn’t cleaned it. Tim had taken over and been in charge of the food.

“My hero.” The grin on your face speaks volumes. “Some damn good kids you’ve got there, Rockford. They kept me well entertained, and we’ve got a whole menu worked out for Thanksgiving already.”

“Oh really?” He chuckles. “Has Zara convinced you to make me fry a Tofurkey?” He asks, knowing she might have tried.

“We’re going to do a dish of roasted cauliflower, mushrooms, and butternut squash to add to the table. She got excited about trying out a spice mix in them and said she’d love it for her main dish.” Hell, it sounded good to you as a meat eater, it didn’t surprise you that it sounded good to a vegan. “And she gave me some tips on using alternative milks and vegan butter in recipes so that more of the traditional dishes could be vegan friendly.” Honestly? None of it sounded difficult, and you’re thrilled to be able to do something for his kids. “No exaggeration. I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good.” The fact that you are accommodating his daughter is something that makes him fall a little more in love with you. Trina had complained bitterly when Zara had announced becoming vegan.

“I know you were worried when it came out of nowhere, but you don’t need to be.” In fact, after actually getting here and meeting everyone, you’re feeling more relaxed than you had thought possible. “And I—I just wanted to apologize for earlier,” you admit quietly. “Now that I know how nice everyone is, it…how I acted feels even more ridiculous.”

“So you don’t think that I’m going to realize anything more than I’m going home with a hot chick tonight?” He asks, leaning in and nudging his nose against yours.

"As long as you think so, that's all that matters." You don't have to see it, you remind yourself, as long as he does. What had your therapist said to you ages ago? 'You're just not your own type'.

“I absolutely think so.” He winks and leans back to leer at you. “Especially when you look that pretty in your sundress.”

"Oh yeah?" That look is all too familiar to you, and you bite back a grin. It's the same appraising look he had given you at the fundraiser before stealing you away from the party and back to his apartment, which was much closer to the venue than your house.

“Very pretty.” Tim grunts, moving behind you and pressing up against you at the table. “Good enough to eat.”

"Is that a promise?" He has that hungry look in his eyes that you can never resist and you try to school your expression into something innocent.

“Ah ah ahaaaaaa.” Vanessa tuts as she picks up a plate. “Not around the food.”

"Busted," you smirk, pulling Tim away from the table and heading toward the house as subtly as possible.

“You wanna?” Tim groans happily, his shuffled steps quickening behind you. He has zero qualms with having sex in this house, but he had expected you to demure.

“I always want you.” You murmur, practically rolling your eyes at him as you disappear into the house together. “Like absolutely always. It’s a constant state of existence, baby.”

“Yeah?” It surprises him how much you want him. Delights him, but surprises him. He watches you walk towards the stairs. “Last room on the left, baby.”

The upstairs hallway is littered with family photos of many generations, and you quickly look through them as you walk, until one makes you stop dead and “Aww!” out loud. Elementary age Tim in a little policeman’s uniform shares a double frame with a photo of the same man fifteen or twenty years later on the day he graduated from the Police Academy. “This might be the cutest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen,” you grin, pointing to the photos.

“Always knew I wanted to be a cop.” He feels his face burn and he shuffles slightly as he watches you examine the photos. “A little different now, don’t wear the uniform.”

“Nah, you don’t.” You grin up at him and hook your finger in his t-shirt to bring him down for a kiss. “I like the shoulder holster better anyway. Much sexier.”

“Sexier, huh?” He grins against your lips and leans in to press you against the wall. “Want me to wear it for you one day?”

“Maybe.” Your lips quirk against his in a way that absolutely means yes, and your hands wander up under his t-shirt to spread out over his muscles back. “Kinda curious how you would feel about interrogating me, actually…”

“Really?” He pulls back and arches a brow at you. “You want that? Maybe those handcuffs we were talking about? Giving you a pat down?”

The way you muffle a soft groan and briefly close your eyes should be plenty enough of a giveaway. “If I wasn’t wet before I certainly am now,” you grumble, enjoying the fantasy playing yet again in your mind.

“You concealing a weapon?” He asks gruffly, even though he is smiling. He won’t really roleplay with you right now, but you seem to love the idea.

“Maybe…” You can’t help but giggle, taking his hand that isn’t braced on the wall above your head and guiding it under the skirt of your sundress. “Guess you’re gonna have to find out.”

All he can feel is generous, warm flesh. Making him groan and his cock twitches against your hip. “When did you take your panties off?”

“I snuck inside about ten minutes ago.” Your soft little grin turns wicked. “I think I have a domesticity kink, cause I was enjoying watching you at the grill.”

“I’ll grill every night if you stop wearing panties.” He promises with a groan. “My sexy girl.”

“You wanna add another notch to that bedpost, baby?” The two of you are about three feet from the door to his childhood room and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to get caught fucking in the hallway. Just for basic courtesy’s sake.

“Only notch that counts.” He promises, pulling away from you to drag you into the bedroom.

______

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My Masterlist!

[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

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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.”

[something-tofightfor]

Black Days 1: Sure Don’t Mind A Change

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader 

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

Rating: M (language.)

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

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

Read the headcanon post for Tim here.

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

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

 Chapter titles will be updated with each post. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you. Again. 

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know what to say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

Tag list reblog coming soon. 

[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

[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 25 x family

Prompt: family Pairing: tim x reader Word Count: 1,245 Warnings: family christmas dinners, interfering family, talk about children, one cute baby and Tim making my ovaries explode, just fluff. Summary: Your second annual Christmas dinner with the Rockfords. AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

“Wait! Nell, where are you going?”

Tim’s sister brushed him off, already across the room as she gave him reassurance, “You’ll be fine Tim, I’ll be right back!”

Before Tim could protest any further his sister was gone and out of the room and he swore she didn’t even look back. Sighing he looked down at his tiny niece, Emma. Barely three months old, her matching deep brown eyes to his looking back at him as she sucked away at her pacifier.

You stood at the threshold of the living room, a smile tugging at your lips. It was your second christmas with the Rockford family. Last year had been about you getting acquainted with his family after the two of you had been dating for a good year and a half. This year was a little different, you were now officially a member of the family as decreed by Tim’s father, and to top things off, the arrival of the newest member of the family, baby Emma. 

As usual, Tim’s parents' house was decked out in festive decor, including the tree twinkling in the corner with an obscene amount of presents piled beneath it. The air was thick with the smell of not one but two turkeys still being cooked. A testament to the number of family members that filled the house.

Tim shot you a look that was part exasperation and half a plea for help.

“Uncle Tim’s got the magic touch, huh?” you teased.

“She won’t settle for anyone else,” he said, his voice a mix of both resignation and pride. “Nell is convinced I’m a baby whisperer.”

You moved closer, smiling down at the tiny baby and reaching out gently to adjust the little cap that adorned her head, “Maybe you are.”

“You’re not too overwhelmed, are you?” Tim asked, concern flickering in his eyes. “I know my family can be a lot to handle.”

“Are you kidding?” you responded with a chuckle. “This is great, your family is a hoot.”

“You say this now.”

“Tim, if I didn’t go running when your Uncle Tom cornered me last year with his long-winded conspiracy theories, I think I can handle anything your family throws at me.”

Tim relaxed a little and you moved even closer, your arm brushing against his. He leaned into you, the two of you watching Emma sleep. 

“Do you ever think about changing your mind? About kids, I mean,” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You took a sip of your wine giving him a side glance, “Nope, I’m still good.”

“You sure?” he asked, a playful eyebrow cocked as if this hadn’t been a topic of discussion the two of you hadn’t already agreed on multiple times.

Looking down at Tim’s niece you felt your heart flutter in warmth at the sight of the child who you had already been referred to multiple times as aunt to, but it stirred no maternal need for one of your own.

“I’m good,” you smiled, “she is lovely though.”

Tim's gaze softened as he looked down at his niece. “Yeah, she is,” he admitted. 

Tim’s parents, true to their traditional roots, had always spoken fondly of grandkids if either of their children chose to have them. The arrival of Tim’s niece had been a highlight of their year, and the joy was palpable in the household across the extended family. 

“Cagney, dear,” Tim’s aunt Shirley called out from the dining room, his family had quickly adopted his nickname for you much to your amusement. “When will we see you with one of these?”

You glanced at Tim, who was already preparing his ‘let’s not start this conversation’ face. You squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and before you could open your mouth, Tim’s mother, Maggie, walked in from the kitchen.

“Shirley,” she chided, “leave them be, not everyone needs to have kids,” she ushered her sister to follow her back to the kitchen, “anyway, aren’t your kids taking care of it enough for the rest of us? What is it now, six grandkids? I’ve lost count.”

“Seven,” Shirley exclaimed, “and number eight on the way!”

Maggie rolled her eyes behind her sister's back at you and Tim, both of you staving off a laugh as she led her sister out of the room, the two of them bickering as they went.

Around you, the house was filled with the sounds of a close family Christmas. The chatter of distant relatives in the dining room discussing the latest football scores, the clink of cutlery as the table was being set, and above it all, the faint strains of holiday music playing in the background.

You looked around at the photographs on the mantelpiece, snapshots of Tim's life before you. There was one of him in his police academy uniform, young and perhaps a bit naive about what the future held for him.

Tim’s previous marriage was a topic rarely broached. It was a closed and sealed chapter. He had been fresh and naive out of the police academy he’d told you, late one night as the two of you laid in the quiet of what had once been his home, now your home too. The marriage had dissolved as quickly as it had begun—his workload was too much, and they wanted different things, soon realizing they both had incompatible dreams for their future. It wasn't the right match no matter how hard he tried to make it work. 

But with you, it was different. You complemented each other, your strengths and weaknesses meshing in a way that felt effortless. A silent understanding of each other's needs, and a mutual respect for the lives you'd chosen to lead. 

You turned back to Tim, only to find him watching you, his gaze lingering on your face with an affection that didn’t need words. The baby, who decided the only place to settle now was laid across Tim’s forearm, her head in the palm of his large hand tucked against his chest, had dozed off. Her little chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath.

Before anything could be said, shouts from the dining room confirmed that the food was ready.

As dinner was being served, it became clear that Tim's niece was not going to allow herself to be put down, or taken from her uncle's arms. Nell, already overwhelmed and upset that her husband was at work—a paramedic and couldn't get out of the holiday shift—had looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“Go eat,” Tim told her gently, a softness in his eyes that you knew he reserved for the few he cared deeply about. “I've got her. We'll be fine.”

His sister gave him a grateful smile before taking a seat at the table. Tim adjusted the baby in his arms, as you pulled out your chair next to him with your foot, a plate of food in each hand for the both of you.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of food, laughter, and the occasional group ‘aw’ when Emma would stretch and yawn. Insisting Tim sit and enjoy the company of his family, knowing how much he missed it with his work scheduled, you helped where you could, bringing dishes from the table, pouring wine, washing dishes and sharing in the toasts. 

Then every so often you’d catch Tim’s eye from across the room, him giving you a wink, a private moment amidst the chaos.

[wardenparker]

Connie!! Happy 2.5k, congratulations ❤️❤️ you deserve all of them and more darling!

Can I get our new man Tim Rockford with "you brought me flowers?"

Tim Rockford 286 words Fluff

“I don’t understand.” Standing on the threshold of your little house, you can feel the furrow in your forehead becomes more and more pronounced. You were just locking your door and straightening your jacket to head out to meeting Tim for dinner, but here he is: bouquet in hand and more dressed up thank you’ve seen him outside of a courtroom or family wedding in years. “You brought me flowers?”

“It’s— yeah. I mean— that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?” He swallows hard and takes in the little floral sundress you’re wearing. You always look so damn— “Gorgeous”. He says it out loud and the word almost makes him choke. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks…” For all the years you’ve known Tim, he’s never been nervous like this. Maybe his wedding day? Although he was right to be nervous – he should have called the whole thing off. Tracy was a nightmare. You had sat in the church and kept your mouth shut, hoping you were wrong and that your best friend – the man you had been in love with half your life – would actually be happy.

He had not been.

“I did this wrong, didn’t I?” He sighs, raking one hand through his dark hair.

“Did what?” You shake your head at him in confusion. As far as you knew you were just meeting him at the bar for burgers. Have dinner with me tonight was the request he had made when he called you this morning, and you had easily agreed. But apparently it wasn’t as easy for him at all.

Tim groans, a pitiful pout gracing his handsome face. “If you don’t even know I asked you out, then I definitely did it wrong.”

It’s a follower celebration microfic giveaway!

[popcornforone]

Roses

A Detective Tim Rockford Fic

Day 30 of Pedrotober (Favourite Awards Fit Prompt)

Masterlist

Back to Tim. Tim doesn’t get enough appreciation does he. He’s my 3rd fave Pedro boy. He’s something special. So I thought he needed recognition in Pedrotober.

Synopsis:- Tim & you are getting ready for an awards night.

Word count:- 800

Warnings over & above:- swearing, pain, injury, teasing, almost self pleasure, this is mainly fluff.

Thanks as always @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for the prompts as always & thank you for you all for getting to day 30, tomorrow we go left field for a certain reason.

All in black. That’s what he wanted to wear. He thought no one would pay attention to him if he just wore all black. He hates these sort of things. He was told he could wear his uniform from back in the day if he wanted too, but he knew it wouldn’t fit as he’s lost weight, so he’s gone all black.

You stand there in your bedroom doing up his tie. His arm still in a sling. This is why you’re going to this event, it’s rare he gets into altercations anymore, being a detective he might have to chase someone occasionally but it’s not that often. But he fought someone off bravely, breaking his forearm & wrist. It is a good job he is left handed & it was the right side that was injured but it still means he needs a bit more extra help as you do up his tie.

“I’ve got a gift for you Tim” you whisper as you polish his glasses for tonight before he slips them on.

“Do you my love” you are in a sleek blue jumpsuit & you lean into a bag you have on the dresser as he checks his hair & nods in approval at what you have done. He knows he does look good. He then smiles at what you have for him. “Really”

“Yes a black sling & it can have additions to it” you then produce a small box. He opens it with his good hand & gasps.

“Are those…”

“Black silk roses” you smile”you hate cufflinks so I thought these would look good with the rest of your black outfit.” He blushes as you attach them after he had put the new sling on. He secretly adores them & he’s trying not to show it.

“I mean I will be standing out”

“Detective Rockford, you always stand out” you say & stroke his face. You’d given him a bit of a trim of his tash earlier.

“So do you, that’s why i married you”

“We had black roses that day too”

“Yes we did, think your grandma was gonna have a panic attack when she saw them in your bouquet”

“She’ll get over it”

“I won’t, I’m never gonna forget the look of you walking down the aisle in that sleak white dress with black & white roses as your flowers & your bridesmaids all in black.”

“You said you loved me no matter, what I wore Tim or what vibe I wanted my y part of the wedding to be”

“I did & I still do” he kisses your cheek & inhales your scent. “Do we had to go to go to these police awards” he whispers. “I’d much rather stay in bed with you”

“Tim this is your night, you are being recognised, plus I want everyone to see that this brave strong & supportive detective, is all mine”

“Well all right” he shrugs. You take a few steps back & get your phone.

“Smile baby” you say & Tim shakes his head. “TIM!” You protest “you are my husband & you are looking so handsome & so fuckable, so let me get some photos on your big night please” he giggles & starts to pose. He secretly loves it, not that he would ever admit this to anyone at all. He even does a rock on pose with his hand for one as he pouts. His recently touched up bullseye tattoo gleaming. You smile & then stand next to him to take a couple of couple selfies together.

“You smell so good baby” he says as he nuzzled his head into your neck. A small kiss sends shivers down your spine.”you always smell good”

“Is that because I’m your girl”

“Oooh no, you’d smell good no matter what, but maybe it’s because I’m in love with you that I think you are just perfect”

“Aww Tim” you don’t care about your lipstick as you give him a tender kiss on the lips, you capture your intimate moment as the phone snaps away. “I’d love you, no matter who you were”

“But it helps that I’m your sexy sluth of a detective”

“Only because you come with handcuffs” you giggle & you palm his groin. The temptation for the two of you to not to go the award ceremony growning for both of you now. The door bell then goes your ride has arrived.

“Come on Tim, let’s get you honoured”

“Promise to pick up where we left off when we get back home” he raises an eyebrow as you grab your keys & throw them in your clutch bag with both your phones.

“Oooh for you Tim, you can have whatever you want tonight”.

[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.”