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604to647 · 6 months ago

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Husband Material

3.1K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You come home drunk after a fun night out and Tim takes care of you.

This one shot is based on that Tiktok trend where girls refer to their boyfriends as their “husband” to see what their reaction will be 🤭🤭

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls) but it’s all fluff! Maybe Tim gets a little handsy when he helps reader undress 🤷🏻‍♀️ (she’s into it). Drunk reader, consumption of Chinese food. Established relationship, petnames (Shutterbug, gorgeous, baby), soft!Tim. Reader wears a dress and heels (but they hurt her feet).

A/N: After writing Marine Attraction, I couldn’t shake the Tim brainrot so I decided to start a non-linear series of fluffy one-shots for Detective Rockford and his Shutterbug – the series will be called The Rockford Portfolio (… you know, like The Rockford Files but ‘Portfolio’ because reader takes photos 😁😁)

Masterlist

Photography aesthetic dividers by @saradika-graphics 😍

Tim pushes his reading glasses up his nose as his settles in under the fluffy duvet cover, two of your matching pillows propped up comfortably behind his back, ready to dive into his book. You’re not home yet, but Tim doesn’t mind waiting up. Since the two of you exchanged keys six month ago, he’s probably spent more time at your place than his own – he prefers the warmth of your apartment, with the soft décor and personal touches that remind him so much of you to the cold, sparse feel of his own place. He had originally worried that you might mind that most days he comes straight here after his long day at the precinct, but you hadn’t minded one bit.

You didn’t mind making room in your closet for his sharp, if slightly monochromatic suits among your more colourful wardrobe. You didn’t even mind the gun lock box that sits on the top shelf of that same closet; a safe place for Tim’s service firearm where it remains for you, out of sight, out of mind. You certainly didn’t mind the permanent home his gun holster had found on your bed post – within arm’s reach should the mood strike you to see it frame your boyfriend’s broad shoulders. And if the little pile of police paperwork that lives on a corner of your dining room table or any of the other little ways you’ve made room for him in your place didn’t convince him, you would tease that you’d never dare keep him from reading his way through your Agatha Christie collection.

It tickles you to no end that your big bad police detective boyfriend spends all day solving mysteries, only to choose to spend his free time reading books about detectives solving mysteries. When you shared your amusement with Tim, he had winked at you, tapped his finger against his temple and recited, “If the little grey cells are not exercised, they grow the rust.” So delighted at Tim quoting your favourite Christie hero you had immediately attacked his face with your lips, planting breathy butterfly kisses over every inch of his handsome face, the book he was reading consequently knocked to the ground and forgotten for the rest of the evening in lieu of decidedly less bookish activities.

He’s right in the middle of a Hercule Poirot soliloquy when he hears the front door open and then your loud, breathy giggle as you bump into the foyer table; shortly after, your keys jingle when dropped in the key bowl, clinking with his own that he had placed in the same bowl several hours earlier. Tim listens to you struggle a bit with kicking off your shoes, realizing you must finally be free of your work heels when you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as your tired feet touch the cool hardwood. He emerges from the bedroom just in time to see you wobblily padding towards the kitchen and grins to himself - you’re drunk. Tim calls your name softly and when you see your handsome boyfriend smiling at you, delicious and all at home in your apartment, wearing only a wifebeater and his boxers, your eyes open wide – you were on a way to get a snack, but he’s a snack.

“Timmy!!!!!” you launch yourself in those strong, muscular arms that you know will feel so good around your tired body; Tim catches you easily and envelopes you in his welcoming embrace, his grin only getting wider – you only call him ‘Timmy’ when you get tipsy. You've been so excited to go out with some old work colleagues that didn’t work at your firm anymore, finally able to arrange a get-together that worked with everyone’s busy schedules. Evidently you had a great time tonight – Tim’s glad, he pulls you in for a soft, tender hello kiss before steering you over to the kitchen where you were undoubtedly headed to get something to eat. Sitting you down at the breakfast counter, he fetches you a fresh glass of water and two preventative Advils, and encourages you to tell him all about your evening while he heats up a plate in the microwave.

“What’s that? You made me food?” you exclaim, giddy.

Tim chuckles, “Nothing fancy like that, Shutterbug. I ate dinner at the precinct and brought home my Chinese takeout leftovers. Just plated it so I could heat it up quickly for you when you got home – figured you’d want an après bar snack.”

He’s so sweet. And thoughtful. And hot, you smile dopily as you thank him.

“You know, gorgeous, I could have come picked you up,” Tim looks over at you from the open microwave door.

“You’re so sweet, baby! I know you would have, but you’ve been working so hard on the Pie case – I knew you would already be working late, and I knew we would be late too with all the picture taking. I didn’t want you to get home and then have to go out again. It was easy enough to share a cab. Oh! That reminds me – I gotta check in with the group chat.”

Your fingers are still flying over your phone keyboard as Tim places a plate of steaming hot Chinese food in front of you – you smile gratefully up at him.

Tonight’s night out had been double duty for you – in addition to seeing some friends that you haven’t seen in forever, a local food blog that features your photos regularly had put out a call for cocktail photos, so your group had gone out with the mission of trying as many different mixed drinks as possible.

As he always does after you go out and shoot photos, Tim sits next to you and listens to you as you swipe through your camera roll and happily chirp about the pictures you took: the subjects, lens choices, angles and lighting options. He does his best to concentrate on the pretty pictures on your screen but can’t help stealing glances at your sweet face, alight with enthusiasm and joy.

Finally putting your phone down, you start to dig into your cooled down food as you catch Tim up on the rest of your night, tipsily chatting non-stop in between bites of delicious, greasy food:

“Ok remember when I told you about Vicky’s deadbeat boyfriend who she basically carried through her internship? He apparently tried applying for a job at her new boyfriend’s restaurant??!”

“Guess what they had on the menu, baby?? A flight of spareribs – isn’t that such a cute idea? I thought, ohhh Tim would love this, he can never choose between crispy and bbq. Ha!”

“And she ended up getting two dogs from the shelter! Do you ever thing about getting a dog? I kind of wish we had a dog but we’re both so busy…”

“… should have made him clean the toilets, is what I said.”

“Ooo! Dumplings!”

“They had that Chablis we liked so much at that wine bar in New York! I didn’t get any because we were only getting cocktails for my photos. But no one ever has Chablis – we need to go back!”

“So then you’ll never guess what she said: I would rather eat a lightbulb.”

Your unrestrained laughter rings throughout the kitchen, eyes twinkling in mirth, thoroughly amused by you and your friends’ antics. You’re leaning back in your chair, your feet resting in Tim’s lap as he rubs your sore feet, the very picture of happiness that Tim imagines whenever the stress and realities of his work threaten to envelope him and he needs a little light to guide him forward.

With amazement, Tim watches as you gracefully manipulate your chopsticks and pick up cube after cube of salt and pepper fried tofu and pop them in your mouth, your elegant movements belying your state of inebriation, “Sounds like you had a great time tonight, Shutterbug.”

“Oh we did! I miss those girls so much. It’s hard for us to find a time to all get together but when we do it’s always soooo much fun! We just pick up like we used to when we were all juniors at the firm, it was perfect… well except for those two guys that couldn’t take a hint. Yeesh.”

“What guys?” Tim looks up, eyes darkening, his big, firm hands stop their caressing of your arches.

You wave your chopsticks wildly in the air, as if to dismiss his concern, “Just a couple of guys at the bar that kept sending us drinks. We kept sending them back.” You wiggle your feet in Tim’s grip and he catches on – immediately starting to massage them again.

“Did they give you any trouble?”

“Not really. Too laughable to be trouble – they came over before dessert was brought out to ask why we didn’t accept their drinks? I mean?? We told them that we were drinking for work, like my photo thing, not for fun.”

“And they got the message?”

“I mean, it took a while, but yes – they kept trying dumb lines like, Work hard, play hard!” you scrunch up your face at the ridiculous memory, “I finally had to tell them that my husband’s a cop in order for them to leave us alone!”

Husband. Tim wills himself to keep his expression neutral, as if you hadn’t said something that piqued his interest and sent his heart racing. Husband.

“Oh yeah? What did they have to say to that?”

“Ugh! One of them tried to convince me that he’d be a better husband than 'some meter maid,'” you roll your eyes as you shove black bean chicken chow mein into your mouth, “Timmy, did you splurge for extra crispy noodles?!” Your delight fills Tim with pride – he doesn’t know how you can tell after the sauce practically drowns the noodles, but you always can.

He nods, entertained by your cheery chatter, “You know, everyone has to do a rotation in Parking Enforcement – it’s a legitimate part of training. So, what did you say?”

It takes you a beat to answer, so tickled by the image of your hulking Tim in a little cap and vest writing parking tickets, “I quoted Clueless of course: As if. My husband is the biggest, baddest detective in the LAPD. He’s the smartest investigator on the squad and has cleared more cases than anyone else in the precinct. And he’s a ferocious guard dog who would rip apart any one who would dare make a woman feel uncomfortable.”

“You told them all that, Shutterbug?” Tim’s half proud and half shy at your praise, and still unable to get over that you’re calling him your husband in public. It’s making him unspeakably happy.

You nod vigorously, eyes wide and innocent, as if you couldn’t imagine a world in which Detective Tim Rockford and his accomplishments aren’t being praised to the sky at every given opportunity. “I also told them that my husband is the sweetest and kindest person I’ve ever met. And that even though he has hardened criminals scared shitless, he only ever makes me feel loved and supported, 100% appreciated and taken care of. I love my husband!” You look so happy you could cry, and Tim can’t help but feel his entire chest swell at how you described him to those two bozo strangers - that this is how you see him, what he means to you. He loves you so much.

He tells you so as he kisses the top of your head, taking your empty plate to the sink and fetching another glass of water before wrapping his arm tightly around your waist and leading you to the bathroom.

From under his chin, you look up and coo, “And he’s hot too, you know?”

“Hmmmm?” Tim smiles down indulgently to find your cute, drunk face grinning at him mischievously.

“My husband. He’s so fucking hot. I want to climb him like a tree and sink my teeth into all his hard muscles and mark him up so everyone knows he’s mine. Oh my god!” You step in front of Tim, startling him with your sudden movement, the two you continuing to make your way through the bedroom. Under Tim’s watchful eye, you walk backwards as you babble eagerly, trying desperately to make him understand, “You don’t even know how handsome he is?!? He has the perfect nose and the deepest brown eyes. His lips are so soft, perfect for kissing. He is SUCH a good kisser. OH!!! His facial hair looks sooooo good… I wonder what he would look like with a full beard. Probably just as fucking hot as he does now. My husband’s face is DEVASTATING!” You sigh dramatically.

Now starting to get embarrassed at your compliments, Tim turns you around gently and marches forward. Once in the bathroom, you stop abruptly so that Tim bumps into you – giggling, you wiggle your butt into his crotch, wordlessly asking for help you don’t actually need to undress.

Tim disrobes you swiftly – wanting to help you get to bed as soon as possible, but makes sure to kiss a gentle path along the skin he reveals as he unzips the dress he watched you put on for work this morning; after he helps you step out of your dress, he dots kisses down the back of your thighs and calves that leave you shivering in pleasure. Left in just your matching pastel floral lingerie set, you brush you teeth and start your night time skin care while Tim watches you fondly from his seat on the edge of the tub. No matter the circumstances, you’ll never go to bed without washing your face and putting on some of the elixirs and potions that overrun your bathroom counter – Tim’s convinced they must work though - you’re radiant, stunning; if he didn’t often find himself distracted by the soft curves of your enticing body, he would never look away from your beautiful face.

“Did you know your husband has the best wife?”

You look over at him and giggle into the face towel you’re using to dry your cleansed skin, “Oh yeah? Tell me about your wife, Detective Rockford.”

As you start to apply your creams and moisturizers, Tim comes up behind you, gently skimming his fingers up and down your bare sides, leaving little goosebumps in their wake, “My wife is gorgeous. Prettiest woman I’ve ever met, inside and out. She’s smart, kind, and hilarious, and I think the most considerate person on this planet. Did you know when I first met her, she volunteered to wait and be the last to be interviewed by a grumpy detective, so that school trips and families with kids could go first?”

Your eyes crinkle at the memory of when you met Tim at the aquarium nearly a year and a half ago, “How do you know your wife wasn’t just angling to be interviewed by the hot detective?”

Tim points a finger at himself comically, arching his eyebrow at the you in the mirror reflection, Me? Do you mean me – I was the hot detective?

You nod heartily, Of course you.

“Well, looks like my wife had my number from the start. She’s smart like that. Her brain is the sexiest part of her you know? And that’s saying something because everything about her is sexy,” Tim starts kissing your neck. His hands trail up to your breasts and he softly gropes your curves over the lacy fabric before reaching one hand between your bodies and undoes your bra clasp, his other hand ready to help you drag the bra down your arms, exposing your bare chest to the detective's lustful gaze. Nuzzling into your ear, he whispers, “My wife is so fucking hot,” as his fondles your breasts in his big, meaty hands – rolling your nipples between his rough fingers then lightly tugging before releasing them, causing your tits to jiggle.

You turn in Tim’s arms, your lips immediately meeting his, mouth open with an unspoken invitation he eagerly accepts. Tim licks into your mouth hungrily and you match each stroke of his tongue with a brush of yours, every nip of his teeth with an equally playful nibble. You sigh into Tim’s mouth as his lips press to yours over and over, mapping your soft cushiony lips and sucking them swollen to mark you as his. He hardly allows you to take a breath, and you’re not sure anymore if your dizziness is from tonight’s alcohol, or the way Tim’s lips slot so perfectly over yours, stealing all your air. You love it - air is nothing when you have Tim. Moaning softly so the sound fills his mouth, you hear Tim whisper huskily, “Arms up, Shutterbug.”

“Anything you say, Detective,” you shimmy your half naked body playfully in Tim’s arms and raise your arms over your head as requested, and for a second, you can’t help but gaze adoringly at Tim’s devilishly handsome face before your vision is obstructed.

“Hey! What th-?” When Tim’s grinning face comes back into view, he lowers your arms to your sides and you look down at your chest. You realize that Tim has slipped one of his oversized band t-shirts over your head to wear for sleeping. You give him an exaggerated pout and a silly whine before pressing your now t-shirt clad body to his, your final drunk attempt at seduction.

Tim dispenses a soft kiss to your lips, nose, then forehead, “Not tonight, gorgeous. You’re drunk. You don’t need sex, you need water.” He points to the glass of water he brought from the kitchen and leaves to place the drink on your bedside table so that you can finish getting ready for bed.

Snuggling under the covers after taking three big gulps of water from your glass at Tim’s insistence, you sleepily arch you butt against Tim’s bulge, giving it a half-hearted shake, stopping only when he gives you a pinch on the bum, murmuring, “Tomorrow, Shutterbug.” You grin at the promise and yawn, “Goodnight, Timmy,” before finally succumbing to your alcohol fueled exhaustion and passing out.

Tim wonders if you’ll remember calling him your husband tomorrow. He wonders if you meant to say it or if it just slipped out. He wonders what it could mean that you said it at all. He wonders if you somehow know about the ring box that’s hidden in a pair of old sport socks he never uses at the back of his dresser drawer in the bedroom of a house that he’s hardly at anymore.

Tim tightens his arms around you - he wonders a lot of things, but the one thing he never wonders about is how he feels about you. Pressing one last soft kiss to your shoulder, Tim breathes in your soft scent – a mixture of perfume, lotion, home, and whispers, “Good night, Mrs. Rockford.”

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