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beefrobeefcal · 2 months ago

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what the hell is wrong with tim feat. Tim Rockford

Summary: Tim is not acting like himself...and there's a coffee shop with only one bathroom.

Tim Rockford x f!cop reader | Rating: 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,565

Content Warnings: sex pollen, bathroom privilege abuse, handsy Tim - willing reader, consent is given to the needy man, scared coffee shop worker, talk of crime scene, police, public sexual encounter, high-as-ball oral sex, tim is a cunning linguist, oral (f receiving), eye patch required, gross bathroom floor, forced orgasm, squirting

Author's Notes: This is only a thing bc of the potential badge i could have earned from @pedroscouts... I am not sorry for my vanity. This fic is dedicated to @goodwithcheese - i hope - if nothing else - you enjoy my take on Tim.

Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal, @bitchesuntitled & @weregirlbyknight for their eyes and love. dividers made by @saradika-graphics

One line is dedicated to @covetyou. I'll let you find it.

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Tim had felt hazy and off since he’d left the warehouse. That was one of the weirdest drug busts he’d participated in, finding the offending parties sucking and jerking each other off and barely noticing that half the city’s police force was watching.

He was a reserved man. Many of his coworkers, past and present, had learned that his rough, quiet exterior was just the outer shell to a pensive, shy, overthinking loner. His routines kept him in line when a case had others wanting to pull their hair out, and his isolation and limited social life had him solving said cases quickly and without distractions.

You weren’t that much different from Tim, but you understood the inherent value of networking and getting to know your fellow officers. You had more of an extroverted nature, and seemed to be one of the few who could hold a conversation with Tim that wasn’t solely about whatever case either of you were working on at that moment – sometimes you discussed past cases and different kinds of coffee. Because of this, he’d developed a slight affinity for you that he kept deeply under wraps.

He tried to shake off the weird, hot feeling that coursed through his body, as he walked down the hallway to his office at the precinct; his hand rubbed the back of his neck. He’d barely noticed you coming from the copy room, and you in turn had your head down as you reviewed files.

“Whoa, Rockford! Walk much?”, you exclaimed as your shoulder collided with his. He looked up and you could see something was off, placing your hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Hey, are you okay?”

He looked at you, feeling the heat in him crank up to 11, and swallowed like his mouth was dry. He nodded and responded in a hoarse voice, rubbing his eyes. “I��m… yeah, I just… I just need some coffee.”

“Uh-huh.” You didn’t believe him. Tim was a man of few words, but not normally were those few words also stilted. You moved your hand to his chin, forcing him to look at you. “Are you drunk?”

Tim’s eyes met yours and there was no differentiating his pupils from his irises. Despite this, it still made your body react to his intense eye contact. He smiled although it seemed more loopy and intoxicated than what he normally offered you. “I wish. Might… might feel better than this. I… I jus’need some coffee…”

“Let’s get you some coffee.”, you said with a crooked smile. Your hand, after making direct contact with his skin on his chin, felt a slight tingling sensation. You wiped your hand on your jeans and lead Tim down the hallway.

You’d ushered Tim out of the precinct and over to a coffee shop located in a hotel lobby nearby. This place had won out over any other coffee shop, given it was the closest, it was usually quiet this time of day, and he looked like he needed to get out of the office entirely.

Tim’s head was swimming, and he was sweating profusely even though your table was directly under the AC vent; your skin was erupting with goosebumps and Tim was practically melting, a flush creeping up his neck and sweat beading on his forehead. You felt for the guy, you really did, but you knew this wasn’t a case of him just needing coffee.

“I’m not trying to be mean or anything but… you look like shit. Are you on something?”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. “I’m not on nothin’.”

You nodded, giving a non-committal uh-huh, not believing him, and the two of you continued to sit and sip in silence. The fingers that touched his chin still tingled, and you mindlessly rubbed the pads together, making the tingling extend up into your hand. You didn’t give it another thought; carpal tunnel syndrome was something you knew could come with desk work and it’s what you assumed this was. When you finished your cup and saw his was empty, too, you walked over to the counter to grab a second cup for Tim; even if coffee wasn’t the solution, he looked like he needed it.

Tim’s eyes followed you and as your back was to him, his mind swarmed with dark, delicious, and depraved thoughts as he stared at your backside. His feet were moving towards you before he realized he’d even gotten out of the chair; his hands gripped your waist and pushed you up against the counter, your back flush with his front.

“Tim!”, you yelped, trying to turn around to push him away, but his hold on you was firm.

He buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply and breathed out a deep growl, his hot breath cascading over your scalp, neck and shoulders. The woman behind the counter just watched, wide eyed, holding your two to-go cups of coffee. You offered a sheepish and awkward smile, trying to act as casual as you could manage and took the cups from her.

“Thank you!”, you said, cheerily, dragging Tim behind you. You wanted to leave, but with Tim all over you, the few steps back to the table were all you could muster.

You put the cups on a side table and pushed Tim off you. He fell back onto the chair heavily, still looking dazed.

You sat down on the other side of the table and glared at him, then your phone buzzed. You held a finger up to Tim, who was looking like he was starting to move towards you like a drugged bear, and hissed, “Stay put!”

A message from the precinct’s administrator, Sally, read:

You have Rockford with you? Is he acting weird? Daniels saw you leave with him. Other cops at the bust are being treated for non-lethal aphrodisiac intoxication. He should be fine but just watch out 😉

Closing your eyes and groaning, you tried to calm yourself; you couldn’t lose your cool when Tim was clearly so out of it. While you were deep in thought, your eyes still closed, you tapped the rounded corner of your cell phone on your head. And upon opening your eyes, you saw that Tim was gone. You looked around and heard a grunt from under the table.

You leaned down and got a good look at Tim crawling over around the table’s pedestal. His wild and fried eyes met yours and before you could take control of the situation, Tim grabbed your ankle, his hand moving up under your pant leg.

The cashier behind the counter cleared her throat and looked at you, silently asking if you were okay. You gave her a forced smile and nodded. “I’m… we’re fine!”

The cashier gave you a slow confused nod. Clearly, she didn’t believe you and was seconds away from probably calling the cops on this deranged man getting too handsy with this poor woman. You couldn’t let Tim be seen like this by your coworkers; the embarrassment would kill him.

“We’re… we’re rehearsing a play… and he’s drunk - he’s supposed to be drunk.”, you quickly spit out, forcing a laugh, as you tried to pull your leg away from his out-of-his-mind determination.

Another buzz! from your phone and the screen lit up with another message from Sally:

And don’t make direct contact with his skin.

You paused and stared at the screen, feeling a wave of warmth start from your head and roll down your body. You were brought back to reality for a moment when Tim’s hands tried to take off your shoe.

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you hissed at him, keeping your voice low as to not draw too much attention. His blown out and dopey eyes looked up at you and you could see a bit of drool in one corner of his stupid grin. “Tim. What. The. Fuck.”

“You just… you smell… you smell so good…”, he groaned, biting and mouthing your knee through your pants.

You froze, your eyes wide. You couldn’t help the fuzzy sensation that was starting to grip your mind, making that heat bloom in your core. His hands were on your bare skin as he soaked your pant leg with his drool. Even though your brain felt like it was beginning to fill with marshmallows, you still had enough senses to realize what was happening and you tried to diffuse the situation. “Tim, did you take or ingest anything… anything at that drug bust – “

“Need…”, he grunted, interrupting your questioning. His hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips.

Tim’s head was getting dangerously close to your lap, his loud huffing and inhaling making it apparent where he was headed, his mouth leaving a drool path up your pant legs, and you needed to get control of the situation. You pulled yourself from his grip and stood up, stepping away from the table. You offered another sheepish, fake smile to the cashier, and leaned down to pull Tim up off the floor, eventually dragging him as he held on to your leg to the washroom near the backdoor of the coffee shop.

Getting into the washroom for you was one thing; trying to cajole Tim into standing up so you could get a better look at him under the fluorescent lights while your body was trying to pull you into a frenzied, horny abyss was completely different.

Similar to a sedated toddler, Tim’s body was like a balloon filled with cooked spaghetti. No matter what hold you had on him, he seemed to be drawn to the floor like a pile of wet laundry, and eventually, he was trying to pull you down with him.

“Tim, I need you t-”

“I need you, too…” he grunted, pulling himself up onto his knees with his grip on your hips.

His eyes were wild and fully black. You couldn’t help but see a bit of Mr. Burns when he’s drugged up on that episode of the Simpsons with the X-Files tie-in. As you were distracted in thought, he pushed you up against the sink counter and buried his face in your lap, the sound of his inhale obscene.

You squealed out, “TIM!”, and tried to shove him back, making contact with the bare, clammy skin of his neck. Your fingers tingled and your head felt light and fuzzy. Tim’s face contorted to that of a wild dog fighting for the last scrap of meat and he growled. Your body froze but your hazy brain didn’t give you the signal for fear; instead, you felt cautiously optimistic. His huge hands gripped the back of your thighs, pushing his face back into your crotch, and you seriously considered not stopping him this time.

Until your phone dinged repeatedly, bringing you back to reality. You managed to get your foot on Tim’s broad shoulder and kick him back while you fumbled in your pockets to find your phone. Tim landed on his back with a grunt, but, undeterred, he pulled himself up off the floor. You didn’t see it as you scanned the continual messages from Sally, telling you to bring him back to the precinct ASAP - demanding to know where you were and telling you that this could become a volatile situation. Your brows furrowed, confusion at the messages still coming in, asking for a response…

You need to come in with Rockford NOW. He is not stable. RESPOND NOW I PROMISE YOU THIS IS NOT THE TIME OR THE PLACE TO BE A HERO ROCKFORD IS COMPLIMENT FJCK FUCK I MEANT COMPROMISED. ROCKFORD IS COMPROMISED. YOU NEED TO TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE

Reading through the messages left you unprotected from Tim, as he stumbled towards you with a classic Kubrickian stare, grunting and panting and sweating. Before you could look up, he had you pinned up against the counter, his forehead against yours, his breath hotly washing over your mouth, and his hand planted on either side of you on the counter, caging you in.

You stared at him, your wide eyes so close to his that he looked like a cyclops, your own breathing becoming more of a pant as his sweat dripped down your face. He smelled like he was sweating a high end cologne with a hint of pine needles.

“Is… is it getting ho-hotter in here?”, you croaked out, trying to say something - anything - to diffuse the situation.

Tim only grunted back, one of his large hands moving to your side, clumsily gripping your waist. He dug his fingers in and groaned as if this was the only thing that was going to get him through whatever psychotic episode he was currently in.

You needed to get control of the situation. You cleared your throat and spoke in the most authoritative voice you could muster. “Offic-”, you squeaked out before lowering your voice. “Officer Rockford. This is inappropriate on so many levels and I must ask tha-that you k-keep your hands to yours-”

“Wanna eat your fucking pussy.”

Although the words he spoke came out clearly in a grunt, it took you a moment to realize that THAT was what came out of his mouth. You silently mouthed the words back to him with a furrowed brow, trying to relay the message to your brain. Your pussy, despite having no ears, heard the message loud and clear, and chose violence by deciding to clear house and flood the basement.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, his forehead pressing into yours, and let out a deep grumble of a grunt.

“I can -”, he shuddered out in a growl. “Fuck me gently, Jack - I can smell her…”

You could only let out a whimper and watch helplessly as he grabbed and pulled you to the floor, The slightly off-white tiles with stained grout were of no consequence once he had you down there. He crawled up your body like you imagined a drunk crocodile would lumber across a beach and his feverish body heat radiated off him. You felt like you were under a heating lamp, or under the spotlight during an interrogation, and he was trying to sweat a confession out of you. Your brain swirled with ideas and thoughts - all of them major HR violations - but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Tim sat up on your thighs and hands were sluggishly - yet deliberately - pulling at your belt and your standard issue detective dress pants, trying to get them open. You didn’t stop him, Instead, you gazed up at him; he was a vision. His white dress shirt was translucent with how drenched in sweat he was and the perfectly coiffed curls on his head were limp and dangling, wet and dripping. His face was flushed, and his neck - oh fuck, his neck - it was glistening; you watched one bead of sweat make its journey from his patchy beard all the way to join its brethren in making his shirt wetter.

Your head felt like it was under water, sounds muffled, but you did hear the sound of fabric ripping, and you watched his hands rip open your pants, no longer able to wait for the slow burn of a zipper being pulled down.

Everything moved in slow motion for you, like whatever had affected Tim had seeped into your bloodstream and you were both on a magical journey together on a hotel coffee shop’s bathroom floor. In a whirlwind that moved at a snail’s pace, Tim managed to stand up and pull your pants off, but didn’t make it over your shoes. Much like Peter Pan’s shadow, your ripped open pants laid on the floor, inside out, still covering your feet. Your underwear didn’t fare any better as he balled up the front of them in one fist and yanked them off your body, leaving deliciously red welts on your hips. If you cared, you didn’t realize it.

He snarled and brought the shredded remains of your panties to his face and inhaled. He grunted and mouthed them like he was a man starved, and the sounds he made were euphoric.

His large palm came down and clumsily stabilized himself next to you as he knelt down between your open thighs, grunting and snorting. Your hands shakily moved to his head and you felt his wet curls pull through your fingers, leaving your hands slick from his sweat and melted hair wax. His head moved down between your thighs as his hands brutishly pushed them up and apart.

The sound of his breaths panting out against the wet crux of your thighs was obscene and loud and so insanely hot, and above his sounds you swore you heard the angels weeping in envy as soon as his nose pushed against you into your folds. He groaned through his open mouth as his wide, flat tongue laved over your fluttering hole; his nose pressed tightly against your twitching nub, and you squeaked out a whine in response.

“So… fucking… good…”

His timbre and tone was deep enough that the vibrations alone pushed you closer to the edge and you let out a gasping moan. Tim pushed you, gripping the underside of your thighs, up onto your upper back as he got up on his knees, butting them against you. He shoved more of his face than should have been possible between your legs and opened his mouth wide and licked his tongue in your hole, like a teenager French kissing for the first time. If anyone had walked in, you swear they would have assumed that Tim had the most perverse-looking bong and he couldn't stop taking hits off it. The sounds you made were muffled and distorted from the angle he had you at as his nose repeatedly pressed against your clit, bumping and smashing it as he sucked the life out of you through your pussy.

“Tim!”, you panted out. “Oh fuck!”

He groaned a response, unintelligible due to his tongue being out and his face being buried, but you could have sworn he said, “I know, right?”

The white hot coil that had been slowly tightening over the past hour suddenly snapped and you screamed out, involuntarily trying in vain to arch your back. Tim held you firm and kept pressing his fucking nose into your clit and fucking you with his tongue. It was almost too much, and you screeched and writhed as much as you could, your hands gripping his arms and digging your nails in. Your whole body felt like it had been set on fire and it was consuming you.

But he didn’t let up. There was no respite, no chance for you to take a breath and reset. Another orgasm came crashing through you and then another one right on top of it. Through them all Tim kept going. And going and going, and you didn’t know any longer when one climax started and another began.

Tim held you firm in his arms, his large hands splayed out on your belly as your legs tensed and flexed over his shoulders. All you could do was hang on and scream while he devoured you over and over and rocked his hips against your back.

You swore you couldn’t handle anymore. Whatever drug or intoxication Tim had gifted to you was wearing off and you didn’t think your body could handle another mind altering orgasm. But he kept going, forcing another one out of you as he grunted and bucked and rutted against you faster and faster.

He let out an animalistic groaning growl into your pussy

The feeling in your lower belly was different this time. The build up was greater than before as his nose pressed harder and he panted into you while tongue fucking your hole. You felt the urge to let go as that coil released again and Tim simultaneously pressed his crotch to you and wailed out as a warmth bled over your back. He lifted his drenched face from you just enough with a high pitched moan that when you squirted, it got him square in the eye.

You don’t know how long you both laid on that bathroom floor. Your limbs felt heavy, like they were filled with concrete, and Tim didn’t seem to be faring any better. When you were finally able to catch your breath, you groggily sat up and looked at the carnage that was Tim; his whole body was shaking and the front of his navy blue dress pants were wet - not damp, not moist - and there seemed to be liquid pulsing still from his crotch.

“Tim - .”, you called out, but your voice was hoarse.

His head rose and he looked at you, dazed.

“What in the heck - “, he groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eye. When he brought his hand down to wipe his face, his eye looked red and irritated.

You both looked each other over and no further words were said as you pulled yourselves together. You left the coffee shop still straightening your clothes, not making eye-contact with any of the employees.

After taking a desperately needed long weekend, you returned to work. Walking in, you saw your coworkers and everyone behaved as if nothing had happened. Until Tim came into the morning meeting with an eyepatch on.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford fic #🥩

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wildemaven · 6 months ago

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confessions | tim rockford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shoots you a pained look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Way to use those detective skills.”

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

#summerlovin24 #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #pedrostories #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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d4rm4nd4 · 2 years ago

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For all the Tim Rockford girlies - y’all are just wonderful. Stay creative ♡

PS: if anyone caught the references, I’m kissing the tips of your fingers.

#tim rockford #merge mansion #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanart #javier peña #marcus pike #marcus moreno #pedro pascal characters #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #Fanart #digital drawing #comicart #fancomic #fanart by poison

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604to647 · 16 days ago

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Tiny Tim

A The Rockford Portfolio Christmas Special

5.2K/ Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Tim takes you to the precinct Christmas party.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, soft!Tim, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous). Semi public sex, fingering, unprotected PiV, thrill of being caught, alcohol consumption (reader is tipsy, but this is a devoted relationship with deep trust, not dubcon). Reader wears a dress. Bad 'A Christmas Carol' jokes.

A/N: This is a holiday love letter to all you lovelies who read The Rockford Portfolio 🥹🥹 Thank you thank you for all the love you’ve shown these two - they are one of my favourites to write, I'm always so encouraged by the sweet response I receive on their stories 🥹 This instalment is probably the only one I’ve written that makes more sense if you’ve read some of the others - there are a few callbacks, little winks for those of you who enjoy their stories 🤭 Thank you thank you again and happy holidays! 🎄

Now available: Fic companion Christmas carol 🎵 Detective, It’s Cold Outside 🎵

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim watches the scene from across the bar.

It’s like a Renaissance fresco come to life, a modern-day depiction of royal court with you as the monarch at its centre - sitting up high, you’re perched on a barstool looking radiant and gorgeous in a pretty holiday dress that drapes off your curves and cascades over your legs; your feet dangle off the ground, swinging to and fro without a care. You’re surrounded by a crowd of cops who have arranged themselves in a semi-circle with you at their epicentre - those on your left and right stand or sit on their own stools, while the officers in front of you fan across a stretch of tables. Every person is angled towards you like a moth trying to fly closer to their flame, all eyes are trained, adoring and fawning, on your pretty face as you laugh and finish up what you were saying. They hang on your every word, and when you make eye contact or touch your hand to an arm in order to emphasize a point in your story, Tim swears the lucky recipient literally lights up a little.

Tim wonders if he should have told you that you’re kind of a celebrity at the precinct. No, not because he’s yours. Yes, it tickled his colleagues to no end that the gruff grizzly bear detective that was Timothy Rockford had been tamed by your gentle hand; they had seen evidence of his previously thought nonexistent softness and docility whenever you would visit. But he could never claim credit for the esteem in which you were beheld – your renown was all your own.

Even before tonight’s party, there had been a tittering among the various law enforcement departments that you would be in attendance. Those who had only seen you in passing or heard tales of how Detective Rockford’s lady love had provided much direct or indirect assistance to their cases, were eager to meet you. No sooner had the two of you entered the bar where tonight’s party was being held than you were swept out of Tim’s arms to make the acquaintance of what seemed like a never-ending queue of his colleagues. It’s been a while now since Tim lost track of you, sulking solitarily until his partner, Detective Arnold Calloway, came over with a conciliatory beer and pointed to where you’re currently holding court.

The team from Cipher, who had used your Graffiti Alley photos to decrypt the Pie Distribution playbook, are at your feet - ignoring the now lukewarm drinks on their tabletops in favour of trading quippy witticisms with you in between their rounds of raucous laughter at your jokes.

O’Brien and his team who had made up Surveillance Teams Alpha and Bravo the night you obtained information from Buchanan’s girlfriend in the restaurant bathroom that would lead to the apprehension of The Accountant, flank your left. Whenever you tilt your radiant face towards them, they take full advantage - commanding your attention so they can regale you with more detailed stories about the busts and raids that resulted from your intel.

Tech guys that used the meta data from your aquarium photos to track the movements of Grandma Ursula’s henchman, resulting in the retrieval of the missing briefcase that broke open the case, gather to your right – keeping a watchful eye on the cocktail glass you hold in your hand, prepared to replace it with a ready refill at a moment’s notice should you desire.

The head of Financial Crimes and a few of her analysts who run what has affectionately been named “Operation Spring Roll” (per your request), an intricate and far-reaching money laundering investigation kicked off by your keen observations at The Midnight Palace, slip in to occupy the empty seats next to their colleagues in Cipher, bringing appetizers and bowls of bar snacks as offerings.

Every single one of your admirers appears entranced by your charm and the warmth of your bright aura; convinced that you’re the wittiest, most intriguing person in this bar, they loathe to be torn away from your sweet face and the way it’s alight with genuine joy and holiday mirth. Tim is all too familiar with how they feel. He starts to make his way across the bar – individually or collectively, his coworkers have bogarted your attention all night and he’s had enough. He misses you.

Tim barely makes his presence known, arriving and stopping at the periphery of your audience where your eyes find him immediately, as if drawn to him.

Almost impossibly, your entire face lights up even more and you hold your arm out in his direction; with a hypnotic dance of your hand that’s part flirty wave, part sprinkling of fairy dust over your devotees, you beckon him, “Timmy!!!”

He sees a few cops mouth, smirking, “Timmy?!” and Chen from Cipher actually puts her hands together in prayer and says Thank You to a deity above for this gift with which Tim is sure he will be mercilessly teased later. But Tim doesn’t care. No matter how you call, he will always come.

Threading through the maze of chairs and bodies, he reaches you just as you step off the bottom rung of your stool – catching you easily right before you throw your arms around his neck.

“Hi Detective,” you coo, melodic voice a whisper against his lips.

“Hi Shutterbug,” Tim radiates a happiness that you feel as much as you can see - you’re finally back in his arms.

“Timmy. They all want to talk to me about police stuff, and I’m running out of things I know,” your silly tipsy face conveys some unwarranted trepidation, as if there was any chance in hell you could ever disappoint this group of smitten cops.

“You want to know how to make a bunch of cops scatter?” the twinkle of mischief in Tim’s eyes is mirrored back to him in yours as you nod, nuzzling your nose against his in conspiratorial agreement.

He kisses you.

And not in a tempered and chaste way one might expect at a work event, where superiors are in attendance and professionalism might be monitored even while off the clock.

But a full out, no holds barred, deep and passionate kiss that leaves Tim’s colleagues slack-jawed in shock, some even avert their gaze, embarrassed – as if they know they will have to staunchly deny having witnessed this side of their co-worker should they ever be interrogated about its existence. Tim’s mouth opens and wordlessly demands entry – you happily obey your detective’s directive. It’s truly beyond your understanding how anyone (you, these cops, anyone breathing) could ever deny Tim anything - his very being so commanding and reassuring that it only feels natural for you to surrender to him every time. Smoothing your tongue over Tim’s, you let him chase you to the furthest corners of your mouth; sighing when he catches you and licks behind your teeth in victory.

Though most of the onlookers have now left the two of you to your reunion, a few of Tim’s cheekier squad members remain. “Woooooooooooo!” the cheers from the surronding crowd are playful and jovial; there are a couple of whoop, whoops and arm pumps from some of the older detectives who were clearly Arsenio Hall fans.

“Alright, break it up, break it up,” Tim gruffs as you bury yourself into his chest, giggling. The remaining cops swiftly do as Tim says, going off in different directions – to order more drinks, out for a smoke, all eager to spread the lore about Detective Rockford’s kryptonite to their fellow jolly drunks, leaving you and Tim to stare dreamily into each other’s eyes in the middle of the bar.

Now that the two of you have a moment to yourselves, you can once again hear the bar’s music system that’s been blasting Christmas carols all night. Bing Crosby’s White Christmas comes over the speakers and you and Tim, still lost in one another, begin to slow dance – Tim presses his forehead to yours as he holds you close, finally letting himself relax now that his broad frame can once again melt and mold to the softness of your body.

Sighing in contentment, you lift your hands to run your gentle fingers through Tim’s rough facial scruff – a gesture that’s as soothing for him as it for you; it’s been great getting to know Tim’s colleagues and super entertaining listening to their stories and jokes, but this is where you’ll choose to be every time, “This has been so fun, Detective. I don’t know why you don’t like the precinct holiday parties.”

Tim closes his eyes and gives a little snort, “You try being named Tim at Christmas time around a bunch of drunk cops. The ‘Tiny Tim’ references usually start after the third round.”

You giggle, face now impish and eyes dancing with merriment, “Well, they just don’t know what Tiny Tim is capable of.”

Tim growls, grasp tightening around your waist, “…not that tiny.” Squealing, you crash your lips to Tim’s, delighting in your detective’s playful touch that’s now amorously roaming your backside. The two of you, lips never parting, sway over to a darker, less populated area of the bar – leaving Tim’s colleagues to their reveries.

“Ah, well, Detective Rockford, here’s the thing: I know for a fact that there is absolutely nothing tiny about Tiny Tim,” your hand trails down your boyfriend’s hard chest, smoothing over the front of his fancy dress pants to cup his bulge.

Tim jerks sharply to the sensation of your delicate fingers massaging his balls through the fabric; his voice lowers to a rumbled warning, “Shutterbug…”

“Mhhmmm?” you hum cheekily against Detective Rockford’s plush mouth.

“If you keep this up, I’m going to have to arrest myself for public indecency.”

Still drinking in the harmonious ring of your resulting laugh, Tim doesn’t see you subtly look around to see if there are any prying eyes trained on the two of you. When you find none, you hurriedly tug Tim down the hallway that leads to the restrooms; the bar has individual bathrooms instead of gendered ones, and you quickly find one that’s vacant, dragging Tim inside.

Tim looks surprised to find himself in the relatively well-lit bathroom, “Baby, what are…?”

His adorably naïve question is cut off when you push him up against the wall with surprising force from your soft hands. The party has been fun, but you were away from Tim for entirely too much of it.

Though you’re sure it wasn’t by design, nearly every captivating story you heard tonight has heralded your Tim as brave, clever, tough – never backing down in the face of particularly dangerous or puzzling elements of his cases; intimidating scumbag perps that deserved to get a little decency scared into them; displaying incredible feats of intelligence that left his colleagues amazed. Most of these stories you’ve actually heard before, but you learned tonight that Tim’s version often downplayed his own contributions and prowess – seeing your detective through the lens of his fellow law enforcement officers, hearing their accolades and seeing just how clearly they admire and respect your brilliant boyfriend has made you beam with pride.

And warm with arousal. Tim’s competency and humbleness are a one-two punch combination that never fails to turn you on, and by this point of the evening, you’ve heard a lot of stories evidencing both. You can’t wait any longer to have him.

“There, Detective. We’re not in public anymore,” you purr, scraping your kitten claws over the black cashmere of the sweater you gifted him, your hands meet in the middle of Tim’s expansive chest to give his smart, silk tie a sharp and quick tug; your cheeky move has absolutely no effect on the mountainous stance of man before you, and instead tips you into his space. Detective Rockford catches you with little effort, and when you see the smirk he throws your way, you drunkenly chuckle and allow to Tim descend on your lips once more. Sighing, completely enamoured with the handsome man before you, you throw your arms around his thick neck and give yourself over to Tim’s hungry kisses, matching his tongue stroke for stroke - whimpering as he nibbles and tugs on your plush bottom lip.

“Feeling needy, gorgeous?” Tim murmurs against your pout, hands gripping your ass in his heavy palms through the luxurious fabric of the dress that he’s been admiring on you all evening. You lean back and nod, giving him a coquettish, doe-eyed look, “Needed you all night, Timmy. Felt like I haven’t seen you at all, but I love how everyone’s been telling me stories about how brilliant and vital you are. All I’ve wanted to do is show you that I feel the same way.”

“Oh, baby, I’ve missed you too,” groans Tim as you claw your nails down his sweater, pressing hard through to the crisp dress shirt underneath – the way both garments stretched taut across his broad frame has you licking your lips; you start lowering to your knees, eyes already trailing to where Tim’s impressive cock is straining valiantly against his dress pants.

To your surprise, Tim’s hands slip under your arms and lift you back up – you whine at being denied his cock in your mouth, but the sweetness of his expression makes it impossible to be mad, “Don’t want you to get that pretty dress dirty on the floor, gorgeous.” Tim’s thoughtfulness combined with the firm way he maneuvers your body towards the bathroom sink has you positively gushing, any disappointment disappearing.

Standing behind you so that you’re both watching Tim’s bear paw hands snake up your chest, your detective gropes your breasts over the front of your dress and listens as you sigh and whinny; you slump back against your tank of a man, perfectly content to let him have his way with your body.

Still palming full fistfuls of your boobs, Tim’s long fingers reach up to pull down the neckline of your dress so that your tits come spilling out, eager to greet his hands. His mouth finds the sweet spot of your neck that he claimed as his long ago, and you watch him continue to paw and knead your breasts, finding your already peaked nipples with ease. Rolling, pinching, teasing your hardened buds between the rough pads of his fingers, Tim murmurs against your skin, “We gotta be quick and quiet - can you do that for me, Shutterbug?”

You meet the dark gaze of your boyfriend in the mirror and nod feebly; the reminder that you’re at a party full of cops, cops that work day in and day out with the fromidable man behind you who looks like he wants nothing more than to devour you, has you clenching pathetically around nothing.

Nothing escapes the eagle eyes of your detective – he responds to your desperation with a final squeeze of your tits before raking his monster hands, hard and gripping, down your willing body; frantically rucking up the skirt of your dress and bunching the festive fabric above your ass.

The sound of Tim’s belt buckle clicking open has you arching your back, ass wiggling and eyes closing in giddy anticipation.

Smack.

You yelp in delight at the bright sting blooming on your ass cheek from Tim’s open palm. He chuckles as he pulls your lace panties to the side, “Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby.”

The goofily grinning and sassy-eyed you in the mirror chirps, “Yes, Detective!” about to give him a cheeky salute when you’re rendered witless, dissolving into a puddle of lust at the feel of Tim’s thick fingers gliding through your folds.

He doesn’t tease you for long - finding you already wet and willing, Tim easily slides two of his fingers into your sopping hole; he bites down at the base of your neck and you keen as your boyfriend’s long reaching touch grazes your softest, most intimate parts.

Your reflection unravels and whimpers, “Pl-, please, Tim!”

Detective Rockford’s obsidian gaze meets yours in the glass and he acquiesces to the request you can’t quite vocalize with a quickening of his thrusts; the slap, slap, slap of his palm meeting your desire drenched pussy echoes off the walls of the small bar bathroom like the beat of a naughty Christmas carol.

Spurred on by the buzz of tonight’s alcohol and the titillating knowledge that Tim’s colleagues are only a short hallway away on the other side of the bathroom door, and that any or all of them could hear you or even come knocking the next moment, you start to crest shamefully quick. His knowledge of your body’s pleasure so familiar and intimate, Tim recognizes the fluttering of your walls and swiftly adds a third finger. You cry out, one hand flying up to muffle the sound as you press back against your detective’s hard chest; the other Tim cradles in his free paw and slips up your skirt and down the front of your panties, big hand over yours - using your lithe fingers like a quill to scrawl his command to your clit.

“Come for me.” Tim’s baritone growl is the last thing you hear before the air in the room rushes past your ears and you shudder at the silence that seemingly rings; biting down on your own hand, tears spring to your eyes at the sting of pain and the force of the orgasm that hits you.

You barely register as Tim’s fingers slow through your come down, withdrawing and finding their way to his mouth. The you in the mirror hazily watches as he sucks his fingers clean with a wicked grin, winking at you before nibbling playfully at your earlobe, “Taste so sweet, Shutterbug.”

Giggling, you pull your detective’s face down to yours for a tender but desperate kiss, your cunt already feeling empty and needy. Tim returns your affections ten-fold, hands frantically pushing down his pants and boxers, releasing his hard and thrumming cock with a slap against the smooth dip of your lower back. You whine pitifully, shimmying in Tim’s tight hold and pushing back to try and angle his dick down to where you need him; he chuckles darkly in your ear and grumbles, “Brace yourself, baby.” You place both hands firmly on the ledge of the sink counter and exhale shakily when you feel Tim wick the head of his cock through your slick, gripping hard as he firmly pushes in.

Tim’s eyes never leave your lust blown ones in the mirror. He sets a purposeful and delicious rhythm - pulling out nearly all the way so that you pout, letting you yearn for the loss of his stretch for a moment too long before slamming back in with a heavy drive of his hips and bottoming out each time with an aggressive snarl. He does this over and over and over, his punishing pace never wavering; your eyes start to roll and your bottom lip starts to smart from how hard you’re biting down to keep from screaming.

“Maybe we should let them hear, baby.”

“Let everyone in this bar know who you belong to.”

“They kept you all to themselves tonight – need to remind them that you’re mine.”

Tim punctuates each of his possessive words with a particularly harsh thrust, jolting you hard against the counter.

“Tim!” Your arms fly up to wrap behind his neck, and the reflected vision of you being bounced on Detective Tim Rockford’s hard cock with your supple tits tumbling whorishly out of your party dress, sends the both of you rocketing towards a dual high.

“You’re fucking perfect, Shutterbug.”

“No wonder they all want a piece of you.”

“But they can’t have you.”

“You’re mine, baby.”

“Mine.”

“Yours, yours, yours,” your breathy declaration sung to the chorus of your orgasm, Tim comes shortly after to the tight squeeze of your warm walls claiming him as yours.

“I love you, Detective.”

“I love you more, Shutterbug.”

The two of you stay at the party for just one more round of drinks; Tim’s arm never leaves your waist, tucking your body securely against his. As far as he’s concerned, his colleagues have monopolized enough of your time this evening, you’re all his now; you can’t help but enjoy Tim’s harmless display of possessiveness when his fellow officers swarm and try to engage you as they did before.

Perhaps in retaliation, the Tiny Tim jokes start coming in rapid succession:

“Tim, are you feeling tired? Is it hard to stand? Do we to find you a wittle crutch?”

“Isn’t it past Tiny Tim’s bedtime? He’s just a little guy.”

“Leaving already? Bah humbug!”

“Should we be calling Bob Cratchit? Does Tiny Tim need a lift?”

“No, don’t go, Rockford! Who’s going have god bless us, every one??!”

You can’t help but laugh at that last one as you and Tim sweep out of the bar; Tim raising his hand and flipping the bird to his friends without ever looking back.

The December air outside feels crisp and pleasant against your skin, still warm from tonight’s drinks and the crowded party. By some coincidence, the bar is in the same neighbourhood as the restaurant where Tim took you on your third first date, and much like that night, you and Tim opt to take the twenty-or-so minute walk home. Though the fresh air sobers you, you remain cheerful and giddy from tonight’s festivities and a general sense of seasonal merriment – his hand never leaving yours, an amused Tim lets you happily swing your arms as you walk, occasionally giving you a twirl on the sidewalk and smiling widely as you duck under his beefy arm and spin so that the skirt of your dress fans out with a dancer like grace. Chirping cheerfully, you fill Tim in on all the courageous and funny stories his colleagues shared with you tonight and delight in the way his face reddens in embarrassment.

“I’m so lucky, Tim! I get to call the biggest, baddest, smartest detective on the squad as my own. And I also know him to be so sweet, and kind, and funny. I’m truly the luckiest girl in the world,” your words and eyes are genuine, all adoring.

Tim can’t help but grin dopily back. He takes off his tan trench coat to drape over your shoulders and accepts your quick, sweet peck of gratitude before countering, “I’m the lucky one, Shutterbug. It was clear to every single person in the bar tonight that you’re a star, everyone’s dream – and you choose me. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

Your chest swells with affection for your tender-hearted boyfriend – Tim never fails to make you feel cherished, supported and loved, and of course, always so very safe and protected. You’re sure that if the people of the city knew even half of what you know about how deeply Tim cares and takes seriously his charge of their protection, they would all be as in love with him as you are. It’s no wonder that you had felt that initial spark with him when he was just diligently doing his duty all those many moons ago at the aquarium – he had been so earnest and dedicated to the job, you’re convinced you fell in love with him on the spot, “We’re both so lucky that you’re who I ended up interviewing with at the aquarium during the Grandma Ursula case.”

“It wasn’t all luck, Shutterbug,” Tim flashes a shit eating grin.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that day at the aquarium, MacMillan and I were both interviewing potential witnesses. And when we got down to the final few interviews, I bribed him to let me question you.”

You’re absolutely shocked and delighted by this revelation, “Detective Rockford!! You’re diabolical! What did the favour of my company cost you?”

“I had to transcribe all of MacMillan’s interview notes from that day… and for the following month. Plus, he made me drive all the way to a deli across town to pick up his favourite sandwich.”

“Omigod,” you giggle, “And?”

“Hmmm?”

“Was it worth it?”

“The sandwich? I did get myself one - it was pretty delicious.”

You swat playfully at Tim’s chest, “No, silly. Not the sandwich – what you transcribed all those notes for.”

“Absolutely. Changed my life for the better. You're priceless, baby.”

“Oh Tim,” you sigh at your detective’s romantic words. The truth is you’re absolutely gobsmacked that Tim went through all that effort for you when he didn’t even know you; knowing what you do now about Tim’s instinct and how often the success of his cases rest on its sharp edge, it makes your heart sing that he had had a feeling, saw something in you worth pursuing. You tell him as much.

“I’ve been grateful for you since the moment I saw you, Shutterbug,” says Tim sincerely, “When you were in that waiting area, patiently letting the families and field trips go ahead of you, I knew I was in the presence of genuine grace and kindness. I- I don’t run across that very often in my line of work – you’re so special, baby. I was having such a shit day and you were an unexpected beacon of light. I think, selfishly, I couldn’t let you go without basking a little longer in your warmth.”

Tears spring to your eyes so quickly that you have to turn away from Tim to hide how emotional his confession has made you. You had felt such a strong connection to him that day as well – Tim had been so sweet and patient, encouraging in his words for your photography when he had no reason to be; your gratitude had only been compounded when you bore witness to the enthusiasm and commitment Tim held for his policework. And since the day of the Grandma Ursula case verdict, your feelings of admiration and awe for this strong, honourable man have only grown.

You tug Tim along the twinkle lights illuminated path, still unable to look at him while admitting these sentiments, “When we didn’t talk at all during those seven months of the Grandma Ursula case, I thought maybe I had made you up – it didn’t seem possible to have properly gauged the measure of a man so smart, kind, and honourable from just the few times we interacted. But Tim, you exceed even my wildest fantasies with how steadfast, loving, respectful, caring you are to me everyday. You’re the man of my dreams.”

If you were hoping to avoid getting overwhelmed by your feelings, thinking about how much you love your detective and all the reasons you can’t live without him has certainly not been the way to do it. Swimming in your own happiness, you brush away your tears with the sleeve of Tim’s jacket and quicken your pace, your footsteps timed to the thundering beat of your very full heart.

You walk so quickly that your hand slips from Tim’s and in your surprise at the loss of his warm, comforting grip, you turn around – the sight that greets you leaves you stunned. Both hands flying up to cover your mouth, now dropped opened in a placid ‘o’ shape, you’re unable to contain the loud gasp that escapes.

Tim is still where he was when you inadvertently let go of his hand, but now down on one knee – in his upturned palm he holds an open ring box, his rich brown eyes swirling with a storm of deep emotion, love.

You walk the few steps back to Tim in silence, teary eyes crinkling from a smile that you can’t quite hide behind your hands. Your barely concealed joy makes Tim’s heart soar and calms his nerves somewhat.

When you finally stand before him, Timothy Rockford, first line attack dog of the LAPD Detective Squad, scourge of the city’s hardened criminals, and certified grump who hates all holidays and holiday parties, melts in front of the woman he loves. He looks up into the eyes of his personal goddess, the one who makes it safe for him to reveal his soft underbelly, nourishes him and has his back in every way that matters on this mortal plane he had long resigned to walking alone before meeting her, and asks the most important question he’s ever had to pose, inside or outside of an interrogation room.

“Shutterbug, when we met, I couldn’t have fathomed how much better my life was going to get with you in it. You’re the embodiment of all the goodness that for a very long time I was convinced existed in too short supply in this world. But not with you, baby – you’re generous and open, and the sweetness and compassion you extend to me and everyone around you feels never-ending. You give me so much, but the most important is something I didn’t even know I was missing: a home. You’re my home, Shutterbug. A home full of love and softness. I- I never knew that could be in the cards for me, or that anyone like you existed, never mind that you would choose me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but if you allow me, I want to spend the rest of our lives coming home and loving you.”

You’re nodding now, happy tears overflowing.

Tears now rolling down his own face, Tim chokes out, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, Tim! I’ll marry you!!” You cry, launching yourself into Detective Rockford’s arms, practically knocking him and the ring box to the ground.

Wrapping his arms tight around his little slice of heaven, Tim helps you both stand; pulling back only so he can slip the diamond ring that he had so long ago bought and hid in the back of his sock drawer, waiting for the right time (a time that wouldn’t be too soon), on your ring finger. You admire the beauty of this bright flawless thing, an actual physical embodiment of Tim’s love – still in shock that something, someone, could be so exquisite and yours. Thankful and humbled before its, his, grace, you place your hands on both sides of your fiancé’s handsome face as he brings his careful paws up to yours and you meet for a long, perfect kiss.

Still feeling like you’re in a dream, you start heading home - alternating between walking while holding out your left hand and admiring it in a daze, and looking back at Tim’s blinding smile, stopping to kiss him again when you see the look of devotion and awe that he radiates back at you. This continues for several blocks until, giddy and blissful, you suddenly notice the slow licking flames of want that have been keeping you warm on this chilly December walk – immediately, you start pulling Tim towards your shared destination with renewed urgency.

“What’s the hurry, Shutterbug?” laughs Tim.

“Want to get home, Detective,” you giggle, “so I can ride my new fiancé until we both come so loud the neighbours complain."

At this, Tim quickens his pace, long legs taking strong purposeful strides - one for every two of yours; his eagerness and boyish grin making you laugh, “Then tomorrow, after we celebrate some more on every surface of the apartment, I want you to take me to that deli across town and I’m going to buy MacMillan a ‘thank you’ sandwich myself.”

You squeal in laughter as Detective Tim Rockford breaks into a full out jog, practically carrying you, his Shutterbug, love of his life, raison d’etre – fiancé, wife-to-be, the future Mrs. Rockford (Oh, he likes the sound of that!), all the way home.

A/N 2: We time hop a lot in this series, a lot of the stories not necessarily happening in the order they're written/posted and I don't think it matters much - but for those that are wondering, a little note on timing. This story can be considered the most recent in the timeline of Timmy and Shutterbug's relationship; I consider it to take place a good while after Sniffles (when they move in together). Sniffles I imagine to take place 3-4 months after Husband Material, and before the Sleepy Trilogy. I'm not terribly committed to when the others slot in, but I always think of Dance for Me as also taking place when they're already living together.

Thank you again for reading and happy holidays - god (nondenominational) bless you, every one 🥹🥹😘

#tim rockford #tim rockford fic #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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sugadolly · 1 year ago

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

#i've been bad i've been wrong #playing a dangerous game 🗣️#i had fun editing this #he looks mesmerizing in black & white #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford smut #merge mansion #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #lana del rey #lizzy grant #playing dangerous #daddy issues

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something-tofightfor · 14 days ago

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To: You, From: Santa (1)

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 8,952

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

Rating: M, just for language though.

Author's Note:

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

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

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

Thanks for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Tim Rockford.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I definitely do.

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #detective tim rockford #christmas story #hallmark christmas 2024 #to: you from: santa #tim rockford masterlist #pedro pascal masterlist #writing #merge mansion #merge mansion fic #part 1

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ozarkthedog · 1 year ago

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summary: tim fucks you in the back of his squad car.

warnings: 18+ mdni. not overtly filthy. just a possessive, stressed out detective.

author's note: with all the tim content being reblogged lately, i had to write a little something.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

It was hurried, messy, and vulgar.

Your hands press against the windows of Tim’s squad car, leaving fog-stained prints as a rush of hazy delirium surges and fills your brain. Your head hangs heavy, swaying with every brutal shove of his hips as he thrusts his cock deeper into your soaked core.

Cramped and unromantic, yet recklessly needed.

Tim never stops. Once he sets his mind to something, he follows through. End of story. Much like the murder case he was in charge of. Long days turned into late nights. Tim was stretching himself thin, desperate to catch the killer before they struck again; stress consumed him.

You knew he needed to clear his mind, let loose, so to speak, and unravel the ties that kept him bound.

He splays his weight over your spine, bending you in the tight confines of the car and kneeling precariously on the leather seats meant to bring criminals to justice. His chin hooks over your shoulder, and a fractured breath fans across your cheek before he playfully nibbles your jaw.

The leather holster that frames his broad shoulders creaks with every voracious movement. He can’t get enough. He wants to bury himself as deeply as possible, taste and feel every inch you offer.

Large hands paw hungrily at your body, frantic and greedy as he cants his hips roughly, spearing you in half.

Slick drips down your thighs as his pace falters. Your cunt swirls and hugs his cock, dragging him to the edge with every lewd moan that falls from your tongue as your pleasure mounts.

He sucks in a sharp breath as pleasure envelops him. Worn hands latch onto your hips as his body tenses, and a depraved groan rumbles through his chest. Half moons decorate your skin as he pumps you full of his release. Like a good detective, he needs to see this through. He doesn’t stop until you’re gasping and writhing against him, and your body is taut from the insatiable bliss.

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #pedro pascal #merge mansion

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magpiepills · 2 months ago

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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.

#bat writes #tim rockford #detective tim rockford #tim rockford smut #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #merge mansion #merge mansion fan fiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal #smut #tim rockford fanfiction

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absurdthirst · 8 months ago

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Evidence of a Date {Tim Rockford x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN(ish), snuff films, power of suggestion, hypnosis, compulsory need to fuck, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral sex (male and female receiving)

Comments: Asked to assist Detective Rockford with finding evidence on a supposed snuff tape, you find it to be very different from what either one of you were expecting. Leading you to some surprising outcomes.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Tim Rockford MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Getting called into the Captain’s office is never a good thing. No matter how clean you keep your nose or what rank you are, even as a Detective. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Knocking and opening the door, you are surprised to see Rockford sitting in a chair opposite the captain’s desk.

“Come in, shut the door.” He waves you in and your stomach twists, wondering what the hell is going on. You’ve worked with Tim before, but not recently. You’ve been too busy with your own caseload. “I need you to do something for me.” Captain Carnell is a no bullshit man, a pragmatist who hated sitting behind a desk. “Tim’s got a video he needs to go through, evidence.” You frown slightly, unsure why that should have any impact on you. “It’s a snuff film, supposedly and the forensic team refuses to touch it.” He grumbles and you still don’t quite understand.

Tim shuffles awkwardly. “I need to watch it. And I need another set of eyes.” Your head turns towards him. “You can keep your mouth shut, unlike 90% of the others around here.” It’s true, cops like to gossip and if it is a snuff film, the details need to be kept quiet while the investigation is ongoing.

“I see. And that’s why you called me in?” You ask the captain.

“Yes.” Carnell nods. “Tim asked if your cases could be transferred and you to help him on this, and I think it’s a good idea. That way there’s no talk of sexism if the case goes nowhere.”

You nod. “Of course.” You agree, not sure if you’re dreading watching the video or spending all your time with Tim more. It’s hard working with someone that you are hopelessly attracted to and know that it’s unrequited. “I’ll move my cases over to Robertson and we can get on the case right away.”

Your captain nods, “excellent. After closing time, go to the break room. He’s secured the room so it will be just you two.” Tim nods, crossing his arms and you glance between the two men. “Go back to your paperwork. Half an hour…the office will be closed up after everyone heads out and you can get started.”

You nod and Tim shuffles a little as he exits the office, holding the door open for you. “Thanks for helping with this. It’s - it could be the breakthrough we need and I know it’s gonna be hard to watch but I’m glad you’re helping me with it.” Tim says quietly as you stand in the hallway before you get to the bullpen.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know what to expect. Hopefully it’s not too gory, you have been to plenty of crime scenes, but you had hoped to go to a party tonight after work. Even if you stay late to work on the case, you could get there later. “We’ll watch the tape and then make any notes before we go back through it again.”

Tim nods, reaching out to squeeze your upper arm. He can’t help but think you look gorgeous today. Well, every day really but you’d never want him. He’s older. He’s divorced and has a ten year old son. He’s got baggage and you deserve the world. With a sigh, he makes his way back to his desk, eager to finish the work day to spend time with you. God, he’s pathetic. He’s desperate to spend time with you. Even if it means watching a snuff tape. The day seems to drag by and finally he sees his colleagues starting to pack up and he wipes his hands on his pants, glancing across the room to your desk.

Your cases have been passed off you and endured the grumbling, telling Robertson to talk to the captain if he had a problem with it. Finishing up some paperwork while you wait for everyone else to go home. “You leaving?” One of the other detectives comes by your desk on his way out.

“No.” You shake your head and look down at your file. “Backlog of paperwork. Captain’s on my ass about it.” You know most of them have every intention of heading down to the bar for happy hour. “Drink a beer for me though, okay?”

Tim is asked the same thing except he got waggled eyebrows as most of them know about his crush on you…everyone except you apparently. He sighs and pushes back from his desk after everyone is gone. “You want a coffee before we get started? I’ve got…something to add if you want to take the edge off.” He says, pulling out a small flask as he looks at you.

“Detective Rockford.” You sound scandalized, but you grin as you pick up your coffee cup. “Absolutely.” You laugh as you start to walk towards the break room. “At least if we can’t go for happy hour, we can brace ourselves for what is to come.” You tell him, emptying out the sludge in the pot and setting it to make a fresh batch. Lord only knows how long you will end up staying. “So where did you get this tape from?”

Tim sits down and sets the flask down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa in the break room. He’s slept on the sofa before. Especially when he was trying to crack the case of the old woman who was murdered for her inheritance. It kept him up all night and he ended up sleeping in the office a few times while looking over the case. “I have an inside contact. He’s looking for immunity and he left me a copy of the tape. Some mafia bullshit…it’s heavy. Supposedly.” He tells you, watching you make the coffee.

“So don’t plan on wanting to eat, got it.” You frown, deciding it was a stupid idea to ask Tim if he wanted to go out to that little dinner down the road from your apartment anyway. You were work colleagues, not romantically linked. “As long as it’s not a kid, I’ll be fine.” You admit softly, looking up from where you are pouring sugar and creamer in your cup to get it ready for the coffee. “I hate when it’s kids. I can’t imagine how you feel, having your son.”

Tim shakes his head, rubbing his cheek. “That - any kid - it kills me. Wondering what I’d do…how id feel if someone - I think you’d be locking me up because I’d burn the fucking world if something happened to Billy.” Tim confesses and you come over to the sofa with your cup and a cup for him. “Thanks sweetheart.” He says, grabbing the remote. He doesn’t call you sweetheart in front of the other guys but you’ve always been close to his heart. “You ready?” He asks you, wanting to make sure you’re mentally prepared.

It’s almost embarrassing how much you enjoy when he calls you sweetheart, not taking offense to it at all. It’s almost like an endearment and you cherish it. “I’m ready.” You tell him after taking a deep breath, knowing you need to be professional.

He grabs the flask, pouring a generous amount of whiskey in each mug before he sets it down. “Just to take the edge off.” He says before he takes a sip and hits play on the tape. He’s tense beside you, waiting to see the gruesome scene unfold.

"I hope that we don't have to finish the flask and go find a bottle." You murmur as you immediately take a large sip of your doctored coffee. Enjoying the slight burn before a naked woman walks into the view of the camera. Obviously set up in some kind of bedroom. "Well, fuck." You hiss. "It's gonna be one of those snuff films."

Tim shifts awkwardly as the woman comes over to the camera, her tits swaying as she adjusts it before she steps back and a man appears behind her. “Yeah. I, uh, I wasn’t told that this was - yeah. Sorry.” He blushes slightly, knowing he’s secretly wondered what you look like naked more than enough times.

"It's okay." You take another sip of your coffee before you look over at Tim for a split second, eyes flying back to the tv. You watch as the man starts to massage the woman's tits. "It's not like I've never watched porn before." You tell him, wanting him to relax slightly. "Caucasian female, approximately mid to late twenties, brown hair, Caucasian male, mid forties, short blond hair." You observe. "It looks like there is a tattoo on his left bicep."

Tim had completely forgotten to take any notes, his mind shamefully thinking about you naked and him behind you palming your tits. He leans forward, clasping his hands together to force himself to pay attention. He watches the couple fondle each other and he feels guilty that you’re having to watch this. “I- I’m not sure if he’s the one that gets killed.” Tim says, paying attention as the man’s hand slides down to rub the clit of the woman.

"Most snuff films, it's the woman who's murdered." You huff quietly, biting your lip and frowning slightly when the screen flashes for a split second. "I-" you shake your head, afraid you might have just imagined it. The woman's moan hadn't stopped so you just continue to watch. Your cunt bottoms out when the man slaps her pussy and then starts to rub again, his other hand still toying with her right nipple. "He's left-handed?" You ask, not quite sure but it's a strong theory. "Most often men finger a woman with their dominant hand."

“This is supposed to be the tape of the victim.” Tim says, trying to work through the evidence despite his cock twitching, suddenly aroused and he puts that down to being close to you.

You hum and lean in, trying to pretend the foreplay in the video isn't erotic, or you aren't getting turned on. It's natural, that's what you are trying to convince yourself of. That your panties would be soaked already if you were just watching a normal porn, alone in your room where you could pretend your hand was Tim's. Clearing your throat, you swear you see the screen flash again, but the audio doesn't stop.

Tim swears he saw something flash on the screen but he doesn’t bother telling you. He is trying to conceal his rapidly hardening cock. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead and he wipes it with the back of his hand. “I - this isn’t a normal snuff tape.” He murmurs, confused as the man pushes his fingers into the woman, her moan echoing in the break room as the image flashes on screen again and he pays attention. “You see that?” He asks, curious if you’ve seen it.

You gasp, but you don't know if it's from the fact that Tim might have seen the same flashes you have, or from how warm you are getting. How your entire body seems to be lighting up, aching for someone, Tim, to touch you. "I- yes?" You almost ask as you try to keep from moaning quietly.

“What - What does it say?” He asks, wondering if you’ve seen it better than he did and he tugs on his tie, loosening it and undoing the top button. Suddenly overheated, he shifts his feet and his fingers flex as he smothers down the urge to touch you.

“I don’t know. It’s- it’s flashing too fast to read.” You know you should probably stop the tape and go back, but you can’t. “Is it- fuck, it’s hot in here, right?” You ask him, biting your lip when the woman cums on the tape, moaning softly as you wonder if Tim would finger you before he fucks you or if he would just shove his cock into your needy pussy.

“Yeah. It is.” Tim murmurs, suddenly boiling hot and he unbuttons a couple more buttons on his shirt, his tie pulled over his head to fling it down on the sofa. The man grabs the woman, dragging her to the bed and he wastes no time pushing into her, her moan echoing in the room and the screen flashes again. This time slower. The word ‘Fuck’ flashes again, and again. Tim is rock hard now, unable to tear his eyes away from the tv.

“It’s saying ‘Fuck’.” You breathe out, unsure why someone would cut that word into a snuff film. “Right?” Your cunt is throbbing and you squirm as you watch the couple fuck on the screen. You bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing regulated and you want to touch yourself, or have Tim touch you.

“Ye-yeah. That’s what I- shit. It’s so hot.” He says, unbuttoning another couple of buttons and he undoes the wrist buttons, rolling his sleeves up. ‘Fuck’ flashes up on the screen again and Tim grunts, unable to resist palming his cock through his pants. “So-sorry. I- shit. I’m so hard it hurts.” He confesses, “you should - you should go.” He says, trying to get you away from him before he breaks.

You snort, pressing your thighs together. “Of course you are. We are watching two attractive people have sex.” You reason. “And it’s been a long goddamn time since a man made me cum.

Tim frowns, turning his head for a second to look at you before he focuses on the screen again. “It has? How? You’re - Jesus. You’re gorgeous. I always thought you had a secret boyfriend or something and just didn’t tell us.” He admits as the man fucks the woman harder and the screen flashes again. ‘Fuck’ Flashes and almost burns in his retinas as he sees it when he blinks.

You squirm again, wanting to shove your hand into your panties and rub your clit. “No time to date.” You groan. “You know how it is. Long hours. Turbulent cases. I just- have a vibrator.” You hiss when the screen flashes again. “Fuck! Why does it keep telling me to fuck?” You cry.

Tim bites his lip, his gaze flicking between you and the screen. The man flips the woman over to push back inside of her, making her cry out. ‘Fuck’ flashes again and Tim shakes his head, “I don’t - shit - I can’t - I need to-” He surges forward to cup your cheeks, pressing his lips to yours as ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ repeats in his mind over and over again until he no longer controls himself.

It’s such a fucking relief to feel his lips against yours that you let out a small sob. Pulling him closer and pressing your entire body against his as ‘Fuck’ flashes in your mind again and again. Driven by some unseen force that is practically compelling you to touch the other detective. The need for him clawing under your skin like a drug.

His hands slide down to grab your waist, dragging you not his lap as his tongue slides into your mouth. The moans continue on the tv and the word ‘Fuck’ continues flashing in his mind. “Fuck.” He rasps out. “I- I can’t stop. Tell me to stop.” He managed to choke out despite grabbing your hips to drag you down on top of him.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp out, rolling your hips down shamelessly to grind against his hard cock. You don’t know why you need him inside you, but you desperately do. “Touch me, Tim.” You beg breathlessly. “Please baby.”

He can’t deny you. He helps you grind down on his cock, his hands sliding up to squeeze your tits through your blouse. “I - shit - I need to - to be inside of you.” He tells you, reaching down to work on unbuttoning your pants and he pushes his hand inside to find you wet and ready for him.

"Fuck." You whimper at the first touch of his thick fingers against your clit. "Yes, need- fuck, I need your cock." You groan out, reaching down around his own hand in your pants to squeeze his cock through his. "Now Tim." You insist.

Tim groans when you squeeze him and he slides his fingers between your folds, groaning at how wet you are. “Fuck. I- stand up. Take your pants off.” He demands, working on his belt buckle and his cock is aching, he’s in pain. The word ‘Fuck’ keeps flashing on the screen as the moans continue to pour out of the tv speakers.

Scrambling to your feet, you nearly fall over in your haste to strip down. Pushing down your pants and kicking them off with your panties, your knees shake in need and you are panting like you've just finished a marathon. "Oh fuck." you turn back around and find Tim with his cock in his hand, pumping it furiously. "Oh shit, let me- I need-" You dive back onto his lap, eager to sink down on his thick, uncut cock.

He grabs your ass as you reach between you to grip his cock and he groans when you start to sink down onto him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” starts to echo on the tv but Tim isn’t paying attention, to obsessed with the way you are sinking onto his cock. You’re so wet and tight and he loses his ability to breathe as you settle into his cock.

The slightly intense, grim detective looks amazing as he moans for you. Feeling his cock scrub against your walls in the best way as he breaks you open. Making your mouth drop open and a loud moan of his name, your arms wrapped around his neck to keep you upright.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiittt.” He hisses in delight, groaning your name as you start to rock on top of him and his hands slide up to work on the buttons of your shirt, wanting to feel every inch of you. The buttons become tiresome so he just rips your blouse, sending buttons flying across the room and he groans when he finally gets access to your tits, pulling them out of your bra so he can duck down and take a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out when his mouth attacks your breasts. Never imagining he would be such a dominant lover. Tearing your shirt off has you clenching down around him and squeezing him tight in your walls. “More.” You beg, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it, pressing him into your breast. “More, baby, fuck.”

He bites down, sucking on your tits, alternating as he groans into your flesh and you whimper, making his cock twitch inside of you. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck’ continues on the screen, the moans stopping from the couple as yours replace them, the words on the screen flashing constantly and Tim hisses as he grabs your ass, lifting you up to place you on the sofa so he can fuck into you.

“Oh fuck.” You whine when his cock slips out of you but the second he is driving back into you, your scream rings out. Scratching your nails down his shirt, you wish he was undressed. At least so you could feel his skin under your fingers.

He grunts, leaning down to kiss along your neck. “Imagined this so many fucking times.” He admits shamelessly, “imagined fucking you on my desk. In my bed. In here. In the captain's office. Imagined you a fuck ton. Shit. So tight. Knew you would be.” He rambles, his thrusts deep and slightly frantic as the mantra continues around you.

You moan, unable to believe that he would imagine fucking you. You have never thought he noticed you beyond working together. “Imagined how good you’d feel. How thick you would be.” You confess as he punches deep inside you. “Better that I could have imagined.”

Tim groans, spurred on by your words and the repeated mantra urging him on and he hisses your name as he pushes deep. “Wanna - wanna feel you cum.” He says, reaching down to rub your clit.

You shudder, clenching down around him and digging your nails into his shoulder as you lunge up to bite his chin. “Yes, fuck, fuck me harder.” You beg, driven by this invisible force.

He clenches his jaw, pushing deeper, harder, faster. Sweat beads on his forehead as he kneels on the sofa, lifting your thigh over his hip to get even deeper inside of you, his fingers rubbing your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You choke out, feeling that familiar polling in the pit of your stomach. Except it’s better than using your toy at home. The nerves screaming in pleasure and you kiss every inch of skin you can reach.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” repeats over and over and Tim hisses as he rocks into you, trying to get you to cum. It’s like he needs you to cum like he needs to breathe. “That’s it. Shit. Gettin’ so wet on my cock. Cum for me. Cum for me.” He begs, his cock twitching as he gets closer to his own orgasm.

The harsh, jarring thrusts are everything you need and more. Pushing you closer every time his hips snap forward and if there was ever a question of Tim Rockford’s ability in bed, this answered it. “Gonna baby.” You squeal, not making any sense, but it doesn’t matter. Your orgasm crashes through you and all you can do is cry out wordlessly.

“Yesss. That’s it. Good girl.” Tim hisses as you clamp down around him and he swears he could fuck you all night long just to hear you cry out his name like that. He rocks you through it, his jaw clenching and he releases a deep groan as he buries his cock deep and cums inside of you, painting your walls.

You whine, loving the feeling of his hot cum filling you up. Panting as you try to catch your breath when he drops his head on your shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Fuck.” He echoes, his cock still hard inside of you. The mantra is still playing on the tv and it’s wiggled into Tim’s head, making him ache for more. “I need - wanna fuck you from behind.”

You are surprised that he can keep going, but you can’t deny that your body still aches for more. “Yessss.” You hiss, clenching down around him and biting your lip. “Fuck me again. Never stop fucking me.”

Tim groans, pulling out of you and his dark eyes focus on the cum dripping out of you and he watches you shift onto your knees. His fingers wrap around his cock as you position yourself until he’s notching himself at your entrance and pushes into you with a groan.

“Fuck!” You cry out, enjoying the sharp ping of pain when he pushes deep and his cock hits the back of your cervix from this angle. “Jesus how are you single with a dick like that?” You moan.

“The job.” He chuckles, grabbing your hips and he starts to push deep, setting another harsh pace. “Divorced. Father of one. Not exactly - exactly Prince Charming.” He says breathlessly as his cock hits hard against your cervix.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, dropping your head down onto the back of the sofa and rocking your hips back. “Don’t- fuck, don’t stop.” You beg him, barely getting the words out as he slams into you over and over again.

“I can’t.” He says truthfully and he slams into you, over and over. Desperate to hear and feel you cum for him again. “Can’t fucking stop. You’re - shit - this pussy is - fuck. Never wanna pull out.”

Moaning softly, all you can do is clench around him while you take his cock over and over again. Feeling like he's in your guts every time he snaps his hips forward and you want him even deeper. "Don't." you pant over your shoulder. "Just fuck me forever."

Tim nods, sweat glistening on his forehead and neck as he pushes into you over and over again. “I will, baby. Oh I fucking will.” He promises and groans when you clench around him. The tv keeps flashing and he hears ‘Fuck’ in the back of his mind over and over. “Jesus Christ. Never wanna stop.”

Your eyes slip closed. 'Fuck' flashing in your mind over and over again. Like you are possessed by this need to fuck. You moan his name and push your hips back. Needing more. Needing him deeper inside you. It doesn't matter that you've always dreamed of having sex with him, you need more of it. You whine, biting your lip so hard that you almost feel your teeth break the skin. Humming in agreement as you push back more forcefully. Letting his hips slam against your ass hard enough to rock you forward and press your chest against the back of the sofa.

“Good girl. That’s it. Yes. Yes.” Tim grunts, loving how you are pushing back against him. “Keep going. Keep - fuck - need you to cum again.” He pleads, leaning over your body to kiss along your neck, his hand cupping your tit to squeeze and pinch the nipple.

Gasping at the pain, you reach down. Frantically rubbing your clit as he hammers into you from behind. Striking that perfect spot deep inside you. "Gonna cum!" you squeal seconds before you clench down around him.

“That’s it, baby. Cum. Cum. Shit - need you to-” He chokes when you clamp down on his cock and he groans when you soak him, his cock nearly trapped inside of you but he manages to move to work you through it and he’s so close. “Shit. Baby. I- I’m gonna - I gotta - fuuuuuuckkkk.” He growls as he cums for the second time, painting your walls.

Whimpering Tim's name, you relax into the sofa, feeling him coating the inside of your cunt in his seed. Closing your eyes and sighing at the feeling, a small smile on your face. "So good. Feels so good." You moan quietly.

Tim exhales shakily, turning his head to see the screen has gone gray and he pants, leaning in to kiss your neck before he slowly pulls out of you, his cock finally going soft. “Shit.” He hisses and shifts to sit down on the sofa.

You turn slightly, grabbing your ruined shirt to sit down so you don’t leak cum all over the sofa. Other officers use it too. “God.” You pant, flopping back and trying to catch your breath. “That was- holy shit.”

Tim’s chest heaves, the mantra finally leaving his mind and he leans against the sofa after tucking himself away. “I guess…I guess it’s not, uh, it’s not a snuff tape.” He chuckles breathlessly.

"No." You frown slightly, wondering why it was said to be a snuff film when you think you saw both people in the film, alive and exhausted. "I- it was so strange. I kept seeing the word 'Fuck' flash on the screen between the scenes. Did you?"

“Yeah. It’s like - it’s like it burned into my retinas and all I could think of was fucking you and Jesus…I - did you want me to - or have I just-?” He can’t even sound out his thoughts, too horrified at the thought of it being what it could be.

"No!" Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. "I wanted you to." You promise, rushing to reassure him that it was something you had been very enthusiastic to experience. "I needed you too. It was like I had to have you or I was going to go crazy." You admit. "I thought I was pretty good at hiding my feelings."

The detective’s head swivels over to look at you. “You mean you- this wasn’t just the crazy hypnosis snuff video? You - Christ above, sweetheart. You have any fucking idea how many times I’ve thought about touching you…about being inside you…about loving you.” He adds softer than his prior exclamation.

You bite your lip, trying and failing not to grin at his confession. It seems like what could have been something troubling has turned out pretty fucking good. "So, I guess it was a good thing that you watched this with me rather than Robertson." You joke softly.

Tim’s eyes go wide as he turns to look at you, “thank the fucking Lord.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “That video…I don’t know what the fuck that was but we, uh, we gotta report it because this - it might not be so consensual for the next ones that get it and it could be dangerous.” He says, trying to focus on his job again instead of the way your lips look utterly kissable again.

"Who gave you this tape again?" You ask with a frown. "Why would they tell you it's a snuff film when it's.....obviously not?" It is concerning that it was given to a detective, and you wonder if it was meant to cause havoc in the department. Or the crime lab. "Normally this would be examined by the crime lab......not us."

“Yeah. The, uh, you know Greg? He gave it to me. Told me the crime lab didn’t have a working VHS so I’d have to watch it if I wanted to get the evidence from it.” He says and frowns, “he - he kinda knew I had a thing for you. Might’ve mentioned it when he noticed how pissed I’d get when the others talked about you behind your back.”

"Others talk about me?" You frown slightly, although you know shit talking is a part of being a cop. Especially a female detective in a male dominated field. "And Greg told you to watch this...with me?"

“They - they talk about your body. Your ass…what they wanna do to you. I- I try to shut them down. Say it’s disrespectful and yeah…he told me to get the captain to have you assigned to the case and I thought it was just to have your brains on the case…not - not this.” He gestures to the tv.

"Do you think Greg knew what was on the tape?" You ask quietly. reaching out and taking his hand and squeezing it gently for his kindness. For sticking up for you.

Tim looks down at your hands and shakes his head, “I don’t know babe. I- shit. I’m so sorry I put you in this situation. We gotta try and trace this tape back. We can’t let this shit get out.” He says, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"I know." You nod as you look over at where the tv is still displaying a gray screen. "Maybe we need to take the video out of the station." You hum. "You know how nosy all these assholes are."

Tim nods, “I can take it home. Hide it.” He says, squeezing your hand again. “And I- I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with you sometime.” He adds, staring at the gray screen as he anxiously awaits your answer.

"I don't think we are going to get much work done tonight." You admit. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starving." You shrug. "I would say let's go to that dinner around the corner, but you ripped my shirt, so how about I make you dinner at my place?"

Tim nods, “how about I meet you at your place and I can pick up some Chinese food. Save you cooking.” He adds, “and then maybe we can talk about what happened when we are clear headed.”

"That sounds good." You agree, standing up and picking up your panties and pants after you tuck your boobs back into your bra. You wonder if he will blow you off, or if he wants to actually meet you at your place.

He knows your order from late nights in the station with everyone. He stands up, adjusting his shirt and he grabs his tie, shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry about your shirt. You, uh, want to use my jacket?” He offers, knowing you’ll want your decency when you leave.

"I've got an extra shirt in my desk drawer." You tell him with a grin. "For those all nighters." You know he understands that. Most detectives keep a complete change of clothes in a drawer just in case. "But help me hunt down the buttons?"

Tim nods, kneeling down and he blushes when he sees how far the buttons went. “I was - Jesus. That video made me feral.” He admits and picks up a few buttons. He hands them to you and when you stand there, he gently reaches up to cup your cheek, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to kiss you softly.

You've kissed, but it had been frantic and needy. This is so much more gentle. A real kiss that is not because of that video. "I- thank you." You murmur quietly.

“You deserved better than that for our first time.” He murmurs as he pulls back, “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises as he looks at you. “Lemme grab your shirt from your desk just in case.”

“I don’t know.” You admit as you pull your pants back on. “I think multiple orgasms and being fucked within an inch of my life was a great first time.” You laugh. “Although I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to suck your cock.”

Tim smirks, feeling confident now that you want him again and enjoyed earlier. “Don’t you worry baby. Maybe later…we can explore each other a little more.” He smirks and you giggle. “Let’s get out of here.” He says, walking over to the TV to eject the tape.

“That’s an amazingly suggestive tape.” You hum as you watch him analyze the tape like it might tell him its secrets. “Let’s go, Rockford.” You order with a smirk. “I’m starving and the captain authorized overtime, but I’d rather have our next viewing of the tape be in my bed.”

Tim’s eyes widen, “you wanna - I’d rather have you without watching the tape.” He tells you and you smirk, nodding, “that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He grins and follows you into the bullpen so you can collect your things. “You wanna come in my car or I can follow you?”

You smirk and shrug. "I might as well take my car." You tell him, "since I think that we won't be back in the office until next week." You wink at him. "Might cause some rumors if I leave it here."

Tim nods, willing to follow your lead and he grabs his things as you put the shirt on. “Come on, babe.” He says once you’re ready and he guides you out of the station to your car, glancing around to check out the surroundings like he always does.

You smile at the way that his hand rests on your hip. Protective and possessive. Waiting until you unlock the door to hold it open for you. "I'll meet you at my place?" You ask, glancing over at him. "You remember how to get there?"

He knows where you live, having dropped you off during late night stakeouts and ops. He waits until you’re in your car with the door locked before he makes his way over to his vehicle, quick to leave the parking lot and follow you to your house.

It's a bit nerve wracking, knowing Tim is following you. Excited in a way that you don't understand, you keep watching his car in your rearview mirror.

He grips the steering wheel, a little nervous actually to be going to your place if you are regretting sleeping with him. He calls up the Chinese restaurant to place your orders and he makes his way there. After picking up the food, he makes his way to your place and rings the doorbell with the food in hand.

In the spare time you had while Tim got the food, you had jumped into a quick shower. Bare feet and comfortable clothes are what greets him when he knocks on the door and you open it with a smile. "Hi." You greet him, waving him in. "Do you want a beer? Something stronger?"

Tim chuckles, “tempted to have something stronger but a beer will do. I don’t wanna be on anything around you. Especially after that fucking tape.” The tape is currently hidden in his glove box. “I wanna be sober around you.”

You nod in agreement and lean in to press your lips to his. "A beer it is." You hum, closing the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen. "I'll get the beers and some plates."

Tim checks your door is locked before he follows you into the kitchen, setting the bag of food down on your counter. “I haven’t been in here since you hosted that party after Samson closed that cold case.”

“Yeah, that’s been awhile.” You open the fridge and grab two beers to open before you turn back to him. “That was right after you and your wife divorced.” You wince slightly. “I’m sorry about that. I know it was rough. I hated that you were under a lot of stress during that time.”

Tom shakes his head as he takes the beer from your hand. “It was over a long time ago. We - we stayed together for our son and - shit. She really gave me hell.” He confesses, “anyway. I, uh, I guess I never really asked about your dating life. Never wanted to know if you had a boyfriend that I could be jealous of.

“No dating life, not when I wanted someone at work.” You confess.

Tim's eyes widen as he absorbs your words before he chuckles, "you mean you were lusting after Jackson?" He teases, knowing the nearly retired old man is not the one you wanted. "I, uh, seriously though...I didn't know. I was a little busy eying you up without being a creepy asshole." He admits, licking his lips.

“You shouldn’t have worried about being creepy.” You smile softly. Despite the fact that you had been junior to him. It’s one of the reasons you respect him, he wouldn’t abuse his authority. Now both of you are equals, so there is no worry about improprieties. “Although now you can eye me up however you want.”

"Well that's good to know." His eyes slowly trail along your body, enjoying the fact that he can unashamedly admire you. "You're so fucking pretty, baby." He says after a moment, his fingers flexing around the beer bottle.

“Do you want to eat and talk, talk or just eat?” You ask, not sure what he wants to do. Despite the fucking that had happened at the station, you still want to touch him, but you know you can’t just act like a horny teenager.

"Let's talk and eat. You need to eat after how I - you know." He clears his throat and blushes a little. "I kinda - I kinda wanna touch you again but only if you want." He adds, suddenly nervous.

“I want to touch you too.” It’s endearing that he had fucked you so hard earlier and now he’s blushing. “If you want, of course.” You smirk slightly as you turn back to the cabinets to get the plates and silverware.

Tim’s eyes drop down to your ass as you get the plates. “Of course I want to.” He scoffs like you asked him a ridiculous question. “Baby, let’s sit down and eat. You need food after I - well, I’m starving.” He admits, taking out the containers after opening the bag.

You hum, dipping out some of the food onto plates and take them over to the small table while Tim carries the beers. “We do need to refill the tanks, so to speak.” You laugh. “I have to admit, I was shocked when you kept fucking me.”

“So was I!” Tim exclaims with wide eyes. “I ain’t eighteen anymore and I- shit - that kind of stamina…not my normal gig I gotta be honest. Usually I cum once and that’s it. I need a nap and a snack before I’m ready to go again.”

“A nap and a snack, huh?” You giggle at that, finding him too cute and you lean over to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m normally a ‘once and I’m good’ kind of girl too. But tonight?” You point to his sweet and sour chicken. “Eat your snack baby.”

He grins, liking the way you think and he must admit he’s eager to have you again. He grabs a plate to start serving up his food and he grabs his beer and follows you into the living room after you’ve grabbed your own plate. “You wanna watch something on RV?” You ask and Tim bites his lip, “maybe not the best considering the last thing we watched.”

You snort and nod, biting your lip as the two of you sit down. “So, where do you see this going?” You ask quietly. “Something serious? Causal? I wouldn’t blame you after the divorce.”

Tim sets his plate down on your coffee table, "honestly? I kinda want to date you. I want to take you out for dinner and see where this goes." He admits, "unless you want casual but...I'm not really a casual kind of guy."

“I don’t really like casual either.” You admit, turning towards him after setting your own plate down. “I would have put up with it for you.”

He's taken back at your confession and he smiles, "guess we both suck at casual. I was thinking about asking you out, you know? I just didn't want to be that creepy older guy that asks you on a date and makes it awkward at work when you said no."

“I would have said yes.” You promise, leaning in and touching his hand. “Tonight just….sped up the timeline.” You joke. “And will give us one hell of a first date story.”

Snorting, he nods as he takes a bite of orange chicken as he squeezes your hand with his free one. “Yeah. Maybe we can edit it a little bit.” He teases, “and hopefully you include the detail of me having a big cock.” He jokes, winking at you.

You giggle and your cunt clenches. “Don’t worry. That fact will be repeated with the high praise on how well you use that cock.” You promise. “Don’t think I’ve ever been fucked so well.”

Tim can’t help but grin with pride at your statement and he swears he will make you feel that way if you let him touch you again. “Sounds good to me, sweetheart.”

Both of you finish your meal, chatting about different things, different cases you had been working on. Setting your plate down with a content sigh, you drain the last drops of your beer and look over at Tim. “So, do you want to go back to my bedroom? We could take a nap, or….”

He watches you for a moment, “bedroom…I wanna touch you in a bed. I wanna have my mind be my own when I touch you next.” He says, reaching for your hand to pull you closer so he can lean in and press his lips to yours.

You can agree with that. As much as you needed him back at the station, you want to be in control. This time, your arms go around his neck because you want to keep the kiss going, slowly feeling his mouth out as it starts to deepen.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans into your mouth, loving how you feel as your fingers tangle in his hair. “Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth when you’re a little rougher but he loves it.

You love how his embrace is solid. The steady weight of him beside you makes you shift to straddle him. Settling back into his lap and pressing close, there’s not the urgency of before, but you are learning each other

His hands trail along your body, enjoying how you feel pressed against him, and the kisses are slow, passionate and he loves it. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass and he can’t resist slapping your cheeks before he grabs them again.

“Tim!” You gasp into his mouth and laugh, enjoying the smug smirk on his handsome face. Reaching up, you tangle your fingers back into his hair as you continue to make out. You know how he feels inside, but this is almost more intimate.

He kisses along your jaw, down your neck and bites gently over your pulse. “You’re so Goddamn beautiful. Inside and out. Why you want me, I’ll never know.” He confesses, knowing he’s fucked up but he’s gonna take this opportunity to be with you by the fucking horns and ride it as long as you want him.

“Because you are a good man.” You’ve seen plenty of men who pretend to be good but they are rotten at their core. Tim Rockford is honest, noble. “I want to take you to bed,” you confess softly. “Can you go again, or should we just cuddle?”

Tim nods, "I can go again." He is surprisingly half hard and he rocks up to grind against you, showing you he can be ready. "Let's go to your bedroom." He says, smacking your ass again and you stand up. He stands up after you and takes your outstretched hand as you guide him to your room.

In your bedroom, that’s where your personality shines. The bright, beautiful colors of your bedding and the natural light. The bookshelves are loaded down with novels and the slightly messy open closet door. “Sorry.” You move to close the door. “Didn’t think I would have company today when I left.”

Tim snorts, "this is nothing. You should see my place. It's chaos. My boy leaves his fucking legos on the floor and guess who steps on them in the middle of the night?" Tim asks you, eyebrows raised.

You giggle, imagining him cursing and stumbling over the blocks in the dark. “Ouch.” You wince sympathetically. “I know that hurts.”

"It does." He tells you with wide eyes, glancing around your room before he exhales softly and steps closer to you. He reaches up to cup your cheek, "I really do think you're beautiful." He murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Can I eat you out?" He asks, curious if you'll be happy for him to do that.

It’s your turn to be surprised by the request. “I- yes.” You sputter. “It’s- are you sure? You want to do that? I mean, I’m not complaining, but we- you came inside me.”

Tim snorts, “I put it there. I’m sure I can clean up my mess.” He says and smirks at you, reaching for the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get naked. I wanna see all of you. Wanna taste every inch of you. Take my time.”

“It’ll be nice seeing you this time.” You admit with a grin, letting him pull your shirt over your head and reaching for the buttons of his collared shirt. “Never had a boyfriend who would go down on me after sex.” You admit with a giggle.

Tim lets you push his shirt off of his shoulders and he’s a little self conscious. He’s not toned. He’s strong but he’s not abs and no body fat. He likes his food and he doesn’t tend to have a lot of time to exercise. He flusters slightly when you run your fingers down his chest.

“Sexy,” you coo softly, wanting to touch and kiss every inch of him. You knew that you were attracted to Tim, but your cunt is dripping at the sight of his chest and he hasn’t even removed his pants yet. “So fucking sexy.”

“You are.” He hums with a smirk and he reaches for your bra, unclasping it to pull it down your arms before he flings it across the room. “Baby. Fuck. You’re so sexy.” He murmurs and reaches up to cup your tits, squeezing them. “Great tits.”

You laugh, amused at the awe-filled look on his face as he palms your tits. As if he can't believe that he is touching them. "You've got a great cock." You hum, reaching down and cupping him. "Feels good. I want to see how it feels in my mouth instead of my pussy."

Tim groans at your filthy words. "Shit baby. You - you are fucking incredible." He compliments you as he gropes your tits. "Wanna - wanna make you cum. How do you wanna cum?" He asks, curious and eager.

You whine, eyes closing at the feeling of his hands on your body and the promise in his words. Anything you want is yours it seems. “I want you to eat me out.” You admit breathlessly. If his head game is good, this man is the complete package.

"Fuck. Take your pants off." He demands, his cock aching in his pants and he decides to push them down after unbuckling his belt. His boxers soon follow after he kicks off his shoes while you strip down to nothing. "Shit. So fucking gorgeous. Lay down." He demands again, the edge in his voice is raspy but commanding.

You shiver, laying down and wondering why it’s so sexy that he is taking control. You watch him, greedy as your eyes roam over his nude body. “Come here.” You beg, wanting him to touch you.

He shifts to kneel on the bed, his hands trailing along your thighs until he's pushing your legs open so he can take in the sight of your cunt. "Fuck, I-" He can't say another word as he surges forward to bury his face in your cum slick folds.

Crying out, your hands tangle in his hair. Closing your eyes, you enjoy how eagerly his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s magical, breath stealing as he devours you. Making you so glad that you had invited him home.

He groans into your flesh, loving how you taste, and he hisses when you tug on his hair in a way that makes his cock twitch against your sheets. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you spread open so he can devour you.

Tim isn’t proper when he is eating you out. He’s messy, ravenous. The sexy little grunts and sighs as he takes you apart with every flick of his tongue has you moaning his name, rolling your hips down to meet his eager tongue.

"Fuck. You taste-" He groans as he pulls back for a second before he surges forward to bury his face in your folds again. He loves the tangy taste of your arousal and the salt of his cum. He doesn't give a shit about tasting his own essence on your flesh and he laps at your clit.

“Tim, oh fuck, baby.” You moan, rolling your hips again and whimpering his name once more when he tightens his grip on you.

He shifts, letting go of your flesh so he can push two thick digits inside of you. Calloused from holding a pen all the damn time and he curls them before he resumes sucking on your clit like a candy.

“Shit.” You hiss, shuddering and your breath catching at the curl of his fingers deep inside of you. Pressing perfectly against that magical place that makes you squeal out his name when he presses again.

He groans your name, “that’s it baby. That’s it.” He mumbles into your cunt when your walls flutter around his fingers, pressing against that spot over and over again. “Cum for me.” He demands before he resumes sucking your clit.

It doesn’t take you long. Only a few more minutes before he is pulling you apart. Your nerves fraying and your entire body bursting with pleasure when you start to come apart. Crying out his name and flooding his mouth with your cum.

Tim eagerly laps up every drop. He pumps his fingers into you, loving how you moan and writhe under his mouth. He caresses your thigh as he works you through it until he feels you relax, practically melt into your mattress.

You whimper, letting go of his hair and trying to drag him up to you for a kiss. Desperate to give him the same kind of pleasure that he had just given you.

His lips meet yours and he slowly withdraws his fingers, enjoying the way you slide your tongue against his and his wet digits grip your thigh. “Wanna be inside of you again.” He murmurs between kisses he presses to your jaw, needing to hear you say you want him again.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly. You’ve imagined it so many times but if he would rather fuck you, you are all for it. “I will always want you inside me.”

Tim bites his lip as you lay under him. “I kinda want you to suck my cock. Then I want to fuck you.” He decides and you giggle, pushing on his chest. He obediently shifts to lay down, his hard cock resting on his stomach and you move onto your knees.

“Fuck.” You whimper, wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a slow squeeze. “Imagined myself on my knees for you so many times.” You admit. “Even wondered if I could fit under your desk.” That makes you giggle again, imagine having his cock down your throat while he types up a report. “Now I get to taste you.” Lowering your head, you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, tongue pressing against the bead of pre-cum.

“Oh fuck.” Tim hisses when you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head of his cock. “Baby. You look so pretty like this.” He murmurs, unable to close his eyes, wanting to see every second of this and burn it into his memory.

You preen under his praise, taking him deeper and wanting to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had in his entire fucking life. Holding onto his hip while you take him down to the back of your throat and swallowing around him.

“Jesus.” Tim hisses as you swallow around him, your jaw almost unhinged as you take him deeper and your eyes are watering. “Fuck, sweetheart. Look so good.” He murmurs, reaching down to caress your cheek, enjoying the feel of his cock pressing against your cheek.

You hum, letting it vibrate through him with a grin. Enjoying the feeling of his hand on your cheek while you concentrate on not choking. You want to take him deeper, to wrap your lips around the base and you slide your fingers out from around the base to hold onto his hips.

“Oh oh oh shittt.” He hisses before he pants, his cock twitching down your throat as your nose brushes the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “Baby. Baby. Shit. You gotta - I can’t - it’s too much.” He admits and grabs the back of your neck, trying to pull you off of his length.

You lift off of him with a gasp of air. “You don’t want to-“ you bite your lip but Tim shakes his head. “Want to be inside you.” He reminds you, rolling your body under his again and your legs fall open to brace on either side of his hips.

He’s slower this time. Hovering over you, he reaches down to grip his cock and he positions himself at your entrance. He pushes into you, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he braces his hand on the side of your head.

This time, he slides into you an inch at a time. Slow enough that you swear you feel his heartbeat fluttering against your pussy walls. Letting you moan softly and wrap your legs around his back, heels pressed into his tiny ass as you enjoy being split open by him again.

He exhales shakily once he’s fully inside of you. Groaning your name as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Fucking perfect.” He murmurs, cock twitching when you clench around him. “Gonna take our time. Want you to cum again for me.”

As frantic as the time in the station was, this is equally as slow. More like love making than anything else as Tim slowly pushes and drags his cock in and out of your walls. It's a good thing, since you are a little sore from earlier, but you wouldn't have him stop for anything in the world as you two kiss.

His lips press against yours over and over again, his weight shifting onto his forearms so he can press his body against yours. Your heels dig into his ass, pushing him impossibly deeper with every thrust into you and he swears he could stay like this forever.

You moan his name, holding him tight as you move with him. Wanting to be as close as you can get without crawling up inside his skin. “Fuck.” You whimper, his pelvis rubbing against your clit as he grinds down into you. It’s intense and totally consuming in the best possible way as he builds you back up.

"So fucking beautiful. So fucking smart. Too good for me. Too fucking good for me." He murmurs as he kisses along your neck while he rocks into you, his hand reaching back to lift your thigh higher so he can grind even deeper into you.

“Why?” You gasp out, unable to comprehend why he would think you’re too good for him. “Handsome, smart, sexy, capable.” You groan, clenching around him. “You’re a fucking catch.”

Tim chuckles against your neck. “I fucking - I got more baggage than a Goddamn airport, baby girl. I gotta - I have an ex wife and a son. It’s not - most women don’t wanna get involved in the drama.” He explains breathlessly as he rocks into you.

“No drama.” You moan, tightening your legs around him. “Mileage.” You tease playfully. Despite having an ex-wife, you know that he’s a good man, not a perfect one - but a good man. His son, well, he would be part of the deal and you couldn’t imagine thinking otherwise.

“Mileage.” He repeats with a chuckle. “Like an old corvette.” He jokes and slides his hands under you, getting even closer to you. His hips rock against yours a little faster, wanting to feel you cum around him.

“Classics are still fucking sexy.” You whimper when he hits deep inside you, striking the perfect angle. “There, fuck, right there Tim.” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He frowns, concentrating on that spot to make you cum. He pushes into you a little faster, not changing the angle of his hips and he watches your brow furrow and your mouth fall open. “Shit baby. Look so good.” He murmurs, “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes!” You gasp, feeling the tension nearly snap the next time his hips rocket forward. Almost cumming right then. You just need one more thrust. Your body lurches when he pulls back, lifting up to meet him, and you squeal his name when he thrusts back into you, making stars erupt behind your eyes.

“Shit.” Tim hisses when you clamp down on his cock. “That’s it baby. Shit. So tight.” He pants, loving how wet you feel around him as your nails dig into his back. He works you through it, slow and deep despite the vice grip on his cock, and he kisses slowly along your neck.

“So good.” You whimper, panting for breath as you come down from your high. “Want you to cum.” You murmur softly. “Fill me up again.”

Tim clenches his jaw, his pace picking up a little more as you tell him to cum. He pants, rocking into you harder and faster, practically folding your body in half as he seeks his own high until he chokes, his body coming to a halt as his cock twitches. His hot cum paints your walls and he hisses your name as he rides his orgasm.

He’s fucking gorgeous when he cums. His eyes are closed, jaw slack with pleasure as he pumps you full of cum. Groaning and twitching deep inside of you, making you moan again. “Fuck baby.” You coo, caressing his neck and cheek. “Amazing.”

He exhales heavily as he relaxes. His lips meet yours as he leans down to kiss you. The kiss is slow, his tongue caressing yours, and he enjoys being inside of you.

You let the kiss linger, not in any rush to pull away and you don’t drop your legs from around him until your breathing has calmed down.

Tim nudges his nose against yours, shifting onto his side with you while he's still inside of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. "So I should definitely take you on an actual date." He says, his dark eyes on you.

“Maybe.” You smile as you answer him, leaning up for another kiss. “Maybe a romantic crime scene. We can flirt over evidence markers.”

Tim chuckles, “we do that anyway. But I mean, an actual dinner. Wanna take you out. Wine and dine you. What do the kids say nowadays?” He teases, nudging his nose against yours. “Well, they say Netflix and Chill.” Tim snorts, “pretty sure we already did that. Snuff Tape and Fuck.” He jokes before his face gets serious, “dinner. Wanna treat you right.”

“That sounds good to me, detective.” You murmur with a smile. While you don’t know why the film came to be in your possession or who had made it, you’re sure that you’ll figure it out. After all, Tim Rockford is a legend on the police force, solving cases and in this case, putting this one to bed.

#pedro pascal #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford imagine #merge mansion

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covetyou · 10 months ago

Text

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."

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