#tim rockford / you

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Cuffed To The Grind

Pairing: Detective Tim Rockford x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You're working late 'cause you're a detective. Oh Tim looks so good handcuffed to a chair. Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, riding, handcuffs, domming the detective, vag badge, commingled cum, fucking your boss, panty gag, holding on to holsters, whiskey, cop stuff Words: 2,800

A/N: Written for the wonderful @wannab-urs's Dom That Middle Aged Man Campaign.

Masterlist

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You hate your new boss. Tim Rockford, the hot-shot fellow detective who all the girls in the precinct fawn over. Yeah, yeah. Tall, broad, beautiful, deep brown eyes, strong jaw, perfect hair, blah, blah.

Arrogant, kind of a jerk, struts around the station like he owns the place, always gets his way because he figured out the great pie mystery last year.

He holds you to impossible standards. Every case has to be wrapped up in record time, every lead followed to exhaustion, every 'i' dotted and 't' crossed to his exacting specifications.

Yesterday, he kept you late yet again because he wasn't satisfied with the progress on the Wilmington robbery. Never mind that you'd already been pulling 12-hour shifts with him for a week straight. No, Tim Rockford needed results, and he seemed to always need them from you.

—

It’s late… too late… and you’re stuck with Tim in his office yet again. As you pore over the case files, you can’t stop stealing glances at him across the cluttered table. The low light of his desk lamp casts a shadow on his handsome face. God, he’s so frustrating but he’s gorgeous.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. He shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. His crisp, white dress shirt strains against his shoulders. He rolls up his sleeves methodically, his strong arms revealed to you. You wonder just how golden his chest is.

You try not to stare as he loosens his tie, pulling it free. You wish you were the one taking it off of him.

He picks up a file, his large hands flip through the pages. A long, thick finger runs down a page as he takes information in. You wonder what his hands would feel like all over your body, what his finger would feel like inside you.

Tim leans back, stretching his arms above his head, he catches you looking and arches a perfect eyebrow. "See something you like, detective?"

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, sir. Let's just focus on the case."

He flashes that infuriatingly cocky grin. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." 

Sweetheart. His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. Damn him.

Hours pass as you two meticulously examine evidence and victim statements. Tim's brow furrows in concentration as he studies crime scene photos. You hate to say it, but you’re mesmerized while you watch him work. He's sharp. Insightful. Maybe even brilliant.

He paces across his office, file in hand. "I think I've got something," he announces. He walks over to you and leans in close, his strong shoulder brushing against yours as he points to a detail you’d missed. You can smell him and feel his warmth, it makes your breath catch.

Get it together. This is Tim Rockford you’re talking about. Arrogant, insufferable Tim Rockford. But as you both bounce clues back and forth and finish each other's theories, you can’t deny there’s something there. The way his gaze lingers on your lips. How your pulse races when his hand grazes yours when he reaches for the same file. 

Damn it. You’re in trouble. You might just be falling for your boss.

—

He leans back in his chair, his eyes heavy with frustration and exhaustion.

“If I look at one more file, I’m going to lose it. I need to take a break.”

He opens a drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two paper cups. Fancy.

He fills both cups and slides one over to you. "Here. I think we've earned this."

“Sir, you’re offering alcohol to a subordinate.”

“I know, but you deserve it,” he smolders, actually smolders at you as he nods towards the cup.

You eye the cup warily before taking it. The whiskey burns smooth and warm down your throat. Tim watches you with hooded eyes, a playful smirk dancing on his full lips.

"You know, you're not half bad, detective," he drawls. "Quite the spitfire under that buttoned-up exterior."

"And you're not nearly as dim as I thought," you retort with a smirk of your own. "Guess there's more to both of us."

“You know," Tim says, leaning forward. "I've always admired your mind. The way you piece together clues, your attention to detail. It's… impressive."

His intense eyes lock onto yours. His gaze drops to your mouth again. You lick your suddenly dry lips, noticing how his eyes track the movement.

“And here I am thinking you hated me,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Quite the opposite. You’re brilliant and smart—and beautiful.” His eyes are dark as he stares into yours. Damnit.

You lift the cup up to him and nod.

He smirks, lifting the bottle and pouring you another shot before doing the same for himself.

You gulp the shot down, trying not to wince as the liquor burns down your throat. Your skin feels heated under Tim’s gaze and the whiskey.

Emboldened by the alcohol and tension between you, you rise from your chair and saunter over to him. His eyes widen in surprise as you sit atop him, straddling his lap, the heat of your body pressing against his firm muscles.

"Beautiful?" you purr, trailing a finger down his jaw. His breath quickens, his pulse jumping beneath your touch.

In a swift motion, you grab his wrists and yank them behind the chair, snapping your handcuffs around them with a click. He lets out a shocked grunt, his brows furrowing in indignation and arousal. 

"What the hell are you doing?" he demands, straining against the cuffs. 

You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear. "Taking what I want," you whisper. "And right now, I want you at my mercy, Rockford."

He shudders beneath you and groans as you nip at his earlobe. You unbutton his shirt, pushing it open to reveal the golden skin of his chest. You rake your nails lightly down his smooth skin, his muscles tensing under your touch.

With a wicked grin, you stand, reaching under your skirt and shimmying out of your underwear before stuffing the silky fabric into his mouth effectively gagging him.

He lets out a shocked, muffled grunt, his brows furrowed in confusion, chest heaving and nostrils flaring as he struggles against the cuffs.

“Relax sir,” you tease. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

Your words seem to calm him, his head falls back slightly, a muffled groan vibrates around your panties stuffed in his mouth.

You begin to unbutton your blouse, one button at a time. His eyes follow the path of your fingers, darkening as your smooth skin is revealed to him. The blouse slips from your shoulders, baring your lacy black bra underneath. Your hands trace the path of your tits spilling over your bra before reaching back and unclasping your bra, letting it fall away. You trail your fingers between your breasts, over your stomach, down to the waistband of your skirt. Your fingers lingering at the waistband. You turn slowly, giving him a view of your back as you begin to lower the zipper. You glance over your shoulder, catching Tim’s searing gaze. His muscles strain against the cuffs, his shoulders sit broad and wide as his chest rapidly rises and falls. You smirk, knowing the power you hold over him this moment.

Slowly, you pull down your standard issue gray skirt. Your hips sway as you feel his eyes on your ass, a muffled whimper leaves the detective as you bend forward, pulling the skirt down and letting it pool at your feet.

Turning to face him, you look down, your eyes widening when you see the crotch of his pants bulging with his erection.

You saunter back over to him, now only clad in your heels, your hips swaying with every step. You lock eyes with him before bending over, causing him to groan as he gets an eyeful of your tits. As he is distracted, you reach into his pants pocket and pull out his badge. With a wink, you hold it up for him to see. He quirks an eyebrow up, letting a sound of confusion out from behind your panties. 

You raise your leg and place it between his solid thighs. The cold metal of the badge grazes against your warm skin as you drag it slowly up your inner thigh. Higher and higher you trail the badge holding his gaze as you press the hard, cool metal against your aching cunt and moan loudly.

You grind shamelessly against the badge, smearing it with your slick. Tim makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking upward. You’re empowered by the way he whimpers and buzzes for you. Grinning, you reach down and unzip his pants, pulling his cock out. He’s golden here too, thick and already leaking out precum you want to taste.

Wrapping your fingers around his wide base, you swirl the badge around his glistening head before delicately stroking him with his badge smearing your wet along the length of him. His head falls back, tendons straining in his neck as he fights for control.

"You like that, detective?" you purr, pumping him faster. "You like it when I use your badge to get you off?"

He nods frantically, a desperate whine escaping him.

You bring the badge to your mouth, licking the mixture of you and him off the metal before tossing it behind you.

You straddle his lap, hovering just above his straining cock. His eyes widen as you grab onto his holsters for leverage and sink down onto him with a moan.

He bucks his hips up to meet yours as he fills you completely. The sting of your cunt stretching to accommodate him feels better than solving any case.

You rise up slowly, sliding along his thickness, his dark brown eyes are wild with need while his wrists strain desperately against the cuffs.

“God damnit, I don’t like you Mr. Rockford, but fuck, you feel so good inside me,” you moan as you roll your hips, taking him deeper. “So fuckin’ big and wide, stretching me just right.” You trail your hands up your body, cupping your tits, pinching and tugging at your nipples. His gaze is locked to your chest, watching and groaning behind his gag as you tease him.

"You like watching me play with my tits, don't you? Bet you wish these were your hands, your mouth." You squeeze your breasts together. "Too bad you're all tied up."

He lets out a defeated whimper, his brows furrowed over his wide brown eyes.

You grip the leather of his holsters again, bouncing on him at a maddening pace. The velvet of your walls clenching around the steel of his cock.

Your nails drag down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake, his muscles tensing under your touch.

“You’re mine now Mr. Rockford, now you’re my subordinate,” you growl, leaning in close to his ear. “I get to rule this cock, I get to rule your pleasure.”

He groans behind the gag, eyes rolling back as you grind down hard. You can feel him throbbing inside you, close to the edge.

"Not yet," you command, stilling your hips. "You don't get to cum until I say so."

You lift yourself off him completely, savoring his muffled cry of protest.

"Beg for it," you demand, hovering just above his cock. "Show me how badly you want it."

He nods frantically, pleading sounds escaping from behind the gag.

"Good boy," you purr, sinking back down onto him.

His eyes flutter shut in relief as you roll your hips and fuck him.

Your hands grip his holsters as you lean back giving him a view of your tits bouncing up and down as you ride him with abandon.

Tim’s whole body is taut as he strains against the cuffs, desperate to touch you.

“God, you feel amazing,” you moan, your head falling back. “You stretch me so good sir.”

You grind your hips down on him as the sounds of Tim’s muffled groans and the wet squelch of your cunt spearing itself on his cock fill the room.

Your hands roam your body, his eyes surveying your movements as if he’s on a stakeout. Your hand trails down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. You gasp at the feel, smiling a diabolical smile at him as he bucks his hips up to meet yours.

“You like watching me touch my pussy, don’t you?” you pant. “Tell me officer, have you thought of me doing this before? Maybe me fucking myself while thinking it’s your big cock?”

He nods frantically, his pupils blown out, his brown eyes looking almost black in the low light. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek, you lean over, and lick the salty drop off of him, eliciting a whimper from behind the silk of your underwear.

Your fingers work your clit faster, you start to see the siren lights behind your eyes. Bright and flashing.

Tim’s thick thighs meet yours, his abs clenching with effort as he takes over, fucking into you from beneath.

“That’s it,” you moan. “Fuck me like you’ve always wanted to Detective.”

His muffled grunts are desperate, his skin glowing with perspiration. He’s throbbing inside you, fighting for control.

“Are you close, officer?” you tease. “Do you want to cum?”

He nods, the clink of him straining against the cuffs echoes through the office air.

You lean in close, your hand reaches up and grasps the silky fabric of your panties, slowly pulling them from his mouth. As soon as his lips are free, he gasps out a hoarse, “Fuck!”

Raw and desperate, just how you want him. You trail your fingers along his stubbled jaw, down his toned neck.

“What do you want, Detective?” you ask.

“Please,” he pants. “Please, I need to touch you.”

“I don’t know. Have you earned it?”

“Yes,” he growls. “God, yes. I’ll do anything. Just let me touch you.” You nod as you reach behind him, press the keys fully into the lock and unlock the handcuffs.

Click.

The moment his hands are free, they’re on you, grabbing your hips, thick fingers digging into the your flesh and he drives up into you.

He effortlessly lifts you, supporting you with his big arms and thick thighs. Your legs wrap around his body as his lips crash against yours, desperate groans spilling out of him as he licks into your mouth. Your tongues battle for dominance against each other as your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the soft tendrils.

His hands roam your body, exploring you like evidence.

“Fuck,” he growls against your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

Now you’re the one whimpering as he pounds into you. Suddenly, he pulls out, leaving your empty and aching for his cock.

Your mouth opens in protest, but before you can make a noise, he sweeps the papers and files from his desk to the floor. They scatter across the room, all of your hard work gone.

“What the fu—” you begin to complain but lose your words when your back lands on the smooth wood. His thumb begins rubbing circles against your swollen clit as he thrusts deep into your cunt, hitting the spot you want to feel him the most.

Tim folds himself over you, covering your body with his. You grab onto his holsters, the leather cutting into your palms as he buries himself into you over and over. The sirens, you can hear them, see them, and feel them.

He’s got you cornered and you give yourself up, screaming his name and surrendering yourself to Detective Tim Rockford as your orgasm captures you. Your body trembles, your pussy clenching his thick cock as your head thuds against the solid wood.

He groans, burying his face in your neck as his movements become more erratic. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits against your skin.

“I’m close,” he pants. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you moan. “Cum inside me Detective.”

With one final thrust, he stills as he pulses inside you, emptying himself into you. His body shudders against your still trembling body as you both ride out your orgasms.

He still covers you, breathing heavily on top of you, both of your bodies slick.

He lies there for a moment, catching his breath and gently kissing your overheated skin before pulling out and standing up. You’re not even shy as his eyes rake over the sight of your overworked body, lying spread eagle on his desk.

“Good work Detective,” he says, admiring the sight of your commingled cum dripping out of your pussy. “Though, you’ll have to stay late tomorrow again.” 

[magpiepills]

The Late Shift

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f reader

Word count: 597

Summary: Tim eats it from the back.

Warnings: SMUT. Oral f receiving, etc etc

A word from the author: just a quickie with Tim! This was a thot that got out of hand idk. I promise nobody gets knocked up in this one. ACAB even if I do sometimes write about banging them.

It’s 11:39 pm. You should be at home, but instead you’re on your knees on top of Detective Rockford’s desk. Papers are getting crinkled, pens are rolling onto the floor, and your cheek is mushed against the worn wood veneer. Tim’s got your hands cuffed behind your back.

He adjusts in his squeaky chair and spreads you open with his thumbs, rubbing them up and down along either side of your wet pussy lips. He takes his time, admiring your body. When he has enough of playing with you, he guides you back, knees on the edge so he can eat your pussy from behind.

He doesn’t even loosen his tie, and the shoulder holster stays on. You can hear calls coming in for him over his radio, but he pays it no mind. He groans and laps at you, drinking up every drop of wetness that pours from your clenching hole.

He eats you messily, groaning as he savors your cunt like a delicacy. He grips and squeezes the meat of your ass, pulling you against his face, dragging his nose through your folds as you squeal, getting a little thrill at how you squirm as he flicks his tongue over your asshole. He focuses on your clit, sucking hard as he pushes a thumb into your messy entrance, he pumps it, loving the slick sounds you make for him. He busies his free hand with your nipple, reaching between your legs to tug it and roll it between his long, thick fingers. You could never deny how much you like letting him do this to you.

You love letting him take total control, letting him expose you, completely naked while he didn’t even take off his wedding band. You love the danger of it, knowing someone could walk in. You love how much he loves making you feel like his, at his mercy. You love the burning sting when he smacks your ass hard. It was enough to make you come, the vulgarity of it. You felt the tightness winding in your belly, the tremble in your thighs. You’re barreling towards it, gasping his name, and then it’s gone. His hands, his mouth, gone.

“No!” You mewl, struggling to see where he is, why he would do you so wrong. He’s nodding at a garbled voice coming brought his radio, furrowing his brows as he sucks your flavor from his thumb.

“Copy,” is all he says before he tosses it back onto his desk and wipes his face with a crumpled napkin he fishes from a paper lunch bag. “Come on. I gotta go. Up.” He helps you ease off his desk, and holds your pants for you to step into, he takes one last moment to lift and squeeze your tits, on full display with your hands still cuffed.

He kisses and sucks at your peaked nipples, staring longingly at them as he pats his pockets to locate his key ring. You slip back into your loose top once your hands are free, and step soberly toward the door.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. I don’t think so,” he stops you with a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Come on, Tim, do you really have to?”

“Gotta follow the rules.”

He cuffs your wrists behind your back once more and rubs your elbow gently with his thumb, a gesture no one would notice, should they look.

He takes you back to your holding cell, sliding the bars in place and checking the lock is engaged before throwing you a wink, palming his still turgid member and disappearing back out of the cell block.

Overtime (Part 2?)

[beefrobeefcal]

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.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

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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[604to647]

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for

[suzdin]

One Day

Tim Rockford x f!sex worker reader

Summary: You’re Detective Rockford’s favorite girl at the local brothel.

Warnings: established relationship, terms of endearment are used a few times (precious, baby, sweetheart), sex work, possibly derogatory term of sex workers used (whore), oral / fingering (f receiving), nipple play, cop!Tim, dom!Tim, soft!Tim, possessive!Tim, sweat kink, soft belly appreciation, spanking, rough sex (consensual), nipping, handcuff play, bondage, some fluff if you squint hard enough, unprotected p in v and a resulting creampie, pining for more, brief mentions of homicide, poverty, and general cop knowledge and jargon

Word Count: 3,600+

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @natdeandar @morallyinept @chronically-ghosted @daddy-dins-girl @guelyury @heavennumber2

It’s another sticky, muggy night in the city of Houston, Tim’s antiperspirant failing miserably as he tries in vain to dry the large semicircles of sweat under his arms, angling the air conditioning vents toward his pits in the hopes it will do the trick.

He grumbles when it’s ineffective, partially because of his thin patience, knowing he’ll have to get his shirt dry cleaned tomorrow before the stains can set in, and partially because he isn’t sure why he chose a white button up instead of something lighter and cooler. Not that it would help the sweat problem much in this weather, but maybe it would make it less obvious.

Although his salary is much better here than in the sleepy New England town he came from, he would move back in heartbeat if not for you. The heat and big city life were not well suited to a man such as himself.

He navigates the darkened streets in one of the many derelict neighborhoods surrounding downtown, the route as familiar to him as the lines on his hand, his need to see you heightened more than usual due to a recent string of homicides that has him on edge and the whole precinct in a tizzy. He hopes you aren’t occupied already, but he’ll wait if he needs to, like he always does.

He pulls the unmarked cruiser into the driveway of a rundown, two story Victorian just south of the 610 Loop, cutting the engine, sucking in a deep breath as he stares at the faint glow in a few of the ornate windows.

He hastily shoves open the door and climbs out, stuffing his keys and wallet in his pockets, his shoes crunching quietly on the gravel path as he makes his way toward the wraparound porch, decorated in various potted flora, tables, chairs, and even a porch swing.

He loves to imagine sitting out here with you in the mornings, drinking coffee and watching the sun crest over the city skyline.

One day, he tells himself. One day.

He reaches the front door, raising his fist to knock, but it flies open with a rush of cold air before he has a chance, his arm hanging limply in the air as his eyes lock with one of the house madams.

Sylvia, a lovely Latina woman whom he would guesstimate is around his age, beckons him inside, the cool air conditioning striking his face a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat.

“Detective Rockford,” Sylvia purrs. “Good to see you again. It’s been several weeks. I almost forgot what you looked like.”

Tim nods, his brow furrowed, clearly not amused by the teasing cadence in her voice.

The lobby is quiet and mostly empty, two of the girls sitting on a bench near the window and gossiping about something or other as they share a package of cookies, wrapped in thin lace robes that leave nothing to the imagination. They wave and smile at Tim, a familiar face to most of them.

“Been busy,” he replies gruffly, handing Sylvia his wallet to hold as collateral. “Is she available?”

“She is,” Sylvia says, a gentle smirk gracing her ruby lips. “While it’s been busy on your end, it’s been slow for us. She misses you.”

He frowns, diverting his attention to the dusty antique carpet, grinding his jaw.

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Miss her too.”

Sylvia smiles, leaning against the wall as she crosses her arms.

“Would you like a drink?” she asks.

She always asks, and he always declines. “No, thank you,” he replies.

Sylvia hums and purses her lips, cocking her head toward the back of the house.

“She’s in her room. You know where to go.”

—

The smell of incense perfumes the air as Tim draws nearer to your room, the faint glow of lamplight spilling into the corridor from your open doorway.

He reaches your room, his dark slacks already tight as he observes you silently, taking in and appreciating how beautiful you look like this, lost in your thoughts.

You’re lying on your stomach, naked aside from a black lace thong, your feet swinging in the air as you hum a familiar tune, scribbling something in a notebook.

It takes him a moment to realize you have earbuds in, which is why you haven’t acknowledged him yet. He smirks to himself, gently rapping his knuckles against the open door as he murmurs your name.

You yelp, jumping to your knees on the edge of the mattress when you’re caught off guard, having been in your own little world, your eyes wide and wild for a moment before reality sinks in, a breath of relief and joy escaping your lungs.

You rip the earbuds out of your ears, not even bothering to put them in their case as you bounce giddily off the bed, running to greet Tim, practically leaping into his arms.

“Hey, baby,” he croons as he lifts you up, your legs circling his waist, his fingers digging into your backside. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I’m glad to see you have catlike reflexes in case there ever is a real threat,” he teases, hearing the smile in his voice, even though you can’t currently see his face because you’re too busy planting kisses along his neck and jaw.

You giggle-snort and you inhale his scent, a much needed comfort. He kicks the door closed and embraces you tightly, walking you backwards in his arms and plopping you onto the bed, climbing over you, caging you against the mattress with long, heavy limbs.

“What were you listening to, precious?” he asks, his voice a low rumble in his throat as he begins kissing and worshipping your bare breasts, his tongue deftly circling each nipple, alternating between the two.

“Smashing Pumpkins,” you reply, whimpering as he takes a stiff peak into his mouth, pulling it gently between his teeth before popping off with a wet smack of his lips.

“Mm,” he hums, grinding his erection into you. “Thought that tune sounded familiar.”

He wraps you in his arms, his weight heavy and comforting on top of you, his eyes boring into yours.

“I missed you,” you say, your voice hardly above a whisper.

“Missed you too, precious,” he rumbles, nuzzling your neck, mustache tickling your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, your breath catching when he grinds against you again, your arousal already soaking clear through the lace.

You press your nose to the perspiration darkening his shirt, inhaling deeply, the smell both a comfort and an aphrodisiac, making you tingle in all the right places.

“You smell so good,” you mumble against his shoulder.

“I’m sweating like a goddamn whore in church. I’m not suited to this Texas weather,” he grunts in disagreement.

“Hey, hey, hey, mind your tongue. You may not believe this, but you’re actually talking to a whore right now,” you tease with a grin.

“And besides,” you add, poking him in the ribs, “I’m rather fond of your sweat.”

He groans in mock annoyance with a low chuckle, shaking his head as he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

“What would you like tonight, Detective?” you purr, both legs hooping around his waist.

“Mmm,” he grunts, pressing his hips against yours, rolling them forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “I have an idea…” he says. “But only if you’re up for it.”

“With you, I’m up for anything.”

One corner of his mustache curls into a wry smirk, his eyes flashing with lust.

“Well then,” he says, sitting up to shrug his leather harness off, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt. “Take your panties off, sweetheart.”

You don’t waste a single second, shimmying them down your legs, dangling the black lace from your foot, extending it toward him.

He takes the scant fabric from you, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling deeply, his pupils dilating with lust.

“You smell so fucking pretty,” he growls, putting them to the side with his harness. “Spread your legs for me.”

Your legs part, your folds blooming open for his hungry gaze, glistening with slick.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he whispers as he climbs onto the bed, pushing your legs further apart, positioning his broad shoulders in between.

You giggle, your skin warming as you look down at him, his lips hovering inches from your core.

“I thought you wanted to try something different this time,” you say with a playful grin.

“Mm,” he rumbles low in his chest, planting kisses along the soft inner flesh of your thighs. “I do. But I want to make you come on my tongue first,” he explains, his dark brown eyes meeting yours over the ridge of your mound.

Your hips flex involuntarily closer to his mouth, a small whimper escaping. He’s one of very few clients who actually cares about your pleasure, and the only one who sees you as a person rather than a toy for fast and easy gratification.

With a devious grin, his face dips between your legs, his fingers spreading your folds as he drags the flat of his tongue agonizingly slow up your seam, entrance to clit.

He pauses at the pert bud, circling it slowly before lifting your hips, slinging your legs over his shoulders to grant him better passage to your sopping wet heat.

With a soft groan, his tongue plunges into your core, a deep hum in the back of his throat as he tastes your essence.

“Always so fucking sweet for me,” he murmurs against your flesh, lavishing a few more slow, steady swipes up your seam, making your hips twitch.

He brings one arm up to bar across your pelvis, holding you in place as his attention shifts to your clit, his lips suctioning around the sensitive bud while he sinks two fingers with the opposite hand into your silken tunnel, slowly pumping them in and out.

You mewl as he curls them slightly in a ‘come hither’ motion, brushing against the sensitive patch of nerves, his lips steadily sucking and tongue swirling your engorged clit.

As the onslaught continues, your fingers tangle in his dark, graying curls, your hips sputtering with the exertion of trying to move despite being pinned down, a satisfied hum vibrating against your core as he keeps you from wriggling beneath him.

“Tim—“ you whine as he presses your body more firmly into the mattress, his fingers gradually speeding up. He’s been fine tuned to your body for a while, and he can feel you how close you are.

“Fuck… Tim…” you whine again, your heels digging into his back as you come hard and fast, your walls fluttering and tightening around his fingers.

He groans against your sex as you come, catching every last drop of you on his tongue, the vibrations only intensifying your release as he works you through it. His eyes lift to see you, watching you fall apart for him.

He pulls away when he’s satisfied that you’re completely done, his mustache and chin glistening with evidence of your pleasure, a thin, shiny string of come still connecting you to his fingertips briefly.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing reverent kisses along your inner thighs, his dick straining painfully hard against his zipper.

“What now, Detective?” you ask softly, mussing his curly strands with your fingers.

He grins up at you, dark brown eyes somehow becoming impossibly darker as he crawls off the edge of the bed and hovers above you, liberating his upper half of the sweat-stained undershirt he wears beneath the button up.

You love to marvel at his thick, toned biceps, but even more than that, you love the slight, soft paunch of his lower belly, a swathe of dark curls disappearing below the waistband of his boxer-briefs as he kicks the slacks aside.

“Stop staring at my belly,” he scolds with a smirk, his underwear soon joining the discarded slacks, heavy, uncut cock rigid and weeping for you as he slowly begins to pump himself.

“I like your belly,” you tell him with an affectionate pout, swiping two of your fingers along your seam as your gaze lingers on his pistoning fist.

“First my sweat, now my belly. Guess I should cut back on all those donuts, huh?” he remarks playfully in a self-deprecating tone, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows as you peer up at him.

“Don’t. Makes a good pillow,” you say with a soft smile, biting your lower lip, causing his cock to twitch in his hand.

“Stand up,” he tells you lowly in a sudden commanding tone that makes your walls clench, no hesitation whatsoever as you immediately comply.

“Yes sir,” you hum, eliciting a low growl from him.

“Turn around. Hands on your head,” he commands now, turning on his cop voice as he steps behind you. You attempt to turn your head to watch him over your shoulder, only to have him shove it forward forcefully.

“Eyes front,” he growls. “And hands on your head like I told you.”

You don’t dare dawdle a second time, gasping softly as you bring your hands to the back of your head, interlocking your fingers.

You hear a metallic jingle at your six and it doesn’t take you long to realize what’s happening.

You and Tim have used cuffs before, sure. The pink fuzzy ones that you keep in your top drawer, the ones he often referred to as a joke when they didn’t tighten to his liking and popped open far too easily. But these? You can already tell these are the real deal.

You can’t help but wonder where he had them hidden, but perhaps you weren’t meant to know.

He grabs each wrist one at a time, pulling one arm behind your back and then the other, placing each cuff around your wrist and tightening them until the cool steel is biting into your flesh, a far cry from the novelty ones you’ve used before.

You had established safe words long ago, and he had your list of do’s and don’t’s committed to memory, but he still checks in with you the second they’re tightened, leaning forward to find your gaze, silently confirming with your eyes that you’re okay.

One corner of his upper lip curves slightly into an almost imperceptible smirk when you meet his visage with a warm smile.

“I said eyes front,” he chides, shoving your head forward again, making your back arch with a low whimper.

“We’re bringing you down to the station for questioning,” he states, your name a soft purr on his tongue as he begins Mirandizing you, the speech so deeply ingrained in his memory he could recite it word for word in his sleep.

You play into the fantasy, beginning to fight against the brute hold he has, wrists twisting in the cuffs.

“I’m innocent, Officer Rockford, I swear! I had to kill Gene! He had it coming!” you say, adding the extra dramatics simply because you can.

You have no idea who Gene is, a name you pulled entirely out of thin air, but it seems to stir Tim up, which is exactly what you wanted it to do. He hated even hearing other men’s names on your lips, real or fictional alike.

He places the heel of his palm between your shoulder blades and forces you face down, a moan escaping your lungs as you continue to resist, the loud ringing of skin harshly meeting skin echoing in the small room as he abruptly smacks your ass hard in retaliation.

“‘Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law’,” he reiterates, hearing the blade of agitation in his voice, leaning over you so the thick head of his cock grinds painfully against the cheek he just slapped. “Don’t think this isn’t going on your record, sweetheart.”

You tremor, your skin heating. ‘Precious’ is what he called you during moments of affection and, dare you say, love?, but ‘sweetheart’… well, that was a term of endearment reserved only for times like these, and it never failed to turn you on more.

You moan, writhing more fervently in his grip, the blunt head of his cock pushing even harder against the soft flesh of your smarting backside.

“My lawyer will be hearing about this! Police brutality! Abuse of power!” you cry out, playing it up more than necessary, but it’s apparent he likes it.

“Fuck your lawyer,” he snarls, smacking the same cheek a second time, making you yelp. “We have sufficient evidence to bring you in, and now a confession. You’re going away for a long time, sweetheart.”

Before you can counter, he leans downs, broad chest pinning you beneath him, his plush lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Maybe we can work something out. Off the books,” he purrs, pulling your earlobe between his teeth and tugging. “We could get you off on an insanity or self defense plea.”

Your frantic motions still, the only movement the slow ascent and descent of your rib cage.

“How do we do that, Officer Rockford?” you ask in the most pathetic, submissive tone you can muster. He smirks above you, but you don’t see it.

“By getting me off,” he croons, teasing your slick folds with his cock, your tunnel instinctively tightening.

Without ample warning, he lines himself up and plunges himself deep inside of you, his pelvis meeting yours in a single, brutal thrust, making you keen as your fingers and toes curl in tandem.

You like it rough, a fact he’s well aware of.

“That’s my girl. You take my cock so well,” he praises, trying not to dwell too much on the idea that it’s literally your job to take cock well, the possessiveness he tries to hide igniting within him.

The ridge of his nose creases, his teeth bared through a hiss as he slowly begins fucking in and out of you, wide fingers digging a bruising grip into your hips.

“You are mine, aren’t you? Only mine,” he grunts, pulling almost all the way out only to slam back in again.

“Yes, Tim,” you whine, every harsh slam of his hips against yours making you keen and gasp. “Only yours.”

“Repeat it,” he commands, yanking back on your bound wrists so hard that you’re partially suspended above the mattress, making you cry out in a way that gives him pause until you ensure him visually that you’re still okay.

“I’m yours, Tim. Only yours,” you repeat through heady breaths, your lower lip dangling in ecstasy as the speed and intensity of his thrusts gradually increases.

It wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time clients would ask you to profess the same words to them, with varying iterations, but Tim was the only one you ever meant it with. Only for him. Only his.

“That’s my good girl,” Tim hums reverently, his face tensing and contorting above you, and although you’re faced away from him, you know by his rhythm and vocal changes that he’s getting close.

“Gonna… paint those pretty walls with my cum,” he pants, one hand still clutching your wrists, the other reaching around to slowly circle your clit.

“Come on my cock, precious,” he urges, hissing as he attempts to maintain control. “Come for me.”

It only takes a few more well placed strokes between his cock and his fingers, working you to a second, more intense orgasm than the first, his name a prayer flowing from your tongue as your tunnel practically strangles his thick length, spurring his own intense release mere moments later.

Under normal circumstances, you required every client to wear protection, no exceptions. You never let your clients come in you — either in your womb or mouth — only ever a condom or on your skin, and anyone who attempted otherwise would be summarily barred from future services.

But Tim, like everything else involving him, was the one and only exception, the hot jets of spend shooting against your g-spot heightening your orgasm as you milk his balls of every last drop.

With a final, breathy groan and shiver, Tim collapses with a sigh on top of you.

—

You both lie naked on your bed, halfway on top of his chest with your arms and legs wrapped around as his warm, heavy hands massage your bruised wrists in slow, tender circles.

You’re wide awake but neither of you is speaking, basking in each other’s post-coital afterglow, finding peace in simply listening to the other’s breaths and heartbeats in the stifling silence of the room.

He knows you won’t leave the brothel, not anytime soon, too worried about assisting the madams in protecting the younger, more naive and impressionable girls from succumbing to harm at the hands of clients or hostile outsiders while still being able to pay off your debts, fiscally or otherwise.

Still, it doesn’t prevent him from dreaming of a life with you. Waking up next to you every morning or falling asleep inside you every night, curled up in his arms. Give you a life you won’t allow yourself to have, at least not right now.

He continues circling your soft wrists with his thumbs, his brow knitting with concern.

“I was too rough this time, wasn’t I?” he asks you quietly, the remorse in his tone palpable. The concern he has for your wellbeing makes your heart clench and your throat constrict.

“No,” you answer with a soft giggle. “It was perfect.”

He mirrors your giggle with a deep, throaty chuckle, pulling you all the way on top of him, arms encasing you as he buries his face against your neck.

One day, he thinks to himself. One day.

[wildemaven]

confessions | tim rockford

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shoots you a pained look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Way to use those detective skills.” 

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

[d4rm4nd4]

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.

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 7

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford)

Word count: 6,209

Summary: A friendship reaches a new level, Dave gets the truth about Carol, and a misunderstanding brings two people closer than they've ever been..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Fluff. One adorable dog. Mentions of food/eating, alcohol/drinking. Fingering. Oral (f&m receiving). Infidelity (but a certain someone was unfaithful first so.. Uno reverse?) More marital strife (sorry). Porn-shaming. A lovers' misunderstanding. Angst. Unprotected piv. (please lmk if I've missed anything)

Author’s note: This is where they finally hook up. Wave. Of. Relief. Also, the whole Tim scene was really just me thinking about that old show Cheaters. It really scarred me for future relationships lol.

Series Masterlist

Common sense tells you to stay away from Dave while the investigation is going on. He's vulnerable now, and as your attraction grows stronger with each passing day, you know it'll soon be impossible to hold back from the natural predilection for being close with him.

In short, you're not so sure you can keep your hands to yourself when you're around him.

On a sunny weekend you meet at a pet adoption agency and, true to your word, you choose a dog together, a beagle named Maple, and the first time you bring her home, Dave stays for almost the rest of the day, helping set up what she needs and playing with her. There's a light in his eyes as he spends time with your new pet, a gleam that you haven't seen before, and it touches your heart.

He's invited to come over anytime he wants just to spend time with her, and he happily takes you up on the offer, indulging in more late night dinners and movies. Maple's a good chaperone, much too cute to ignore, and she keeps you from lingering on the sinful thoughts you're having about each other. For the time being, anyway.

You become a great means of support to Dave, a lifeline, and in that commisseration of your wrecked marriages, you find not just solace but a profound closeness. You spend every lunch hour together, at your cafe or at his office, sharing meals and talking about your day. No subject is too mundane or too trivial to insitgate conversation about a million other things, discussions that Javier would easily get bored of, and that Carol would dismiss as silly.

In a white floral print dress that's intentionally too short and too tight to fully button up, you visit Dave on your lunch break, bringing homemade soup and sandwiches, knowing he has a busy day ahead with meetings and court dates, and wanting him to have some comfort food in the midst of it all.

Despite his feelings for you, he likes to remain above reproach. Your visits are never secret, and when you're in his office his blinds are open. Nothing inappropriate passes between you anyway. Your looks and your words are the most intimate things that you share, at least since the heated kiss not so long ago. (Even if anyone gives a second thought to your visits, most of Dave's coworkers and their spouses hate Carol and would keep mum just to spite her.)

Still, you look like the sweetest sin, and under his desk Dave has to shift to accommodate his growing hard-on, eyes feasting on the playful lift of your brow, the curve of your smiling lips, the graceful column of your neck and the bountiful billow of your breasts, practically on display. He knows it's just for him. Spending so much time, you don't have room for any other guy.

"Are you listening?" you giggle, your bubbling laughter doing not-so-innocent things to Dave's dick.

"Yeah. Of course I'm listening. And yes, we're still on for tonight. Carol's already said she's doing a girls' night with some of the women from the hospital."

"I can't wait," you smile. "It's so good to spend time with you and the girls. I wish.."

"Wish what?" he whispers, his hand reaching out for yours.

"It's selfish, but I wish it could always be this way. When I think about my life before you, it's a blank. I don't know how I managed to stay sane, but when I'm with you I feel.. alive. I don't want to know what it's like to not have you in my life."

Dave pulls your hand across the table, bringing it to his lips to plant a soft sweet kiss on the back. "Baby, you don't know how much that means to me. It's like I'm drowning, and then I talk to you and suddenly I have air again. You're the only thing worth staying above water for."

"I think we're saving each other from drowning," you tell him.

Dave walks you out, insisting as usual to escort you back across the street, and this time when you step into the elevator, there's a charge in the air, a new tension both of you know has always been inevitable.

The close, cramped space of the elevator, you in that dress, curves begging to be caressed, your sweet floral perfume beckoning him closer. There are no words exchanged as you share a look, communicating everything in that prolonged glance. He's thankful no one else is on, and his heart leaps right before he presses the STOP button.

You press him to the wall in a kiss full of longing, aching for his taste, for the feel of his tongue against yours. Your panties are sopping wet within seconds as his hands find their way under your dress, his large hands smoothing over your skin as your own fingers find their way under his jacket, hungering to feel his muscles and the heat of his skin under your palms. You settle for the cotton of his light blue button-up.

"We should stop," you tell him, pushing your panties to the side as his fingers slide between your warm thighs.

"Yeah, we should." He teases your folds, relishing in the sighs and tremors that go through you at his delicate touch.

"You're married," you remind him, a gasp leaving you as he pumps not one but two thick fingers inside your drenched pussy. Dave's head drops down, trying to contain himself, willing himself not to come in his pants then and there. Never felt anything so fucking wet in my life..

"A married man whose wife is fucking someone else," he says,a lawyer even when he's hot and hard for you. "I want you to come for me, baby. I need to know what you sound like, what you look like, what you taste like when you come." He pumps slow and steady, fingers scissoring to feel all of you, and imagine how well you'd take him if he could fuck you right now. "You're so fucking wet, I know you need to come, baby."

You grasp his wrist, feeling the strength behind his skillful touch as you greedily take every plunge of his fingers, crying his name in a shudder as his thumb swipes your clit.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby," he utters, giving your bottom lip a soft bite. "I want to see your eyes when you come."

Unable to speak, you nod, your high-pitched gasps and moans letting him know you're close. He crooks his fingers, too caught up in the surreality of the moment to even think about teasing you or edging you the way he fantasizes about. "That's it, isn't it?" he smiles as he takes a moment to bury his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, his fingers finding that spot deep inside that is your undoing. You're squirming under his touch now, desperate.

"It's all you, baby, come for me," he whispers, holding your chin up so your eyes meet his. And as if they're magic words, you come apart under his touch, clamping down on his fingers, earning a deep, satisfied grunt from him. Just when you think one wave is over, another starts, his fingers continuing their blessed work inside your cunt.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs as you finally push him away, overstimulated, eyes glassy in fucked out bliss, some loose strands of hair caught in your lip gloss. He removes his fingers gently, your glaze sticky on them. With his eyes on you he licks off your essence, closing his eyes briefly at the taste of you, just as he'd imagined.

After, he makes sure you're okay, cleans you up with his handkerchief from his jacket, wishing he could wear the heavenly scent of your pussy on him all day, but he'll switch it out for a new one later.

"I'm not ready to go yet," you murmur, stopping him from pressing the elevator button.

Before he realizes what's happening, you're on your knees in front of him, fingers deftly working at undoing his belt buckle. He doesn't make a move to stop you. No man in his right mind, married or not, would deny you anything. "Here, baby," he says, handing you his jacket to give you cushion for your knees. He runs his fingers through your hair, heart pounding madly in his chest as you look up at him with those irresistible eyes, releasing his cock from its confines.

Thank you Jesus, I knew it, I fucking knew it! You glory in the big fucking dick that you always knew Dave was packing down there. Your mouth pools with saliva as you give him a couple teasing strokes, marveling at the swollen shaft, curved, ringed with smaller veins and one large one running along the top. He tips his head back against the wall, breathing heavily as you give little kitten licks across the head, scooping up his trickling precum.

Carol can have this every day and she chooses not to. What the hell is wrong with her? A victorious little smirk curls the corners of your mouth as you drag your tongue along the underside, your free hand gently palming his balls, feeling their heft in your hand. Just thinking about how much he's going to unload makes your cunt clench in anticipation.

"Stop.. teasing.." he begs, looking as if he's close already. "Not fair.."

"Good point," you tell him, unable to keep back a smile. You move the shoulders of your dress down, pushing it over your breasts and bringing your bra down as well, baring your breasts to him. Practically drooling at the sight, Dave fondles one in his large palm, his thumb rubbing avariciously over your nipple, bringing it to a tight little bud.

At last you take him in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you slurp the first couple of inches, adding pressure by stiffening your tongue. One hand rests on his base against his neatly trimmed pubes, the other on his thigh, hard muscle and soft hair under your palm.

Taking him in as far as your throat allows, you alternate between using your mouth and your hand, spitting on his shaft to add lubrication, watching him innocently from below as Dave loses control little by little. His hands tangle in your hair, thumbs caressing your cheeks as you gag on him, pulling away and leaving a stringy mess of saliva between your lips and his cock.

Poor Dave hasn't been blown in ages.. I'm so lucky to be the one to give him this.. You use your fist and mouth in tandem, bobbing your head as your fist works the base, keeping your eyes on him as he tries desperately to hold back.

Giving his balls a little massage, you hear him groan and feel him shiver. Keeping your mouth suctioned to his cock, he cries out in relief as he pulses and shoots his load down your throat.

By the time you reach the ground floor you both look like nothing ever happened, not even a hair out of place nor a button fastened wrong. As you part ways in front of the bakery/bookstore you exchange a small, secret smile, with the promise of more stolen moments to come.

Dave almost regrets having to go home, but Molly and Alice are the only bright spots there, and he brings them a couple of brand new Squishmallows, loving the light in their eyes as they greet him home. They don't know that you're coming over later, just in case they accidentally spill the beans to their mom. So far they think of you as a babysitter who's also their dad's friend.

After dinner, Carol's quiet, like a ghost hating the place she haunts she goes about cleaning up the table, putting things in the dishwasher, putting an extra load of laundry in the wash, rejecting Dave's offers of help. This is something he'll be yelled at about later. It's nothing new.

He's counting down the minutes until she leaves and you can come over. He texts you some ideas of movies to watch with the kids, maybe more Disney classics, or even the older greats like E.T, The Princess Bride, Matilda, or Jumanji.

But when Carol sees him smiling at his phone, a light blush on his face because he's recalling the passionate encounter between you two in the elevator, her face sours.

"I think you need to get help. You have a porn addiction," she frowns at him.

He's too happy to argue back. "Yeah, sure, maybe."

She makes a sound of disgust. "I don't know what a man your age still watches that stuff for."

Again he makes no answer, choosing instead to cold-shoulder her anger, hoping she'll just complain her anger away while he texts you, in between reading work emails. Waiting for a quiet moment in her muttering, he asks, "So, how was work?"

"It was long.. and hard," she says, putting laundry away in the dresser.

Dave's knuckles grow white with holding back from telling her everything he knows she's done. Playing pretend has never been so damn difficult. He swallows the bile that dares to rise in his throat when he thinks how she's played him. "I bet. Sounds rough."

A little sigh from her, and when he glances up he swears he sees a little pink on her cheeks in her reflection in the vanity mirror. "It was pretty rough," she says lightly.

His eyes narrow and he can practically feel the blood pulsing through his body. How can she be so callous, so uncaring about the risks she's taking? Does she know how she's just stringing him along?

"I can imagine," he replies, voice tight.

Carol must sense his sarcasm, because she turns in her seat to glare at him. "You don't know what it's like for me. The long hours, the responsibility, the lives I hold in the palm of my hand."

He nearly snorts in laughter. "No, you're right, Carol. I don't know what any of that is like. All I do is go to the office and joke around with the guys, fuck the paralegals, and come home to a cold bed, spend my money on webcam girls, then go to sleep, only to start it all over in the morning. With you as the occasional guest star," he rants.

"You're outrageous," she mutters, slicking on some lip balm. "I don't have time for this. I'm going out."

To see Joel Dave finishes her sentence, hands fisted at his side as he tries to control his breathing. Only his wife can make him so hotheaded, so willing to damn everything to hell over a snide comment.

"You don't have time for what?" he repeats. "To talk to me?"

"What's there to talk about? We stopped talking and fucking a long time ago." She's in the closet putting on a silk blouse and looking for shoes to go with it.

"You always use work as an excuse. You do it deliberately to avoid being here at all!"

"I had a life before I met you! Excuse me for trying to find a little fulfillment apart from you and the girls. You don't define me!"

That comment stings. Dave hasn't realized until now how big a part of his life Carol's been, and how much of his youth he spent building a life she would love. Now here she is dumping all over it.

"I never wanted to define you. I just wanted to make you happy," he says quietly.

His sincerity does nothing for her. "Do you want a fucking parade?"

"You know what? A parade would be great because at least I'd be getting some attention. I-"

He's cut off as Carol grabs him and kisses him. Taken off guard, Dave freezes, his body unable to react to her lips on his. Finally he puts his hands on her shoulders and gently pushes her away, breaking the contact and stepping back. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you want to?" she asks, looking almost hurt. She comes close again and presses the flat of her palm against his crotch then takes it away as if she's burned herself. "You're not even hard."

The blood rushes back to his cock as he recalls the way your lips wrapped around him, tongue laving him as your beautiful eyes gazed up so innocently. Of course he's not hard when you drained every drop of him earlier.

"Of course I'm not," he says, turning away so she can't see the longing in his eyes, the obvious bulge when he does start to get hard again thinking about you in that elevator. "Do you expect me to be in the mood when we're arguing?"

"You used to tear my clothes off after every argument. Or have you forgotten?"

He remembers well the passion of their youth. Carol had always been feisty and tempestuous and that excited him before. Their arguments, no matter the subject, typically led to a passionate embrace. And now.. perhaps time has reshaped them.

"Will you at least lay down with me?" Carol's request comes as a surprise, given how demure she sounds. He looks at her, resting on her side of the bed, and he almost feels guilty for his earlier transgression with you. But he knows Carol has done worse, and likely has been for a long time.

But he's been with her this long out of habit, or maybe it's because she knows how to play him, and only recently stopped the game, tossing her cards aside and abandoning the rules when that stupid plumber came around.

What Dave can't resist is a little peace around the house, an interim white flag. And that particular white flag is in the form of laying next to his wife, watching her fall asleep as her eyes flutter shut.

You return to Dave's house, still under the impression that you're going to hang out, maybe make some dinner with the kids while Carol's gone. There are two cars in the driveway this time, and as you make your way to the door you wonder how to introduce yourself if Carol's actually here.

The girls let you in, hugging your legs as you come inside. Heart brimming over, you ruffle their hair, placing soft kisses on the tops of their heads.

"Mommy and Daddy are asleep," they tell you, bringing you to the half-open door of the master bedroom.

You're unprepared for the stab of jealousy as you see husband and wife resting peacefully, holding hands in their slumber.

Has he forgiven her? Has she somehow wormed her way back into his heart? Maybe he's loved her all this time and is willing to overlook her discretions, just as you secretly forgave Javier's for so many years. Maybe neither of you have any backbone when it comes to letting people walk all over you. Maybe it's a secret kink.

You can only control your own choices, and as soon as you sit alone in your car, you let the silence engulf you before you pull up the application for the culinary program in Paris, quickly entering your info before applying, sealing your fate.

Dave wakes before Carol, rubbing his eyes and stretching. It's nearly ten p.m. and he checks his phone, jolting up when he realizes he never texted you not to come over. The fight with Carol and the tenuous white flag raised between them had come so suddenly that he'd not given thought to the night in he promised you.

He gets out of bed, careful not to wake his wife. As soon as he leaves the room the girls are on him, telling him you came by but had already left. Dave quickly shuts the door as quietly as he can, to stop Carol from hearing them. He takes them out of the hallway and questions them.

"She told us not to wake you up," Molly says.

"Did she say anything else?" Dave's heart is in his throat.

"She told us to be good and that you and Mommy love us," Alice answers. "Can she come over every day?"

"She was crying," Molly added.

That's a twist of the knife already in his heart. He imagines how it must have been for you, walking in and seeing him with his wife, probably assuming the worst.

"Did she say where she was going?" he asks.

"No," they answer, already bored with the questions. "Can we go spend the night at Michelle's?"

"No, honey, it's very late," he says, heart skipping a beat when his phone buzzes with an incoming call.

Tim.

With an ache in his gut, throat constricted, he answered, somehow able to speak. "This is David," he answers, quickly moving out onto the patio to take the call.

"Mr. York, this is Rockford. Do you have time to come in tomorrow so I can discuss my findings." The PI is pretty blunt, just what Dave needs to get out of the cloud of confusion he's in.

"Tomorrow? Can't you just tell me now?" The thought of having to wait another twelve hours is excruciating.

"That's not the way I like to do things, Mr. York. But if this is an ASAP kind of thing you can drop by my office." He gives the address which Dave quickly makes a mental note of.

Of course Carol makes a face when he tells her he has to go into work. A necessary lie, but he takes note of how much she seems to dislike having to stay home. He wonders if she misses Joel, if she even loves him. That's a thought he tries not to entertain for too long or it'll drive him crazy.

The PI's office is in a small room overhead a Korean grocery shop downtown. As Dave traverses the the entrance via the back alley and up a couple flights of stairs, he gets the notion that he's in a 1930s film noir, complete with dingy hallway with wooden paneling, and a door advertising Tim's services as a PI, the signage somewhat faded on the frosted glass. Dave expects the surly former cop to show up in a trenchcoat and a Trilby, but the man appears in the doorway, a loosened tie and white shirt, gray slacks. Tim looks ready to call it a day.

He offers Dave a drink, to which Dave firstly declines, then decides better of it. If he's offering alcohol, it's probably bad news. He thanks Tim for the proffered bourbon and fortifies himself with a sip as they get situated at Tim's desk.

"As you well know, you've paid me to keep tabs on your wife, one Carol Marie York, forty-four years of age, and have surveiled her comings and goings these past few weeks. This is what I've found."

He pulls out a manila folder from an accordion file index and presents it to Dave. "About eighty percent of the time she's not actually at work, as she gives you reason to believe. The other twenty percent she's definitely at the hospital, keeping herself shut away in her office. No visitors during those times."

There's a sinking feeling in Dave's stomach and he feels all the blood rush from head. He doesn't touch the folder, as if it'll burn him. "And the 'eighty percent' as you say? What's she actually doing? Seeing this.. Joel idiot?"

"I've identified her companion as one Joel Richard Miller, fifty years of age, a plumber with a company that services Mercy Memorial, the hospital where Carol works."

Dave leans back in his chair, his grip on his glass of bourbon growing tighter. "That must be how they met.."

"They are not seen together at the hospital," Tim continues. "Their typical MO is to meet at the Starlight Motel, less than an hour from here." He takes the folder and leafs through the info. There are photos of Carol and Joel meeting up in separate cars, going into the same room, smiling, kissing, holding each other while they think they're not being watched.

"I have photos and audio, if you want further evidence."

"Audio??"

Tim shrugs. "Just between us, I have a friend on the force who lends me better equipment for high profile cases such as yours. It's not always easy to get pictures through the windows."

"What.. what's on the audio?" Dave asks, almost timidly. He knows the ascertainment of such evidence by such means is toggling some very blurry lines of legality, but for once in his life he's not going to play by the rules. Forty five years of being good has earned him some legroom to forgo his typically heroic beliefs.

Another sigh from Tim. "You can listen for yourself, or I can tell you: they're definitely fucking."

"Oh, god." Dave puts his glass down on the desk and holds his head in his hands. Tim, used to such reactions, goes around his desk and gives his client a strong pat on the back.

"I'm never happy to pass on news like this," he comforts Dave. "But you have a right to know. You're not the first man whose wife stepped out on him. What you do with this information is completely up to you." He passes the brokenhearted man a box of tissues, letting him have his moment.

"Tell me more about this Joel guy." Dave's voice is strained.

"He's single, lives alone on the east side of town. Worked in the home services industry for almost thirty years. He's big. Strong. I'd say ex-football player."

Of course. Joel was the opposite of Dave, in almost every way. Maybe that's the kind of man Carol needs. Or maybe she's just slumming. Now faced with more questions than answers, Dave slams back the rest of his bourbon, all his senses buzzing.

"I don't usually do this," he says, coming back around his desk to face his client head on. "But you seem like a good guy. If you want, we can catch them in the act."

"How?"

Tim relays the evidence, the patterns of their meeting nights and times, the place already established. Dave doesn't know how he'd not been able to see the signs right in front of him. The late nights all matched up at the same hours, on the same nights, with rare exceptions.

"If all goes according to plan, they'll meet up tomorrow night at the motel. You can be there to catch them in the act, and I'll be there to make sure nothing happens that shouldn't."

It doesn't take a lawyer's imagination to think of every possible result from him catching Carol and Joel red-handed. It would be satisfying, despite the evidence Tim has gathered. He needs to confront them in person, demand answers. Maybe Joel doesn't even know Carol's married. Worse, maybe he knows and just doesn't care.

"Let's do it," Dave agrees.

After leaving Dave's, you drove straight to work, throwing yourself into doing some work after hours, handling the invoices and filling out supply orders ahead of schedule. Anything to keep you from thinking about what you saw. Soon you found your office too confining, and started moving packages to the front, refilling display cases and restocking shelves, making room for new books. Anything to keep you distracted.

A knock at the glass door snaps you from your spell and you see Dave, peering in, waving to you. With a knot in your gut you go and open the door.

"Hey," you say quietly once he's inside.

"Hey," he says back, stuffing his hands in his pocket, unsure what to do with them.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you.. to talk. I went by your place but your sister said you were here."

"She wanted to get away from my parents for a bit, and keep Maple company."

"Good.. that's good." Dave nods.

"You could have called. You didn't need to come over."

"I wanted to see you." A ghost of a smile passes his lips, warming you a little.

"I saw you with Carol," you mutter. "In your bed.. it looked like you'd forgiven her."

A shard of guilt pierces him. "I know.. the girls told me. I am so sorry, baby." He makes a move to reach out for you but pauses. "Please.. look at me."

You reluctantly bring your eyes to his, brimming over with tears. He takes your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "I promise you, it wasn't what it looked like." He could kick himself for saying such a cliche thing. You've probably heard it over and over from Javier.

"Do you still love her?"

The question hits him like a kick in the stomach, and his immediate instinct is to say no, that he doesn't love Carol at all, and he wouldn't be going through all this if he did. But that's far too black and white, too easy of an explanation. And he doesn't want to lie to you.

"It's complicated," he mumbles.

You don't say anything for a long while, leaving him tense and worried.

"She's the mother of my children, and the first woman I was ever serious about. We fought last night," he continued, "and then I guess we just had no more fight left in us." He sighs. "I just came back from Rockford's office. She's having an affair with that plumber."

"I'm sorry," you tell him. "I'll send some condolence cookies to your office." You turn to go, torn between wanting to comfort him and needing to turn him away.

It's too tempting right now to start an argument, all your pent up passion needing to be externalized. "My own divorce wasn't nearly as messy as this situation is. I don't love my ex-husband. There's nothing complicated about it."

"Will you listen to me?" he goes after you, grabbing your hand and turning you to face him. "Yes, it's complicated with Carol. It always has been. The only uncomplicated part about my life is you!"

Now the tears fall freely. "Dave, I can't risk my heart getting involved any further. I have to protect it." You wipe your face with the heel of your hand, makeup smudged but you could care less. "You deserve more than being a cuckold. I would never do to you what she did. If I had you in my bed every night I'd have no need of satisfaction elsewhere."

That thought sets him ablaze, the memory of you on your knees in that cramped elevator, your tight wet mouth wrapped around him.. he could have that every night if he could leave Carol so easily.

"I know you wouldn't.. because you actually care about me."

"No, Dave. I fucking love you." Realizing what you just said is a jolt to your system, but you continue. "Please don't choose the woman who betrayed you over the woman who's madly in love with you."

He takes a breath and cups your cheek, gazing into your eyes as he speaks. There's a vulnerability in his voice. "Do you really mean that?"

Your feelings are laid bare, your heart open to him and there's nothing more frightening or more exhilarating. "Dave, I shouldn't have said-"

He shakes his head, silencing you with a firm but gentle touch. "Please, just let me say this. The fact is, I'd choose you. If if came down to it and I had to choose, there would be no contest. I'd choose you. Every damn time."

Your lips meet his in a crashing kiss, alighting both of you with need. Hands on your hips he presses you to the nearest flat surface, a large wooden bookshelf. Dave's kisses travel down your jaw, your neck, and he rips open the top buttons of your dress to get to the swell of your pretty breasts, pressing messy kisses and love bites on your supple skin.

"I need you," you moan, "right now." Your desire is growing out of control.

"God.. I need you too," he says breathlessly. He unbuttons his jeans, quickly pulling down what he needs to, while you hurriedly remove your panties. He grabs your thigh, hooks your leg around him as he presses the tip of him to your dewy folds, teasing you until you're squirming with need.

"This okay?" His breath is hot against your ear. "I don't have a condom. I can pull out.."

You shake your head. Even if you weren't on birth control you'd want to feel him in every way, want that glorious pump of his seed filling you. "It's okay, I'm good, I want it."

He eagerly lines himself up. "You're dripping already.. fuck, I don't think I can hold back.." He slides into you, slowly, savoring this moment he knows he'll look back on for years to come. "I love you," he moans, unable to help the last snap of his hips that delivers his full length into you. He's surrounded by you, warm and tight and oh so wet. "I wanted to be inside you when I said that," he confesses, thrusting home again, filling you deeply.

"Dave," you moan, looping your arms around his neck as he thrusts at a languid pace, shivering from keeping himself at bay. He's a stretch to fit, but he keeps his thumb on your clit, working in small circles as he fills you.

"Please, fuck me," you beg, nails digging into the nape of his neck as you break from a sloppy, delicious kiss. "We waited too long for this.. fuck me now and make love to me later."

He shakes his head, the pleasure already creeping up into his balls. "Gonna come if I don't stop now." He picks you up and carries you to the nearest sofa, both of you giggling as he tries to walk with his pants down around his ankles.

He places you on the sofa, legs spread apart for him as he settles himself beneath you, raising the hem of your dress over your hips. Hooking your legs under his arms he brings you to the edge of the cushion and places small, teasing kisses along the insides of your thighs, groaning as you run your fingers through his hair.

Dave looks at you like you're a miracle, breath warm on your soft skin, tongue dipping out to taste you. He'd had a taste earlier when he licked your cream off his fingers, but there's nothing like drinking from the source. "I love you," he rasps, saying it after planting each kiss upon your thigh, until he reaches his destination, blowing soft cool air on your clit.

"Dave," you groan again, hips eager for him to press forward.

"Payback," he reminds you how you teased him in the elevator almost twelve hours before.

"Mmm.. punish me as you see fit.."

He takes his time once he's there, languidly licking a stripe up your center, delighting in your sweet little moan as his tongue swipes over your clit. His tongue delves into your folds as if to memorize your shape and your taste. You sigh when he pays attention to one side, and your entire body tenses when he laps along the other. When he fucks you with his tongue the handsome curve of his nose rubs against your clit until you're a shivering mess beneath him, your essence all over his face.

Waiting until you're just on the edge, he pulls back, using his fingers just as before, knowing what it will take to get you to come all over his hand. He pulls the most beautiful moans from you, such symphonic sighs as you scream his name. And the cherry on top is when he purses his lips around your taut little clit and sucks as his fingers curl inside you, making you moan louder than he's ever heard anyone as you coat his face with your juices.

He's inside you again, your warmth clasping around him as if he belongs there, in your perfect pussy, buried deeply as he pistons his hips against yours, the culmination of every fantasy he's ever stored up about you now becoming real as you buck your hips up beneath him, demanding all of him, taking every inch because you're made just for him.

True to his word, he fucks you, makes you his in every way. There's nothing so perfect as the feeling of you coming on his cock, squeezing him and urging on his own climax. Once again ensuring that you want him to, he comes hard, painting your sweet cunt with his spend until it's spilling out of you while he's still inside. There's no doubt when you're screaming his name and it's ringing throughout the empty bookstore, you belong to each other and always have.

"Are you okay?" he asks sometime later when you've both caught your breath, holding onto each other for dear life.

"I'm wonderful," you answer, body still thrumming with pleasure, a lightness in your heart that nothing else has ever produced.

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

(sorry it's a little later than I promised!)

[theetherealbloom]

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST

PEDRO PASCAL

JOEL MILLER

DIN DJARIN

OBERYN MARTELL

MARCUS ACACIUS

REED RICHARDS/ "MR FANTASTIC"

TIM ROCKFORD (coming soon!)

© etherealbloom - all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, or translate any of my original work. none of my work is permitted to be reposted on any other platform.

[magpiepills]

Overtime

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

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

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

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

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

masterlist

Turgid Members Club

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, desperate for his touch, whining quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[penvisions]

it's been an...odd time on here lately but hopefully we can all take a deep breath now. positivity and friendship is so important. with that said, i will be slowly dipping my toes back into this space and getting back on posting the next installments of my ongoing fics. throughout the stress of moving i enjoyed the following pieces by such lovely, wonderful, talented people:

tim rockford ->

hold on by @604to647

macarons by @604to647

joel miller ->

in this life and the next by @wethairjoel

texas sweet by @coquettepascal

hungry eyes by @bonercoaster

remorse for remedy by @pedgito

new religion by @thetriumphantpanda

cat nap by @strang3lov3

the anniversary by @greenwitchfromthewoods

outage by @taeslarityy

call it what it is by @joelsgreys

swept away - chapter 4 (!!) by @punkshort

safety first by @strang3lov3

touch by @morallyinept

what's a fanfiction? by @talaok

frankie morales ->

adrift with you - chapter 20 (!!) by @morallyinept

hole in one by @pilotispunk

sit back, baby (!!) by @almostfoxglove

the meeting by @undercoverpena

javier pena ->

too sweet by @honey-on-your-tongue

house husband by @ovaryacted

din djarin ->

fifteen weeks by @whocaresstillthelouvre

where you belong by @honeyedmiller

dieter bravo ->

bittersweet love by @ozarkthedog

poe dameron ->

just in case by @eyelessfaces

[sugadolly]

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

[604to647]

Red Herring

3.3K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You make Detective Rockford a Halloween costume.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please).  Established relationship, nicknames as usual (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), lingerie, semi-public sex, desk sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV, bad puns, half-assed costumes.

A/N: Since The Rockford Portfolio was born from @mermaidgirl30’s Ocean Challenge this summer, I thought it was only fitting to write the same couple for Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge (as always though, the stories in the collection can be read standalone ☺️)! Tim's hatred of Halloween is heavily influenced by Amy Santiago from Brooklyn 99 🤭🤭 Happy Halloween and spooky season everyone!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘 / Series Masterlist

Tim was right.  Halloween at a police precinct is a mess.

The streets outside are absolute mayhem, crawling with costumed Halloween revelers stumbling and celebrating in various states of undress and inebriation.  No one seems to care that they’re causing a ruckus right outside of a building full of cops.  Even walking up the stairs to the main doors, you had found yourself side stepping at least two incidents of vomit, and you still feel a little worried about leaving the trio of drunk Power Puff girls on the bench outside even though they had giggled that they were fine when you asked.  There’s no safer place for them to be, you suppose.

The inside of the precinct is no less chaotic than it is outside.  It’s exactly as Tim had described.  You chuckle to yourself as you pass a couple of patrolmen headed out as Jedi Knights and think back to your conversation earlier this month when Tim told you he would be working on Halloween.

Curled up in Tim’s lap, you’re scrolling through TikTok as he watches some police procedural on the TV that he keeps grumbling at when you come across a few spoopy videos, “Do you think you might want to do a couples costume for Halloween, Detective?”

Tim actually grimaces.  He hates Halloween with a passion, “Oh Shutterbug, I’m so sorry – I have to work Halloween.  I work every Halloween.”

“Every Halloween?”

“Yeah - ugh. Halloween is honestly such a gong show.  People think costumes make them invincible for some reason,” he closes his eyes and scowls at the memory of Halloweens past.  “Every patrolman works overtime and is out on the streets breaking up fights, putting people in the drunk tank, getting drunk drivers off the streets.”

He’s not done; Tim brings his paw of a hand to his face and massages it in irritation, “The entire detective squad comes in to help process every idiot that’s brought in: DWI.  Underage Drinking.  Disorderly Conduct.  Assault.  Vandalism.  Trespassing.  Theft.  You name it, gorgeous.  Halloween is a fucking mess.”

You chuckle a little, you’re not used to seeing your normally unflappable detective so out of sorts, nevermind at the mere thought of a children’s celebration.

“Does everyone hate Halloween like you?”

Tim cracks a smile at this, “No one hates things the way I hate things.”  This has you giggling – Tim can be terribly grumpy.  “I guess not everyone.  The precinct gets decorated and there is a costume contest.”

“Oh!” You perk up at this, “And they arrest people in costume?”

“Might as well,” Tim’s face screws up in annoyance again, “It’s not like anyone respects the uniform on Halloween.  You have better luck getting compliance as Godzilla.”

For a second, you imagine Tim sulking behind his desk, filling out public intoxication reports dressed as Batman and you have to stifle a snort of laughter, “But not you though?  You don’t dress up?”

“Nope.”

“What’s the costume contest prize?” your eyes twinkle.

“No, nope,” Tim kisses the nose that you’ve scrunched up in mischief, “What do you plan on doing for Halloween, Shutterbug?”

You look thoughtful, the truth is you’re not really up for anything too exciting this year, “I’m probably going to volunteer at the library to give out candy, then I told the girls I’d meet up with them at a pub for some food and drinks.  Then they’ll head over to a bar or club or something that’s hosting a Halloween party and I don’t really want to do that.  Maybe I could come hang out with you?”

“Of course you can, baby.  But just be prepared, it’s going to be messy.”

The bullpen is loud – every desk is occupied by a dog tired, costumed detective taking down statements, yelling into their phone, or typing aggressively away on their computer – some of them doing all three.  The holding cell is overflowing, and the occupants are either wildly indignant about their detainment or completely unphased and appear to be continuing whatever reveries that had brought them in from behind bars.  There is no in between.

The commotion is so much more unruly than it usually is; it might be unsettling, except for how comical it is to see Tim’s colleagues in various costumes doing their very serious jobs. At a quick glance you see: a bumblebee, a Pikachu, two pirates, an Aquaman, and three Howls from Howl’s Moving Castle.

The juxtaposition of these outfits to the cacophony in the room is hilarious.  You spot and wave to Tim’s partner, Detective Arnold Calloway, who’s dressed as Elvis on your way to Tim’s office.

Tim’s door is open but before you announce yourself, you take a moment to ogle your handsome boyfriend as he types, brows furrowed in concentration at his computer.  He’s not in costume but you can’t complain – Tim's usual crisp white dress shirt stretches taut across his broad frame, his hunched shoulders restrained slightly by the unforgiving leather of his gun holster. His tie is loose but it’s the only thing that’s loose - Tim’s rolled up shirt sleeves strain to contain his beefy arms, and from where you stand, you can see his exposed forearms flex tightly with every furious punch to the keys on his keyboard.  Even without a costume, Tim Rockford looks like a superhero.

“Happy Halloween, Detective.”

The smile that breaks across Tim’s face when he looks up and sees you is nothing short of breathtaking, it sends a blooming warmth through your chest that quickly winds its way down between your legs.

“Happy Halloween, Shutterbug.  How’s your night going so far?”

“Pretty fun!  The library had so many kids coming in – I gave out so much candy!  And dinner was good – the girls say hi.  What about you, baby?”  You walk around Tim’s desk and lean down to place a sweet kiss to his lips before massaging his weary shoulders.

Tim sighs, “As good as can be expected for this godforsaken holiday.  I’ve been to the hospital for interviews twice, and now I’m processing a mountain of misdemeanors.”

You ghost your lips behind Tim’s ear and smile when the little puff of air you blow makes him groan.  Planting chaste kisses to the back of his neck as you continue kneading the hard muscles of his back, you chirp mischievously, “I have something that could make your evening more fun, Detective.”

Tim leans back and spins his chair around to face you, smirking, “Oh yeah?  What’s that, Shutterbug?”

Chuckling, you reach into your purse and take out a headband with two springs coming out the top like antennae and hold it out to Tim.

“What’s this?”

You point to the tops of the springs: on one you’ve glued an empty packet of Trident gum, and to the other is affixed a small dog toy in the shape of a shoe that you had found at the dollar store.  Giggling, you place the headband over Tim’s head and tuck the ends behind his ears, “It’s your costume, Tim.  You’re a gumshoe.”

Tim groans and drops his face into his palm.  The resulting bounce of the little objects over his head makes you giggle even harder, “See?  You were already dressed up and you didn’t even know it.”  You wave you hand over Tim’s body.

Detective Rockford peeks through his fingers and when he sees your impish grin and how much joy your mischief is bringing you, he can’t help but grin himself, “Alright, gorgeous.  Where’s your costume, then?”

Delighted at how easily Tim’s given in to your silliness, you reach back into your purse and pull out your own headband – a red one with similar antennae to match his black, but at the end of each of your springs is a little plastic fish, swaying and jiggling erratically as you slip the band onto you head and jovially announce, “A red herring for my dashing gumshoe to chase!"

Tim lets out a low gruff of a laugh, one that crinkles the eyes that are already always soft for you, his smile as relaxed as his shoulders now are, “Where’s the rest of your costume?  Shouldn’t you be wearing red?”  He teasingly does the same waving motion you did to him earlier over your closed trench coat jacket.

If possible, your smile gets even wider when you reply, “I am!  You want me to show you?”

“Sure, baby.”  To Tim’s surprise, instead of opening your jacket, you coyly saunter over to his office door, closing then locking it.  On your way back to him, you start to undo the knot of your jacket belt, letting the lapels of your jacket fall open to reveal the sexist red lace lingerie set Tim’s ever seen in his life.  As you slide between Tim and his desk, perching gingerly on the edge, you snicker at your boyfriend’s drooling expression. 

“Trick or Treat, Detective Rockford?” you flirt, fingers hooked under the warm leather straps of Tim’s gun holster, lightly tugging to beckon him closer.  He obeys.

Hypnotized, Tim slowly brushes his fingers over the frill of the delicate fabric that lays tantalizingly over your delicious curves – leaving goosebumps on your supple skin everywhere his hands graze, and even places they don’t.  He unwittingly licks his lips at your pert nipples, already at attention and tenting the crimson red floral lace that hug your tits so prettily – Tim can’t help himself; leaning forward in his chair, he takes one in his mouth.

The soft gasp that you let escape exhales to a throaty groan as you feel Tim’s hands travel down your body; they come to a momentary rest at your hips - tugging teasingly at the ruffled skirt of the garter belt before trailing down the straps.  As he rubs the bands that loop around your mid thighs between his thick fingers, Tim chuckles into your chest, “Is that what you wore at the library, baby?”

You giggle uncontrollably and shake your head, little fish above your head dancing wildly on their springs as you push back a little to show Tim how you’re still wearing your modest, library appropriate red dress, but that it’s been unbuttoned and left open under your trench coat.  Eyebrow cocked in amusement, Tim hooks his fingers into and pulls down the cups of your bra before diving back in, and you think you hear him mumble something like Dirty girl, through his mouthful of your breasts.

“You never answered my question – trick or treat, Detective Rockford?”

With some reluctance, Tim parts from the softness of your tits to lean back in his chair, ogling your near naked form shamelessly while he pretends to contemplate his response.  Finally, he scootches his chair forward and cups one of his powerful hands beneath your boobs and presses so that you lean back – his other pries open your legs so you can accommodate the expansive width of his shoulders.

“I think you already chose ‘treat’ for me, Shutterbug.”

Your girlish squeal as Tim lays a sweet kiss to your clit through the thin fabric of your panties is louder than you’d like and you quickly cover your mouth with a hand in order to muffle it.  As Detective Rockford open mouth kisses your panty clad cunt, your eyes roll to the back of your head and the flatness of your palm becomes insufficient to contain your escalating moans – when Tim pulls the gusset of your underwear to the side, the snap of cool air hitting the wetness of your exposed core pulls a cry from your throat that can only be stifled by biting down on the heel of your thumb.

The sting from your teeth causes you to buck into Tim’s face and from that moment forth, there’s no holding back his animalistic lust.  Tim licks fat stripe after fat stripe through your folds to the tip of your hardened nub – every new path made by his tongue dug deep and true.  Your pooled arousal is collected and swirled over your sweetest dips and waves, then sucked and savoured in his mouth like his favourite whiskey.  It might actually be.  Tim’s own groans and growls at the sweetness of your taste vibrate right into your cunt and straight to the tightening band beneath your belly.

Eyes taking in the lascivious sight above him, Tim’s dick strains painfully in his pants: his pretty girl is laid near bare and gorgeous, tits bouncing while her face screws up in pleasure, mouth stuffed with her own fist. You're a true heaven that contrasts starkly to the hell of mundane paperwork that Tim thought would make up the bulk of his Halloween shift, still sitting next to you on the very same desk you’re currently writhing on.

With a feral grunt, Tim tongue fucks your slit while his nose and the elastic hem of your pulled back panties work your slippery clit in tandem.  He builds and builds until he knows you can’t take anymore, then pushes you over the edge with the tenor of his baritone command to come.

You crest with a wild cry that’s barely contained by your now aching and wet hand, drool running down your wrist as your body shudders with wave after wave of indescribable pleasure.   

Only when he feels your lithe body settle does Tim rise to his feet and undo his belt.  Lips and facial scruff still shiny with your release, he grins a wolfish grin, “Now it’s time for 'trick', gorgeous.”

Kissing you roughly, Tim busies himself with pulling out his leaking cock as you return his affections just as fiercely, spurned on by the taste of you in your own mouth.  He pulls back to clean his face with the back of his arm, and you whimper when you unsuccessfully chase after his lips.

“No need to be greedy, Shutterbug. Your Detective is going to fuck you now,” smirks Tim, notching himself at your entrance and sliding in with ease.

The heft of him still leaves you breathless every time.  When you look up at Tim, you find his face relaxed in a look of reverence that tells you he feels the same about the welcome of your warm walls.

“Going to fuck you hard and fast, 'kay baby?  Don’t have much time.  Can’t have anyone coming in and seeing my pretty girl split on my cock” Tim’s mouth slots over yours and he drinks in your moans at his dirty promise.  One of Tim’s meaty hands grips your hip so hard you know he’ll leave a bruising imprint of his desire for you to find tomorrow, the other grabs your lacy garter belt like a cowboy would the reins of his horse; as he starts to ride you, every punishing drive of Tim’s cock leaves you marveling that the delicate fabric doesn’t rip to shreds under his efforts.

“Fuck me, Detective,” you breath, nipping and sucking along Tim’s strong jaw to behind his earlobe where he’s most sensitive.  Sticking out your tongue to lick down the column of Tim’s throat, your mouth jolts against Tim’s bobbing Adam’s apple as he continues to thrust into you like a man possessed.  The scrape of your teeth and the soothing lave of you tongue over the responsive skin at the base of his neck, cause Tim to groan, low and throaty.  When your fingers thread through his soft curls and yank down so to expose more of his neck to your sinful mouth, he retaliates by reaching for your breasts, roughly kneading and worshiping before directing his attention to your nipples.

Without letting up on your sopping hole, Tim rolls and pinches, pulls and tweaks your pert peaks, all while gritting out dirty words of praise:

Pretty thing came to a police precinct tonight to get fucked, didn’t she?

So fucking hot in your little outfit, gorgeous just for me.

This pussy's made my whole fucking night, baby.

You can only hope that your near pornographic wails are adequately buffered by the thickness of Tim’s chest, as you bury your face against the wall of him.  The combination of your tight and slick cunt and the added friction of your panties, now soaked with your cream and pressed taut against his cock, has Tim on the expressway; when his pace starts to grow frantic, he leaves your perfect tits to press his thumb down on your clit.

“Oh fuck, Tim!  Fuck, I’m going to c-” Tim’s solid and comforting circles on your crying nub are enough to send you over the edge again.  Your heaving breaths against his neck and the fluttering of your walls as they clamp down on his length send Tim barreling to join you soon after.

Hands still in Tim’s hair, you card through his dampened waves as the two of you rest forehead-to-forehead, exchanging tender butterfly kisses and soft words of devotion during the comedown from your twin highs.

Knock, knock.

“Rockford.”  It’s Arnie.

Tim slips out of you and tucks himself back in before walking to his door, waiting with his hand on the handle to make sure you’ve had time to right and button up your dress before he opens the door to see what his partner wants.

“Rockford, do you have that repor- What’s that?” Detective Arnold Calloway’s eyes widen and he points to the still bobbling springs on the headband that Tim never took off his head.

Tim has no words.

Your hand flies to your mouth and you barely contain the hysterical giggle that threatens to escape.  Arnie looks past Tim right at you, and his face breaks out in the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen.  His eyes dance with mirth and you can’t help but blurt out the answer to his unspoken question, “He’s a gumshoe!!!”  The two of you shriek in laughter as Tim stands stiffly, eyes closed in disbelief, willing himself to disappear. 

You bound up to the door and loop one arm around Tim’s waist, the other you arch to point to your own headband, beaming, “I’m the red herring in his case!”

Arnie nearly drops the files in his arms to hold his stomach as he cackles, “Perfect costumes!  Never thought I’d see the day when Rockford dressed up for Halloween!  Forget the report – I need a picture.”

“No pictures,” Tim practically bellows as he storms back to his desk in a huff, headband adornments swinging wildly.

Winking at Detective Calloway, you whisper, “I’ll get a picture,” before you walk back into Tim’s office and settle in on the couch.  Tucking your legs under your bum, you pull out the book you checked out of the library earlier before looking up to your sweet boyfriend who's gone back to typing his reports as if he wasn't just ravaging you on that same desk minutes earlier, “Love you, Detective Rockford.”

Tim glances up at the sweet angel who willingly keeps him company on this horrid night and makes it decidedly less horrid; giving you a soft smile, he winks, “Love you more, Shutterbug.”

The Monday following Halloween, you’re putting the finishing touches on dinner when Tim comes home, carrying a large box that he deposits on the kitchen counter with a look of pride and amusement.

“What’s this?” you ask with curiosity, giving Tim a deep welcome home kiss before opening the package to discover a case of wine.

To your gleeful howl of laughter, Tim tells you that he won the precinct Halloween costume contest this year. 

You’re looking through the box, picking up the bottles and reading the labels.  Malbec.  Gamay. Beaujolais.  Barbarossa.  You take out a bottle of Nebbiolo that you think might work with dinner and exclaim in delight, “Congratulations, Detective!  This is a great prize!”

Tim sweeps you into his arms and presses his lips to your pretty pout for a searing kiss, murmuring, “I got a better one right here.”

Visual aids for this instalment:

[something-tofightfor]

To: You, From: Santa (1)

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Word Count: 8,952

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

Rating: M, just for language though.

Author's Note:

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

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

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

Thanks for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Tim Rockford. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I definitely do.

[ozarkthedog]

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.

[absurdthirst]

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

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|| 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.