Tim Rockford - Tumblr Posts

In honor of Pedro’s newest (and perhaps greatest) role as Tim Rockford from the Merge Mansion mobile game. What a time to be alive.

STOP THERE’S ALREADY A TIM ROCKFORD PLAYLIST ON SPOTIFY 😭

Guys Merge Mansion commented on my Tim Rockford fanart. This is it. I’ve made it to the big leagues.

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 younwirh 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.

You know I need me some Connie forehead kisses, so Detective Tim Rockford and “Wait! Don’t leave.”

I mean, there’s so many options so I’m tossin’ that one up there, but I’m also gonna say “Connie’s Choice”! You hit a massive milestone so you should getta celebrate however you see fit, darlin’.

Detective Tim Rockford and “____” <- You fill in the prompt.

*points to my forehead*

Right here! When you’re ready. No pressure. 😁😘🥰

My darling Dax 🧡 You get ALL the forehead kisses, but unfortunately also a very sad microfic.

Tim Rockford. 2,332 words. "Wait! Please don't leave!" Co-written with @absurdthirst Warnings: Explicit descriptions of crime scene, death, murder, domestic dispute (verbal), angst

The rain beats against the windshield, his knuckles tight against the steering wheel as the headlights slice through the inky black of the night. Tim doesn’t pay attention, he can’t. The blare of the police radio cuts through the silence in the car, his thoughts racing in circles as he drives as if he’s on autopilot.

Sharp winds whip around his car outside, an annoyance of white noise in the background that only makes his blood pressure rise when it shakes his little car. He knows the address he’s driving to. He knows it by heart.

******

“I just wish you would put me first once.” You express as he jams the loose items that are scattered across the dresser into his pockets. Two dollars and thirty-seven cents in change, a pocket knife, a losing scratch off ticket, a receipt from Jimmy’s Hot Dogs, a random mint, the ever present cigarette lighter and his wallet. The badge is tucked into his jacket, along with his car keys, hanging on the coat tree near the front door.

“I got a call.” He huffs, annoyed by the guilt that is settling on his shoulders. “You know the drill.”

“Can you even tell me the last time you ate dinner at home?” The last thing you want is to be cruel to him but you’re trying to make a point. Your husband of seven years and partner of ten has been slipping further and further from your fingers with every passing day and you’re at your wits end with how to get it to stop.

Your name is like a sigh of frustration and he pauses, turning tired eyes on you. He’s tired of the same arguments over and over again. “I’ll be back.” He tells you, turning and walking towards the door.

“Tim, wait!” The anguish that cracks your voice comes with tears — guilty, burning ones that you were trying not to let free. “Please don’t go.”

His resolve cracks and he turns, his hand on the door knob. “Babe, I have to go.” He doesn’t— not really. It’s not his case, but he feels like it’s connected to that fucking mystery that has taken over his life. As soon as he can solve it, he will fix this gully between the two of you. “I’ll be back in a few hours and we can talk, okay?” You don’t answer, but he takes that as your agreement. “I love you.”

“Be safe.” Unable to even bring yourself to say that you love him back — because you do, you absolutely fucking do but right now it feels like he’s just saying the words to placate you — you turn away and slip back into the kitchen. Tim is never home and you work a 9-5, so the chores pile up relentlessly. Maybe you’ll put dishes in the dishwasher and clothes in the dryer and go to bed early.

Walking out the door feels like he is fighting against himself, but the urge to close this case, to finish things off is too great to ignore. He pushes back the sight of your hurt face out of his mind and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Walking towards his car, he’s not Tim, your husband, he’s changed into Detective Rockford.

******

“Detective Rockford?” The primary on the case is already there, and he wasn’t expecting back up. But the seasoned detective that he knows well is a welcome sight, even if Rockford doesn’t quite look himself.

“Hey Jimmy.” Tim gives a wan smile before looking towards the tape. “What do we got?”

The young detective has worked hard for his place on the force and seen plenty, but this one is a lot even for him. “Female. Forties. Stabbed to death in her own living room. Pretty gruesome stuff, honestly, and you know these things don’t usually get to me.”

Tim swallows, closing his eyes and swaying where he stands. “Do—” he chokes out and his voice falters. “Do we have the guy?” He manages after a moment, trying not to cry right there.

“We have tire tracks, finger prints, and plenty of detritus under the vic’s fingernails. She fought hard.” Jimmy shuffles, not used to seeing his mentor this emotional. “Some of the wounds look defensive. And the weapon was left at the scene.”

His lip trembles and he inhales sharply. “Are you— are you sure it’s the homeowner?” He asks shakily, praying for a miracle.

“ID in her purse matches.” The younger man confirms. “Seems like she had barely gotten home. Might’ve been a robbery gone bad, but we need to take a more thorough look before that call gets made.”

Tim shakes his head, body trembling and he screams out your name, rushing towards the house. “Baby! Baby, come out!” He shouts, ducking under the tape and bolting through the door. “Sweetheart? Baby? Answer me!”

“Detective Rockford!” Jimmy swirls to run after him, not understanding what’s caused such a monumental break in his colleague’s behavior. Obviously he knows the victim, otherwise it makes even less sense.

Tim can’t stop, doesn’t even hear Detective Fallon as he rushes into the house and over to the body that is draped in a white sheet, the thick material slowly being soaked red with blood. Choking as he drops to his knees, he reaches up to draw the sheet back.

“Ma’am, you really can’t be—” Detective Fallon’s voice is part of a sea of white noise, unheard and unnoticed by Tim as he reaches for the corner of the sheet he absolutely shouldn’t be touching. “Ma’am, this is an active crime scene!”

But you don’t hear him, blasting past the young detective to stumble into your own living room, where the figure of your sister is crumpled in the middle of the carpet and covered in a sheet. “Get away from her!” Is all you can think to say, burning tears choking anything but fear and anguish out of existence.

Your voice makes him freeze, head whipping up to see you and his eyes widen. Choking out your name, he then whispers— “Is it— are you?”

“Tim?” He’s the last person you ever expected to see again, let alone in this house, but suddenly you’re actually glad for it. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but you’re shaking with fear for the reality of who is under that sheet.

You are alive. His eyes dart back to the sheet and he looks back at you with a small frown. “You’re here.” He breathes out, immediately understanding. Since the divorce, you had lived with your sister. He stands and moves over towards you. “Baby.” He knows this will hurt you and he wants to take away the pain if he can.

“Is that…” You don’t have to finish the question. The boot poking out from under the sheet is the pair she borrowed from you, and the blood spattered purse with an evidence tag next to it is so familiar you would know it in your sleep. “She accidentally grabbed my purse when she left for work this morning.” You choke out the explanation but lurch forward when your knees buckle and your heart squeezes up into your throat. “Was it—were they—was it supposed to be me?”

“I don’t know.” You are about to break, he’s witnessed enough families to know. Stepping closer, he strokes your arm and looks into your beautiful, devastated eyes. “I don’t know baby, but I’m going to find them. I’m going to find who did this.” He promises.

******

The fluorescent lights of the station are harsh and the coffee in your hand is burnt, but it's better than being in your house. At this point you doubt you can ever go back there again and you're definitely trying to figure out where you're going to go or what you're going to do once you leave the station.

Tim comes back with a bottle of water for you, offering it to you when he walks up, and exchanges it for the coffee that you aren’t really interested in. “Preliminaries look like it was a mugging/burglary gone wrong.” Tim tells you quietly, aware that he probably shouldn’t say anything about this, period, but this is your sister. And you used to be his wife. “Camera footage from the neighbors show that the suspect approached her when she opened the door.”

"I don't–" Your head bobs in thanks when he takes the coffee from your hands and replaces it with the water bottle, though you still don't do anything but hold it. For your whole life you were always the person to be able to take charge and provide comfort in a crisis. Now that the crisis is your own, you're drawing a blank. "Will they let me go back? For–for clothes and stuff, I mean? I need to find a hotel..."

Tim grimaces. “It’s….still a crime scene.” He tells you reluctantly. “No one goes in right now.” He bites his lip, knowing that the DA would be pissed, but he would log a record of it in the case file. “If you want to make a list, I could get you some things.” He wants to offer to let you stay with him, in the old house you used to share, but that might be too much for you.

"No, I...I don't want you to get in trouble for me." There are strict rules for crime scenes. You were a cop's girlfriend and then wife for long enough to know that. "I can just get some stuff from Target tomorrow. Temporary stuff..."

“I can.” He offers, squatting down to look at you. “Do you have a friend…a boyfriend, where you can stay with them?” He asks, even if the idea makes him sick. He lost you, he has no right to be upset if you’ve moved on. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

"No." For as long as you and Tim were together, he knows you never really had an extensive circle of people close to you. You're an introvert and most of your friends were either his coworkers or the spouses of those coworkers. The friends you made in college have all gone their separate ways by now, and you had had your best friend in your sister. "No it's just Liz and me..." It was just the two of you, anyway.

Tim sighs softly and his brow furrows in concern. “You can— you don’t have to— but, you can stay with me.” He offers, unsure of how you would take his offer. You had told him during the divorce that you couldn’t wait to be done so you would never have to see him again, and circumstance had changed that. He still hasn’t told you he hadn’t had to be at that crime scene. He had just memorized your address and when it came over the radio, his heart had dropped.

"Wouldn't you get in trouble?" That has to be a conflict of interest or something, but the idea of being safe tonight has you shaking all over again when you suddenly jolt at the memory of why you even need safety in the first place.

“No.” Tim shakes his head. “You aren’t a suspect, never were. And the captain knows who you are.” He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around you, keep you safe, but he doesn’t want to overstep. “Or I can get you a hotel. Wherever you want.”

For maybe the first time since you walked into your house to see him standing there, you actually look up a little and meet Tim's eyes. "I don't think I should be alone, either," you admit quietly.

His heart breaks at the loss in your eyes, the sense that you are adrift and unsure of your course. He nods. “Then you don’t have to be alone, sweetheart.”

"There's not...not anyone at home who would be upset?" You have no business being upset if there is – after all you're the one who filed for divorce, not him – but you still stop your hand for reaching for him when it's halfway out.

He doesn’t miss the gesture and reaches out to take your hand. “No.” He promises. “Just a really lazy cat named Twix.” He licks his lips, heart pounding at the touch of your skin against his and he pushes those feelings down. He just means to comfort you. “No one since you left. Your blanket is still on the couch.”

“I—” There's no reason to refuse, and you're a little too shell-shocked at the moment to know whether or not you could actually manage all the logistics of a hotel on your own. Besides – again – the idea of being alone doesn't sit well with you. "Thank you." you manage finally, gripping his hand tightly in gratitude.

“You’re welcomed.” He knows he should get you home, his home, and he squeezes your one last time before letting it go. “Let me go finish up for the night, and we’ll get you settled.”

"Wait." Your hand tightens instinctively, holding him beside you. "Please don't leave?" Even in a room full of bustling people doing their jobs, without Tim beside you, you feel completely alone. And even though you know he has to do his job, you just – you need that comfort for a few minutes more.

It’s the same words that have haunted him for years, the ones you had uttered one desperate night that he had disregarded, signaling the end of your relationship. He regretted that night in the middle of the lonely nights that followed, wishing that he could somehow go back, do things different. He can’t change the past, but he can show you the compassion you need. Shifting to his knees in front of you, Tim looks up at you, his eyes wider than normal as he gives you his promise. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

______

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Tim, on duty. Off duty. 🖤