#Tim Rockford x ofc

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC 'Roan'

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You meet Tim Rockford in the true crime section of the library of all places.

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language, reference of self-harming + assault, meet cute, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford

Author Note: Elements of X-Men and Sherlock/Elementary mashed together because my brain said so. I've got more of these two (plus another Pedro Boy *cough* Thief *cough*) outlined if y'all are interested in seeing more of this world. It was a lot of fun attempting this new guy 😊

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Part 2

The Session

You cross your legs, trying to get comfortable, immediately grimacing when the plush leather couch squeaks as a result. Your psychologist’s office smells overwhelmingly of lavender from the burning candle on her desk. Dr. Odair insists the smell has a calming effect to combat anxiety, but you remain unconvinced. You’re unconvinced about a lot of the advice these mandatory sessions offer, actually.

“How’s your search going?” Dr. Odair asks, pen poised above a fresh sheet of paper. “Have you connected with anyone?”

According to the internet, Dr. Charlotte Odair is one of the leading experts on empaths, telepaths, and other similar mind-gifts in the world. She’s also renowned for helping discharged military personnel integrate back into civilian society which meant you didn’t have much of a choice seeing anybody else.

Most people’s emotions are a finicky and erratic mess, shifting and fluctuating depending on the countless number of influences stemming from one’s surroundings. Some feelings are easy to identify at once, others are too obscure or complex to be named. The latter are the ones which overwhelm you. The ones which bury beneath your skin, an itch you can’t scratch no matter how harshly your nails dig into your arms, deeper and deeper until they’re stained red. 

Dr. Odair’s emotions resemble crystalline waters, transparent and blatant. There’s no second-guessing with her, no hidden tricks. She’s been trained, masterfully so, to carefully bind her feelings to her will.

“Yeah, it’s been going great,” you answer, then nod down at your feet where a small, golden brown dog lies with his chin on his paws. “Connected with Banjo here over the weekend. We’re a total match for each other.”

She fixes you with a look over the thick rims of her glasses. “Is that so?”

Compared to humans, animals have a much smaller range of emotions. They broadcast exactly what they want like a neon sign, whether that be food, shelter, or a good petting. And if their desires are met, the hum of their contentment is a far more pleasant tune than most songs on the radio nowadays.

You’d actually been looking to get a cat when you went to the pet shelter, dismissing dogs as too needy and energetic for your liking, but fate had other plans. One look at the little mutt, with his tangled fur and deep, froggy bark, and you were signing the adoption paperwork within minutes. And still, even after that unexpected love at first sight moment, Banjo continues to surprise you with how easily he adapts to your routine, standing by your side like he always belonged there.

You tell Dr. Odair as much, but there’s no response even though you know she’s absorbing every word out of your mouth, turning them over in her head, analyzing each syllable. Her mood remains almost frustratingly steady, giving no indication as to what she’s thinking. That look remains though, blue eyes narrowing even further. 

“You never said my match had to be another human.” Your hands tighten around Banjo’s leash, hoping she doesn’t catch the defensive edge your voice has taken. 

Her pen starts to scribble a note across the paper, too similar to a doctor’s chicken scratch for you to read upside down. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing towards the flickering candle. Damn it. 

“Miss Roan,” Dr. Odair begins, and you taste blood on your tongue, “I know it’s annoying, being forced to attend these sessions every week, but the fact of the matter is, empaths aren’t meant to live alone. Especially not after what you’ve endured. Finding someone to match with is what your empathy needs to finally settle down.”

She makes it sound so easy, like the rest of the world doesn’t have any issues with mind-gifts and the lack of privacy that comes with them. Like there isn’t a set of laws specifically written for people who can read thoughts with a single touch or predict the future through dreams because their gifts aren’t as flashy, as visible, and thus in the eyes of the government that makes them the scariest threat of all.

On the battlefield things were different. The laws of polite society didn’t apply, not out there amongst the pools of blood and ceaseless gunfire. Your mind-gift was a tool to take advantage of, capable of numbing pain away faster than drugs and boosting the troop’s morale to a near fever-pitch. There was no time to stop and assess the damage you were self-inflicting unintentionally by overworking your empathy. Nobody who cared enough about you as a person to recognize the warning signs—not even your own self.

It was a miracle, as your commanding captain would later put it, when enemy forces staged a midnight raid on the camp and a man pinned you to the floor, radiating nothing but vulgar lust, that your lapse of control only resulted in putting every hostile within a mile radius to sleep instead of killing them instantly. 

A miracle for the unit maybe, but for you it marked the abrupt conclusion of your military career. Loss of control of one’s gifts stipulated their immediate release from serving, even if in your case it saved lives. Your discharge papers were officially signed and filed by the higher-ups before you regained consciousness three days later with a pounding headache from hell. Your mind-gift, once seen as a helpful aid to win battles, was now a time bomb dumped into the hands of Dr. Odair to deactivate. 

And what is her brilliant solution? Matching. Or, as it used to be called back in the olden days when gifts were thought to be divinely bestowed instead of being entirely unpredictable mutations in one’s genetic code, soulbonding. A powerful connection forged between two individuals, locking their gifts together and intertwining their lives until death splits them apart. 

Movies and fairytales will describe matching as the ultimate manifestation of true love, but love’s got nothing to do with it. Matching is a direct result of a human’s innate instinct to survive. It most commonly occurs when one or both members of the potential pairing possess dangerous gifts likely to cause harm to themselves. Supposedly, the bond is instantaneous once the two meet, causing their gifts to settle down, easier to control. Balancing each other out as if they were two halves of the same whole.

Sounds wonderful. In theory, at least. The biggest problem with matching is it can’t be done with just any random person. It can’t be forced either, not even between established couples. The bond happens solely on the choice of the gifts, not the will of the people involved. The hows and whys and other intricate details of the fateful decision-making process remain a mystery, one perhaps beyond mankind’s ability to ever solve, but regardless, it’s hard to argue against the overwhelmingly positive end results. To date, every recorded pair has admitted their match stabilized their gifts and saved their lives from an early death.

So until your mind-gift figures out who it wants, all you can do is walk the streets of Fox Leap, searching for just the right stranger in a sea of wrong strangers, empathy buzzing like a live wire pressed against your brain with each disappointing encounter.

“I am looking.” You’re being honest, despite what the dropping of your eyes to the floor might suggest. It’s too difficult to meet her gaze, afraid of the pity you might find shining through her carefully maintained facade. “I’m just not sure they want to be found.”

The Meeting

You meet Tim Rockford in the true crime section of the library of all places.

Fox Leap Central Library has essentially become your second home ever since you sought shelter from the rain one miserably gray afternoon two weeks after moving there. It’s one of the few places in the city that doesn’t make you feel like ants are crawling along your spinal cord, designed with dozens of cozy spaces to curl up with a good book and cup of coffee and zone out for a couple of blissful hours.

Your eyes are drifting over the colorful covers of fantasy books offering to transport you to alternate universes full of mythical beasts when you feel it. A flash of anger, stronger and more intense than anything you’ve ever felt, illuminating your mind-gift identical to a streak of lightning tearing through the darkness of night.

The emotion fades just as fast as it made itself known, but your empathy bays like a bloodhound picking up a scent trail, urging you to follow it to the source. Your fingers twitch at your side. Not with the desire to scratch, you realize with surprise, but to soothe. You haven’t felt this kind of compulsion since you’d been on the frontlines, taking away the pain from bullet-stricken soldiers, but that had been your purpose back then, a duty expected to fulfill. 

This…This is a purely selfish want.

You bite your lip, glance down at Banjo, tail wagging as if to say what are we waiting for?, and then surrender to the temptation.

Three aisles down stands the library’s only other occupant in sight: a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white shirt and tan trench coat with dark, unkempt hair like he’s been running his fingers through it lately. He’s rubbing at his stubbled jawline, brown eyes glaring beneath furrowed brows at a book on serial killers. 

He’s the perfect example of tall, dark and handsome but it’s not his looks that has your pulse quickening, a flutter of something dangerously akin to hope beginning to stir. If Dr. Odair’s emotions are a crystalline pool, then this man’s are an ocean in the midst of a storm. Turbulent on the surface, rough and irritable, concealing unexpectedly mesmerizing depths luring your mind-gift to dive deeper and deeper–

“Psychic or empath?” the man asks without looking away from the shelf, a slight raspiness to his voice that has your stomach flip-flopping before full awareness of his question even registers.

Startled back into your own head, you can only manage an eloquent, “Huh?”

He finally turns, piercing you with his gaze, intense yet not unkind. The storm afflicting his temperament lessens some, followed by a series of feather-light curious touches along the edges of your mind-gift.

You suck in a breath, expecting the stinging bolt of displeasure that usually follows when someone interacts with your empathy. Whether they’re being delicate or not, it’s never fun to have the most sensitive part of yourself poked and prodded and toyed with. But there are no symptoms of a headache in the seconds that follow. Only a strange sort of thrill at the connection. A sense of rightness.

And there’s that damn fluttering again…

Once again, you find yourself caught off-guard, unsure how the roles have swapped so quickly from you seeking to comfort a stranger to now you being comforted by him.

“Empath,” he says after another beat, answering his own question with a confidence that’s neither tentative nor arrogant. It sounds like a regular fact of life. The sky is blue, the sun is hot, and you’re an empath. 

“Y-yeah, that’s right.” You nod your head, hands trembling where they are clutching Banjo’s leash. God, you don’t understand what’s wrong with you, why his stare has such a strong effect on your galloping heartbeat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

The man looks down at Banjo then, taking in his snaggletoothed grin and perked ears with a soft smile of his own. “Cocker, poodle, schnauzer—interesting ancestry. I bet you have quite the story to tell.”

How did he–? You shake your head, getting your thoughts in some semblance of an order now that you’re no longer the sole focus of his attention. “This is Banjo. I adopted him from the shelter last weekend. We’re still getting to know each other.”

“Oh, good,” his soft grin widens, revealing a dimple in the side of his cheek. “It won’t take long to catch up then. How do you feel about takeout?”

You blink, frowning because huh? Is he just asking your opinion or is he asking something…more? It’s been so long since you’ve been asked on a date, you’re not even sure what the common etiquette is anymore. Isn’t everything arranged online nowadays? Swiping left or right and all that app rubbish?

“My schedule is unpredictable which leaves little time for cooking or grocery shopping, so at least three days a week I order takeout,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to your increasing confusion. “I also have frequent bouts of chronic insomnia, sometimes I’m up for days without any sleep.”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

The question comes out sounding ruder than it had in your head, but if he’s offended by it the man shows no outward sign. “I figured if I were in your shoes, I’d want to know upfront the annoying traits of who I’ve matched with.”

“Who I’ve–?” you choke on the words, eyes widening.

Oh, you think faintly, a strange clarity sweeping over you, at last connecting the dots that seem so incredibly obvious now. What better reprieve for an overwhelmed mind-gift than an underwater safe haven muffling the chaos of the city. It’s you.

The Offer

“Rockford,” the man—your match—says, extending a hand to shake, warm and calloused. “Tim Rockford.”

You introduce yourself, probably looking a bit unhinged with how wide you’re grinning but you can’t help it. You finally found your match. The urge to run to Dr. Odair’s office and jump on her sofa, screaming he’s actually fucking real! at the top of your lungs is near irresistible.  

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Rockford says. “I had a feeling our paths would cross soon once I settled into my new place. An apartment a couple blocks from here. Three bedrooms. One for me, one for my office, and the other is yours if you’re interested.”

Your eyebrows lift incredulously. “Seriously?”

“A good roommate is hard to find these days,” Rockford responds easily, shrugging. “Who better to live with than my match?”

You think about sharing a space with someone else. Someone who's human that you can have a two-way conversation with over meals, who doesn’t react to your mind-gift with repulsion or contempt. He makes a good point; good roommates are hard to find. A yes sits on the tip of your tongue, held back by a little voice in the back of your head insisting it’s too good to be true. He’ll grow tired of you eventually. Get sick of you dipping in and out of his head like a parasite. You should say no. There’s too much of a high potential you’ll wind up hurt and alone again. It’s too risky.

But, another voice chimes in, deep down beside the fragile hope, if it worked out for all the other matched pairs, then aren’t the odds in your favor? 

“You barely know me,” is what ends up coming out of your mouth, a weak extending of a shovel for him to dig himself out of his offer.

He hums a thoughtful note, head tilting to one side, and your shoulders start to instinctively tense up in preparation of rapid backpedaling. A sudden wave washes over your mind-gift, though, steady reassurance drowning your budding fears.

“I know you’ve recently been discharged from the military,” he begins calmly, that same matter-of-fact tone from before. “I know you’re new to the city, not by personal choice but because you must attend mandatory sessions with a psychologist who resides here and has an excellent reputation with patients sharing your similar background. You’ve begun dreading the appointments—possibly because of trust issues, more likely because until you meet your match there’s very little she can do for your empathy and that frustrates you. And I know you adopted Banjo hoping he would pass as a substitute for me, but while he’s been helpful providing companionship, your mind-gift has continued causing you pain up until our meeting.” A pause for a quiet breath. “I think we have quite a solid foundation already, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Roan?”

“I–you–what?” You blink dumbly at him, brain function short-circuiting. Seriously, what? “How on earth…?”

“We all have our gifts."

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t elaborate further, meeting your quizzical stare evenly, still emanating steady reassurance, that makes it surprisingly easy for you to make a decision. You want to know this man. Not just his likes and dislikes, no, you want to know his happiness, his hurt, all the miserable shades of his sadness and every sharp pang of his rage. You want to look at him the way he looks at you: confident and steadfast. Unique to him in all the world.

If the stories are true and he’s going to be a part of your life for a long, long time, then you have the distinct feeling you’re going to need every one of those precious seconds to understand the infinite depths of Tim Rockford.

So, you nod your head. “Okay,” you tell him, lips curling at the corners into another wide grin when you detect how pleased he is with your agreement. “Let’s give it a try.”

“Meet me there tomorrow afternoon,” he says, grabbing the book he’d been burning holes into earlier with his glare. “445D Albatross Lane. Bright yellow door, can’t miss it.”

Then, turning on his heel in one fluid movement, he heads for the front desk, leaving you to process how a single meeting has just shifted your entire world on its axis.

[prolix-yuy]

Episode 1: Old Habits & New Beginnings

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader "Snaps", Tim Rockford x OFC "Eden"

Summary: Rockford’s mask slips for a moment with Eden. Dieter and Snaps get to know each other.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), grinding, mutual masturbation.

Notes: Welcome to the first episode of Midnight Alley! The response to Simulated was so overwhelming I had to continue their story. This series is going to have some fun playing with form and storytelling both in and out of the show. I hope you all enjoy it!

For anyone who missed Simulated and needs a quick refresher, Dieter's character in Midnight Alley is Tim Rockford, and our reader character Snaps will be playing Eden, Tim's love interest. Lots more will come out in further episodes, but until then enjoy the fun babes!

Cross-posted on AO3

Midnight Alley Series Masterlist

A darkened room, moonlight filtering in through the blinds. The house breathes softly, expansively. No, not the house.

The couch shrouded in shadow moves. A hand reaches up, lined in silver light, and grabs the cushioned back. Knuckles prominent, but a feminine hand, twisting the upholstery in her fist. A car headlight rakes across the room, outlines of two bodies melting into the foreground before disappearing again. As the camera pans in, we hear whistling pants, and the rhythmic creak of the couch. A woman’s head is tossed back on the armrest, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. A hulking figure presses her into the cushions, the dim light highlighting her legs braced on either side. As our eyes adjust her features come into focus, camera tight on her upper body. Her patterned blouse is open, draped in crumpled wrinkles across her heaving chest. She’s familiar, but we can’t quite place her. Her body shakes, back arching as a quiet, wet noise tickles our ears off camera. 

“Tim…” she croons, a rasp at the end as a large, blunt-fingered hand slides up her stomach to wrap under her breast. A pop, followed by a thick sigh. 

“Good to know you’re not mistaking me for God anymore,” a voice rumbles, thick with lust as we watch her smile and reach for him. When he shuffles up to kiss her, Tim Rockford’s broad shoulders stretch white cotton across the screen. He deepens the kiss but pulls away quickly, making her chase his smirk. She nips at his chin, smiling when he curls his fingers around her jaw and thumbs her lower lip. 

“God’s never touched me in the ways you do,” she retorts, voice like velvet and smoke curling through our ears. The camera holds on Tim’s face, a rare gentle smile carved in the darkness. We can’t recall the last time his cheeks weren’t cut with frown lines, the permanent wrinkle between his brows miraculously smoothed. 

“I’m grateful you let me into your garden of Eden,” he says, tracing her figure below him. She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. Cupping his cheeks, his eyes flutter. We sit up, pay attention now. There’s something different about this one. Rockford always treats his women well, leaves them sated and glowing, but rarely gains more than a modicum of weight lifted. This is something new, something special.

“Pretty sure what you were just doing would get you kicked out of Paradise,” she shoots back, earning a huff from his parted lips. He shakes his head, a glint in his eye as he shifts back down her body.

“Good thing I’m not a God-fearing man,” he says, one expansive palm lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder. He dips down, keeping eye contact as her thigh obscures his scruff-dusted jaw, when…

“Cut!” Adam calls, cameras whirring to a stop with a cacophony of shuffling shoes. Dieter sits back on his heels, rolling his shoulders as you stretch out your bent knees on either side of his hips.

“I still think he should have a wet face when he comes up for air,” Dieter says with an edge of petulance. It makes you smirk, turning your face into the couch to hide it from the director, but Dieter catches it.

“I told you it’s too much Di,” Adam says back, the exasperated tone of a parent telling their kid one last time he can’t have a cookie before bed. But in this case the cookie is a stroke to Dieter’s ego.

“Just saying, Rockford would be all up in there. He’s getting soaked. He’s not kitten licking her to completion, man is covered from nose to chin,” Dieter reasons, the hollow shout of, “Knock it off, Bravo,” coming from the back of the room where the intimacy coordinator sits.

“I’m fine, Molly,” you call back, settling into the couch as you roll your ankles and flex your knee. You’ve got one more scene in this position then it’s a set change, but your butt has started going numb and your legs are stiff after the constant faux gyrating. 

“Here, let me Snaps,” Dieter offers, scooting back to the end of the couch and wrapping his warm palms around your calf. You warm at the endearment, the playful moniker a result of Dieter catching you taking photos of everything on set. From the makeup trailer to the sweet lady who hands you sandwiches, you documented everything on your first day back. It’s still surreal, knowing that your name isn’t going to be a one-time showing in the credits. The photos serve as proof when you’re lying in bed and worried that you’re in some bizarre longform dream. 

Dieter presses a thick thumb into the meat of your calf, searching for a moment before a sharp pain races into your pelvis. “Got this tip from All Hands, my hips kept aching after shoots and Joji taught me this acupressure spot.” 

The sensation is like liquid fire running up your leg, but something is releasing around your hip joint. Dieter holds pressure there for a little while longer before slowly releasing, the pain subsiding. His hands don’t leave though, remaining spread and soothing on your calf. His left creeps slowly past your knee, thumb stroking the delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“Good trick,” you say back as casually as you can muster. No one else seems to have noticed, and you’d like to keep it that way.

It had only been one date. You didn’t want to get your hopes too high. Didn’t want to touch him like he’s touching you in front of too many people in case he’s done with you in a week.

Definitely didn’t want to touch him like that night.

He’d picked you up from your apartment, and while you didn’t expect him to be wearing a gun holster or a ratty t-shirt-sweatpant combo, you were surprised at how nicely he cleaned up. A loud button-up that you’re sure is by Gucci or Versace or some other name brand, the top three buttons open to reveal his smoothly freckled chest. Devastatingly fitted dark jeans that made his already swoon-worthy thighs all the more gorgeous. Rings glittering on his fingers as he tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. The wild mane he’s known for, and that you covet, as tempting as ever. 

He was oddly demure when you came out to meet him. He gave you a hug, a whiskery kiss on the cheek, and ushered you into his car. It took two minutes of silent driving, your heart hammering in your chest, before he blurted out, “You look fucking amazing, I think my brain just vacated my body for a minute there. Am I driving?” The nervous giggles devolving into snorting laughter shook you both, fighting to regain composure at the stoplight.

It was easily the most fun date you’d ever been on. The place he took you was out of the way enough that paparazzi wouldn’t be hovering for photos, but not so intimate to assume it was a precursor to a quick fuck. The conversation hopped from past work to favorite hobbies and actor in-jokes. He complimented you on your theater training, you complimented him on his movie trivia knowledge. You shared tapas and white wine sangria, Dieter speaking to the servers and staff in Spanish with a warmth that hinted at a long-term friendship. You shared a caramel flan and he ghosted his fingers over your hand. 

It’s so different from what you thought Dieter might be like.

Sure, as he’d gotten older his escapades had faded several pages back into the tabloids, but he’d been wild for a time. A new scandal, a lover speaking out. Mostly things that inferred him being a wild partier, or an exhibitionist, or hedonistic to a point that made you blush. You half expected the date to be at a loud bar or a celebrity hot spot. The fact that it’s soft and quiet makes you reconsider how soft and quiet Dieter might be under all the bravado.

When he parked out front of your apartment you blurted out an invite up, which he accepted with a sly smile. The heat of Dieter’s presence tingled up your spine, but he only sat on your worn couch and accepted a glass of whiskey. So you talked. And talked. And laughed. And flirted. And you would have worried that he had a terrible time and was trying to let you down easy except for the fact that it was nearing one in the morning and he hadn’t left. 

When your anxieties bubbled to the surface and past your lips he pulled you into his lap and kissed you until your lungs burned and your head swam. “I wanted, for once, to take it slow. With you,” he admitted, sliding his hands up your spine with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t want you to think all I wanted was a one nighter.” When he cautiously looked up at you through his thick lashes your awe-struck smile smoothed the wrinkle between his brows.

Dieter didn’t fuck you that night. He deserved an Oscar for denying himself that, especially when you pressed so sweetly against his growing erection. Instead he guided your hips to roll against him, mouthing at your neck and telling you how good you felt, how pretty you were on top of him, how he couldn’t believe how sexy you are. A shuddering little orgasm flooded your brain, making you loose-limbed and heavy on his lap as he rocked you through it. The insistent lap of your tongue and scrape of your teeth against his mouth softened into indulgent kisses that dragged you closer to sleep. Dieter’s voice cut through the fog - “As much as I’d like to, I probably can’t carry you to bed with my shitty back,” - and he helped you stumble under the covers, leaving with a gentle kiss to your lips, another on your forehead.

That night would remain secret and special to only you. Something no one could syndicate. 

“Better?” Dieter asks, his attention narrowed in on your face. His fingers still dance inside your thigh.

“Much. Thanks Di,” you say breezily, settling into your starting position again. Dieter repositions, read to dive back in (figuratively). His coffee eyes catch yours again, a little anxiety of his own coloring his usually confident smile.

“Dinner at my place tonight?” he asks quietly, and he probably doesn’t know how vulnerable his voice sounds. It pulls a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, sounds great.”

Adam’s voice cuts into your conversation.

“Quiet on set!”

“Good thing I’m not a God-fearing man,” Rockford says, one expansive palm lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder. He dips down, keeping eye contact as her thigh obscures his scruff-dusted jaw, when…

The telephone rings.

They freeze, frustration etching deep into his face.

“I’m sorry, I have to…” he groans, untangling himself from her limbs. The camera cuts to the kitchen, an outdated corded phone hanging off the yellow wall. Rockford, dressed in dark slacks and an open button-down and undershirt, stalks in to stop the offensive ringing. He holds the phone to his ear, the steely expression melting into disappointment, and resignation. While he exchanges a few low questions with the person on the other end of the line, the woman emerges from the shadows. The brighter wash of light reveals that we do know her. She’s the one he picked up in the bar three episodes ago, now standing in a blouse she’s wrapped around her chest and a pair of white socks. She watches Rockford’s back, waiting a beat after he hangs up the phone to wrap her arms around him. He settles his hands over hers, head tilting back as she rests her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“They found something. It can’t wait,” he says simply, a weariness returning to his broad shoulders. “I can take you home on the way.” 

“I could stay,” she offers, Rockford turning in her arms. “So you don’t have to come back to an empty house.”

He cups her cheek, a grateful look quickly replaced with regret. She watches, nods. We all know that can’t happen. Not yet. There’s too much standing between them for him to accept. 

“I’ll get dressed,” she says, walking back into darkness. Rockford braces his hands on the door frame, hanging his head. He takes a breath, then follows.

The ungodly moan you let out makes Dieter’s lips quirk up into a prideful smile.

“That good?” he asks.

“Fuck, Di, where did you learn to cook like this?” you say through a half-full mouth of the best pasta you’ve ever had. His cheeks flush prettily as he pushes his own around the bowl, another forkful already on its way to your lips.

“I’ve got a handful of home runs I save for special occasions,” he says, taking a sip of the red wine he decanted while you were walking in the door. “But outside of that? I’ll gladly order takeout.”

“It’s fantastic, thank you for making it,” you say, enjoying how he busies himself with his plate to smile into his chest. It makes your own smile tug at your cheeks. You know how hot he can be, how sexy and thoughtful and suave, but he’s also cute?

After a spirited discussion about some of the dialogue in recent seasons - nobody talks like that coming up against it’s a play on the trope - you help clear the table and loiter in the kitchen while Dieter puts the dishes in the sink. The immaculate marble countertop, plus a little of the wine thrumming in your veins, tempts you to hop up and sit on it as he rinses out the wine glasses and sets them on a drying rack. The dishes are sparse, only four bowls, a handful of cups. The kitchen is artfully, but not practically styled. You meant to ask if this was Dieter’s home or if he was renting it, the modern pristine aesthetic clashing against what you know of him, but before you can voice your thoughts Dieter is standing in front of you, hands on your knees.

“Would you like some dessert?” he asks, the dip in tone carrying the thrum of your heartbeat straight between your thighs. Heat creeps up your neck and blooms across your chest, but you hold to the words Dieter soothed you with last time.

Take it slow.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, letting Dieter part your thighs to stand between them. One hand slips around your waist, the other skimming up your arm to cup your neck. He has to tilt his head up to look at you, and from this vantage you can admire the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the deep crease in his bottom lip, the little scar on the bridge of his nose from an old on-set injury. You can’t help melting into him, sliding your fingers into the unruly locks at the base of his neck and holding him precious in your hands. His eyes slip shut, and you swear you hear a low purr rumble in his chest.

“Something delicious,” he whispers before he pulls you down to meet him. 

It’s as intoxicating as the first time, his lips slotting between yours while he sighs like a man returned home. The tips of your noses brush as he tilts his head to better lick into your mouth, tannic laps as you savor each other. His hands pull you closer to the counter edge, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist. The plush flesh of his stomach presses against your core, and for a moment you imagine grinding against him, coating his skin in your slick. How he would look watching you writhe against him. Was he the kind of man to cast dark, demanding eyes along your skin, or watch you like a goddess with wonder?

A final sweep, and he parts from you with a little pant and shiny lips.

“Fuck, I said I was going to go slow and you’ve got me wanting to toss all that out the window,” he says, stealing a smaller kiss from your parted lips. 

“I like where this is going right now,” you say breathlessly, rolling your hips along his clothed stomach. He groans, pressing your foreheads together.

“I’d like to have dessert first,” he says, and you’re about to ask him how he can think of food at a time like this when two large, firm hands slide under your skirt and search for the hem of your panties. Once located, he drags them down your legs, aided by the lift of your hips. They’re a lacy pair, more substantial than a thong but not by much. He crumples them in his hand and slips them in his pocket.

“Can I eat your pussy, Snaps?” he breathes, ghosting his lips over the top of your thigh, dragging his nose along the stretch of your skirt hem. Your cunt is practically gushing, but you still have to laugh.

“I can’t believe you used that cliche-ass line,” you giggle, Dieter’s eyes snapping up to your mirth at his expense. 

“I think it worked,” he drawls out, and one hand slips between your legs to thumb at your soaked folds. “Made you fucking drenched, didn’t it?” Your tongue struck dumb, he steals a glance at your face. “Oh, yes it did. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he says, smug smile giving way to the open-mouth kisses he trails down your thighs as he fists your skirt up over your hips. The shock of cool marble on your bare ass steals your breath before Dieter’s lips pressing a chaste kiss just above your clit suffocates you. One large hand spreads across your chest, gently pressing you back to lay on the expansive countertop. Your whole body thrums in anticipation as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, pressing your hip open so he can breathe you in.

“Fuck, Snaps, you’re not dessert, you’re a whole damn meal,” he groans. A retort dances behind your teeth before dissolving to nothing when Dieter’s tongue slides slowly over your clit, savoring your taste. He pulls back, staring at your silky pussy on display, then with a whispered, “fuck,” he dives in for more. 

The tenacity and fervor with which Dieter slurps and moans into your cunt clenches your walls and bows your spine. He grips your thighs, spilling flesh between his fingers as he swirls his tongue on your clit and sucks greedily. There’s nothing for you to hold onto on the smooth counter, so you bury your fingers in his hair to an approving growl that vibrates your core.

“Just like that, you tasty little thing, give it a good pull if I’m doing well,” Dieter rasps, sliding his tongue down to prod your entrance. Thighs tightening, hips rolling, you feel gloriously untethered to the world except for Dieter’s touch. After working his tongue inside you he presses deeper into your folds, hawkish nose sliding over your clit. He rocks his face against you, a mess of his pulsing tongue, hot puffs of air against your intimate flesh, and his dark eyes coaxing gush after gush of slick into his waiting mouth. 

Fuck ever faking it with him again, Dieter could rail you on set in front of craft services and you’d thank him for it.

The shudder of your impending orgasm raises your voice, hoarse gasps and whines as Dieter intensifies his technique, rubbing hard circles on your clit with the tip of his tongue and sliding one perfectly thick finger inside you. You throw an arm over your eyes, coherent enough to whimper and weakly wail when he presses into your g-spot and drags your clit along his tongue in a neverending roll. It’s right there, you’re going to cum on Dieter’s face, when…

A phone rings.

Dieter’s phone.

The harsh tones of Apple’s default ringer still your hips, Dieter’s mouth still moving against you. 

“Di…” you call out weakly, tapping your fingers against his temple to get him to look up at you. His mouth pops off, and true to his on-set assumption he’s coated from the bridge of his nose to the base of his chin with your slick. It glistens in his mustache, one silvery smear dragging up his cheek. His eyes are glassy and fucked-out when he meets yours.

“Wha’s wrong?” he slurs, licking his lips and suppressing a groan. Your cunt clenches hard, screaming to cum.

“Your phone,” you say, the glow across the room visible from the coffee table. He looks over at it for a moment, slow blinking when he returns to your face.

“And?” he asks, blankly taking in your nervous energy.

“It could be…something…important?” you squeak out, legs still splayed lewdly around him. He watches you for a moment more, puzzling through something, before understanding dawns on his face. 

“How much like Rockford do you think I am?” he asks, leaning down and pressing a sticky kiss just above your bellybutton. It makes your abdomen jump, the tickle of his mustache trailing as he slides your shirt up below your breasts. “Do you think anything at all is worth tearing myself away from your gorgeous fucking body?” He licks a line up to your bra, scraping his teeth on the supple skin. “You think a phone call could stop me from making you scream?” 

His hands and mouth still, prompting you to sit up to stare at his hungry face. Hair disheveled from your hands, a flush across his cheeks, and a devious smile all answer his questions, but you know he needs you to say it.

“No.”

His smile turns devilish.

“Good girl.”

With increased voracity he returns to your cunt, sucking his fingers into his mouth before strumming them quickly over your clit. The stimulation arches your back and snaps your thighs closed around his head, only stopped by one hand pressing you open mercilessly. The wrecked gasp he tears from your throat stops the onslaught, redirecting two fingers deep into your cunt to press hard into your g-spot, his hot tongue back on your clit with a pattern of quick circles and soft laps. You scrabble for his hair, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fingers wrapped around your thighs. He finally gives you something, threading your fingers together so you can grip him while your orgasm burns you from the inside out. Your lungs scream, eyes screwed shut as Dieter pours molten pleasure into you, fire and ice and ecstasy. He growls into your cunt, refusing to stop until your spasming hips fall back to the counter and each breath ends on an overstimulated gasp. Only then does he lift up to gather you in his arms, pulling you around him so he can mouth at your neck and trail kisses back to your gasping mouth. He strokes long paths up and down your thighs, letting you drape over his broad shoulders and rest your head. Faintly you still hear ringing, but so far away that it could be a dream.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs into your ear, earning a weak tug of his hair. “I knew you’d be fucking delicious.” 

“Shit, Di, did you suck my soul out?” you joke, laughter rumbling you both.

“Now you know how I felt when I first saw you,” he muses, stroking the back of your neck. You turn your face into his throat, savoring the warmth and masculine scent of his sweat. The ringing pauses for a few seconds, then starts back up again. 

“Do you need…” you ask, leaning back to smile down at Dieter. He rolls his eyes.

“On principle I’m not going to answer it for the rest of the night. Camille has my calendar, she should know better,” he says, dipping his head to scrape his teeth on your collarbone. Your thighs clench around his waist, his supple mouth dotting a kiss over his teeth marks.

“Unlike Rockford, I don’t put my work above my partners,” he says nonchalantly, as if that word doesn’t make you lightheaded. “I also don’t drown myself in drink and drugs as heavily, or engage in as much casual sex as I used to.” His hands splay wide over your back, brushing your noses together as you fight to meet his eyes. “My dark and brooding past is mostly full of self-loathing and coping mechanisms, not failed murder investigations.” Dieter draws you closer to the edge of the table, his hard cock grazing your core just enough to make you hum into his ear. “And I’ll make you cum three times tonight, not two.”

You take a playful nip at Dieter’s ear, the clink of his earring against your teeth thrilling.

“Is your technique as good as his?” you ask innocently, his hands suddenly possessive on your skin. 

“Better,” he promises. Then he takes you to his bed and proves it.

END

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Twenty Five - Bridge

Word Count: 805

Warnings: mention of a corpse (the floater - Doc is special ya’ll), expensive food, longing, angst, Rockford’s lips, two idiots

Notes: (From my Roc & Doc series). I thought a glimpse into the past would be fun for these two because this is how they’ve been and why the people around them are so annoyed. 😑 Like I get it. Also, I need some comfort too Tim! For time reference, it’s a year before part one of Roc & Doc.

Main Masterlist/ March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Prompts

“Didn’t we have a floater here, one time detective?”

“Yeah, but that was last summer, and it was all, wait, could we not talk about that now? This is supposed to be a nice lunch. A normal lunch between two people.” Rockford’s brow furrows. He was regretting his suggestion to try for a non-fast-food outing with Doc. He should have just kept things as they were. Has he learned nothing over the years? “Call me Tim, at least Doc, geez.” The two colleagues sat outside of a restaurant that overlooked a bridge from one of their cases last year. It looked much more inviting than the last time they had been here with that homicide. Tim had this bright idea at his partner, Stevenson’s urging and Kim’s teasing, so he did. So much was wrong with this.

“Well, if..nevermind. Keep calling me Doc. You win on that one Tim. I’m glad they gave us a discount. Fifty dollars for a burger is lunacy! It is delicious though. You think they have some coupons for dessert?” Doc changed the subject. She wasn’t fond of her name. It didn’t sound cool and sexy like Tim Rockford, well. No both fit, just she maybe shouldn’t think of them right now while he’s got mayo on his bottom lip. Why is his mouth always dripping? Could…don’t do there Doc. Doc stood and reached across the table, accustomed to dabbing Tim’s lips, the same ones she thinks of in her office. Tim is a grown man and should be wiping his own mouth, but she does it every time. He’s not really that much of a messy eater, maybe only with Doc because he knows just under that napkin, her fingers will graze his lips and he can imagine them later.

“This place is way too bougie for coupons. And if I’m going to ask you to call me my name, I should be calling you yours.” Finishing their overpriced burgers, they went to a nearby ice cream shop that they were both surprised was open. It had warmed up over their lunch though and as they walked over to the bridge standing on it and looking over the water. Ducks were swimming by quacking as they splashed in the water. “Why don’t you like it?”

Sighing, Doc looked up at Tim who was still watching the water, she popped a spoon of chocolate ice cream as the reflected sunlight danced across Tim’s broad chest. “It sounds like an old woman’s name. It’s silly but there it is. It doesn’t sound striking or cute.”

Rockford licked the vanilla ice cream off his top lip and tossed his finished cup in the nearby trash. He stood at Doc’s side and placed an arm around her shoulder, tilting his head toward her cheek.

“Should we all be so lucky to live to old age. You know that as well as I do in this job. Chin up Esme, your name’s beautiful, represents you well.” Tim assures her as he’s always done. Like two years ago when she first came to be the medical examiner and the officers were weary that she could do a good job, Tim vouched for her. She wanted to do a good job to prove him right, later when she was more comfortable in her role, it was to feel like his equal in being proficient in her work. 

There were times like this though that gave her glimpses at something else. Only thoughts she entertained in her solitude. She’s sure he doesn’t think of her in that way and is just kinder than his gruff exterior lets on. Maybe.

Tim felt he may have taken it a bit too far, sure they’re not far apart in age, five years, but he noticed there were times she shrunk into herself, usually around him. Otherwise, she was outspoken, knew her facts like the back of her hand and if she knew how to handle a gun, he'd replace her with Stevenson, but then he wouldn’t have an ME who knew what they were doing. Rockford enjoyed seeing her face brighten and worried about her when he didn’t see her, despite knowing that she’s a force to be reckoned with. It doesn’t mean he shouldn’t support her. He just maybe didn’t need to hold her hand or embrace her every time. Slowly the line is blurring, and Tim prefers structure, lest he be like his little brother waffling to and fro. Tim decides he’ll stand beside her shoulder to shoulder not touching her until the next time. Esme wants to reach for Tim’s hand but feels the moment has passed.On this bridge, a warm spring afternoon invites them both closer but they’re resisting the pull. Two normal people. Two colleagues. Two friends. Something less and something more between them.

[patternedlantern]

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me And at every table, I'll save you a seat…

[galaxyedging]

Part of the Merged series

Tim Rockford x OFC

WC:2.8k

Warnings: talk of smut.

Summary: Tim and Evie decide to learn more about the world they have found themselves in.

Recon

Tim instantly drew his weapon. "Put the gun down!"

The pirate looked over at him. "Relax. I'm not going to shoot him!" 

The mirth in his voice suggested he thought Tim was crazy for thinking he was going to shoot the man than he had just been aiming a gun at, before holstering his pistol. 

"We're going to duel." He drew a long sword with a flourish.

The knight raised his own sword in preparation for the pirate's attack.

"What the hell?" Evie pulled Tim back into the apartment slightly as the sound of clashing swords filled the space. "Are you really willing to get into the middle of that?

"Yes. Well, it's my job. I can't let people run around brandishing weapons. People could get hurt."

As if to prove his point the Knight cut a portrait on the wall in half with a backswing of his sword. 

"Yes. Us. We're the people who could get hurt. I get that you're a cop but you're not a cop here. You don't know if this is just something they do here."

The two men crossed swords time and again. The clash of the metal like nails on a chalkboard to Evie's fraying nerves. The two swordsmen were either perfectly matched or this wasn't their first rodeo.

"That's enough, you two! I won't keep telling you about this. Words! If you have a problem, use your words." A thick Brooklyn accent preceded its owner up the stairs to your right. "I'm not going to keep climbing up these goddamn stairs."

The owner appeared, a cop in a 1930's uniform. He was fair skinned, blonde, maybe late 20's. 

"Sir. Ma'am." He tipped his hat at you. "Sir, why don't you take your girl inside. I'll handle this."

Evie was out in front of Tim in seconds. "His girl doesn't need to be taken anywhere." 

The cop casually looked at the door number of their apartment. "Sorry, Ma'am. I didn't realise. Henriksen's new recruits, right? I'm Mallory. I'll take care of these guys from here. You enjoy your day." 

As he ushered the pirate and the knight down the corridor to what they guessed were their apartments. Tim and Evie caught bits of a dispute about a shared balcony and the pirate growing an invasive species of plant that keeps taking root in the knight's planters. A little stunned by the whole thing they wandered back into their apartment. 

"So I guess that's normal here?"

The laughter that bubbled up from Evie startled them both. Tim hadn't heard her laugh. He was utterly charmed by it. It was crazy that he knew he loved her yet he didn't know what he loved about her. Her laughter was definitely one of the things he loved. It crushed him when the laughter turned to tears. 

"Hey. Hey. It's alright." Tim hugged Evie as tight to his chest as he could as he guided her to the nearest chair. A comfortable brown fabric armchair in keeping with the style of the apartment. It cushioned Evie as he eased her down. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm being stupid." Evie tried to stop her tears. She hated to show weakness. Logically she knew it was perfectly fine to cry after one had died and moved on to some weird place, with cops and pirates and knights, and having amazing and confusing sex with a stranger that felt like your soulmate. Fuck. Henriksen had said that. Soulmates. Still, she felt weak and didn't want Tim to see her like that. 

Tim knelt in front of her. His large hands rested on her knees provided a grounding point. "You are not stupid. This whole situation. The crazy land and the duel over plants. That is stupid. By getting upset over it all you are being sane and smart. Not stupid at all." He doesn't even think twice as he kisses her cheek. "You're alright. We just need time to process all of this."

"How are you so calm?" Evie sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"I think it's because this is a giant mystery. Mysteries always helped keep my mind calm. There's a logic to them, you just have to find it." Despite him being the older of the two, he looked boyish as he spoke.

"You're not just a Detective, you're a mystery fan."

"Yeah. My mom and dad worked a lot. My mom even more so after my dad was killed on duty. It was just me and my abuelita most days. She loved mysteries. She would make them up for me to solve."

Evie didn't know exactly why she loved Tim but his love for his grandmother was definitely part of it. 

His eyes were warm and wistful as they met hers. "Look. I don't have many facts to start with here and the one's I do have are based on any of this actually being real. The one thing I do know, and don't ask me how, I know I have these feelings for you."

"I know. Me too."

"Yeah? I know that I'm in love with you but I don't know why. I know nothing about you."

"After last night. I hope you know a couple of things about me."

Tim looked sheepish. "I don't usually do that, you know? Fall into bed with women. Even if they are beautiful. I only got divorced two years ago. I dated a woman for a couple of months. It didn't work out. My ex-wife was my college sweetheart."

"I don't usually either. I mean I have more than you from the sound of it. My last relationship was my longest."

"Kyle? You seemed happy together."

"We were I suppose. We just wanted different things. It was no-ones fault. Just not meant to be I guess."

"Meant to be." Tim's thumbs stroked softly at Evie's skin. It lit a fuse that trailed through her very being. Everything in her burned for him. It was as if she'd been missing him her entire life. Now that he was back, she needed to make up for lost time.

Swallowing thickly she asked. "So what do we do now?"

"I want to take you back to bed. Make you say my name like you did last night. Is that awful? In all this I just want the simple things. To hold you. To make you happy." Honesty, another trait she admired.

"That's not bad at all. It's silly but when I saw you picking at your food yesterday I thought about cooking for you. It's my love language. Acts of service."

Tim smiled as he slid into the seat next to her, pulling her into his lap to make space for himself. "It's not silly at all. It's sweet. I woke up this morning torn between feeling uncomfortable about doing that with a stranger and feeling that it was all so right."

Evie lay her head on top of his as he fit his into the crook of her neck. "Like it was the logical next step in our relationship. Even though we've only known each other like a day. Like it was something that we've always done."

Tim pulled her a little closer as he hummed in thought. "Or maybe we've done it before? Henriksen said soul mates. Don't some people believe that soulmates find each other in different lives?"

"Wow, that actually might be the straw that breaks my tiny mind apart." As Evie's thought drifted she absently ran her fingers up and down Tim's bare forearms. "As much as I'd love to trip out on that for a while. Or let you take me back to bed. We have a deadline. God, that sounded like a pun. Are you thinking about staying here?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Same. We should go take a look around."

"Really?"

"Yes. Detective. If not out of curiosity, imagine all the clues we can find!"

The street outside their apartment building was as busy as any other city street. Cars from all sorts of decades passed by. A young man in a flat cap shined shoes on the corner next to a Starbucks. The sidewalks held an oddity of people. A punk rocker hand in hand with a woman dressed in Victorian clothing. A few kids, one on a skateboard, one rolling a hoop with a stick, crossed in front of them.

"God, Tim. There are kids here." Evie gripped his forearm. 

"Yeah." Was all he replied grimly. Tim was more than familiar that awful things could happen to kids too. For a second his mind wandered to his own kids. No, he couldn't go there right now. Instead, he focused his attention on the road. Forward to the neon signs in front of him. 

"Henriksen said people from different times. Do you think they are from the future?" Evie looked everywhere but at Tim as she spoke. Her eyes tried to take everything in. The buildings were modern, almost futuristic. They had some distinct features of Asian architecture. When the street changed from the slightly retro slice of Americana there was a giant archway. It was intricately decorated. Carvings of dragons and dogs sat on top of the Xieshan style roof that bridged the two large red pillars. Tiles with pictures and writing decorated the front. It looked like the arches in Chinatown back home. Only with one difference. The arches back home didn't have Gaelic writing on them.

"Curiouser and curiouser." Evie muttered.

Tim joined her, blinking against the sun to see what she was looking at.

"This is old Irish writing. I've never seen it on a Chinese arch." Tim looked impressed by her knowledge. 

"I forgot you have a thing for languages. Any idea what it says?" He stared at the language as if it would translate before his eyes.

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." A thick Irish accent intoned behind them. 

Evie and Tim both whirled on the source. "I'm kidding. The Paifang represents a fortuitous entry into a benevolent time and space. I just added a few blessings of my own."

"You did?" Evie asked impressed.

"Yep. I'm Ailerán. Nice to…" He began to introduce himself.

"Holy…!" Tim's voice drew Evie's attention.

"Aye, you see it now?" Ailerán asked him.

Tim had resumed his staring. The text now appeared to be in English.

"Sometimes it takes a while when you're new. Don't force it. Just let it happen." Ailerán informed Evie.

"Let what happen?" Evie blinked at the stranger.

"Look at the writing." Tim's hand found her shoulder.

"Holy shit." Her hand came up to grip his.

"There you go. This place translates everything for us. I'm speaking an old Irish dialect but you hear whatever it is you speak. It makes things a whole lot easier."

Ailerán casually dropped himself into a nearby bench. "We get newbies through here all the time. You'll get used to it. Won't they?" He called behind them.

Turning they were met with the sight of a man who looked like he stepped right off the set of a Shaolin Kung Fu movie. He wore brown robes and carried a Damo, a cane-like weapon, slung over his shoulder. He was slightly out of breath and a sheen of sweat covered his brow.

"They will. They would perhaps feel more comfortable quicker if you were a better host." Walking around Tim and Evie, the man pushed Ailerán's foot, lazily thrown over his other leg as he reclined, until he uncrossed his legs and sat up. "Forgive him. Ailerán is the most laid back man I have ever met. Nothing ever bothers him. He forgets that not everyone shares his disposition. I understand this all must be very overwhelming. We are happy to help you settle in. I am Guo." He gave a small bow of his head.

Both Tim and Evie suddenly felt like they to stand on ceremony. They nervously gave their names. 

"And I'm the one not making them feel welcome." Ailerán pointedly shot at Guo. "He's still a little uptight, it's how he was raised. He was one of the first Shaolin Monks."

"One of the first?" Evie rooted around in the back of her brain to come up with a date. The best she could do was at least fifteen hundred years ago. "You're over a thousand years old?!"

Guo smiled. The laughter line around his eyes aged him a little but nowhere near his real age. He looked to be, at most, thirty five. "We don't age here. We don't feel time the same way either. I remember arriving like it was yesterday."

Tim had been standing quietly taking this all in. "A thousand years and you remember it all?"

"Yes. That is why you new ones are always surprised by the technology. I've been here for a long time. I've had a long time to work on my inventions. Other's come and go and add their own inventions and ideas. This advancement is what happens when scientists are allowed to work in peace with religious or political interference."

As if to prove his point about him having scientific free rein. A machine walked over. It stood as tall as Guo. It moved almost like a man…

"That's a robot." Tim exclaimed with a tone of childlike wonder.

"That is not the term I prefer." The not-a-robot told him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…what should I call you?"

"My name is Asimov." Asimov extended his hand to Tim, who shook it firmly.

"Asimov? As in Isaac?" Evie asked.

"Yes. I thought it was humorous at the time. I, robot." Asimov explained with a small laugh. His voice was human in tone but the speech pattern and inflection were different. "That was some years ago. Thanks to Guo I have learned that I am more than just a machine. I have imagination and free will. I am more like a human. I enjoy human pastimes, like cooking. Dinner is ready if you would like to join us?"

So that's how Tim and Evie spent their evening with an android, his preferred term, a Shaolin Monk and a Gaelic warrior. The food was incredible. It was served on a table that heated up in spots when it felt the plates come into contact with it, yet didn't burn them if they touched it. The glasses were automatically refilled by a small machine in the centre. The conversation varies from the beauty of Ailerán native countryside. A sight that he said was almost comparable with the land you had seen in the distance beyond the castle. Guo spoke about his passion for science. The soft spoken man came to life as he did so. Ailerán looked on adoringly. Asimov spoke about his 'birth'. The android explained that it wasn't the day he was activated that he counted as his birth. It was the day, when Guo trusted him, he was given free will.

After finishing off a beautifully light pavlova that Asimov had baked, they were dropped off at their apartment by a self-driving hover car. Coming in to the apartment, the two of them just sat in silence at the kitchen table.

"Remember when I thought going out would help us be less confused?" Evie finally broke the silence.

"It's funny, after all we saw, it's just Asimov's comment about free will that stuck with me."

"Really? That's all?"

"If we go on the next place, the peaceful, happy ever after one, will we have free will? Surely if it's a place everyone is happy in, forever, they can't be making their own choices? People don't always make great choices and groups of people make even worse ones. Freewill will just bring conflict."

"That makes sense." Being caught up in learning about their host and the wonders of this world, neither of them thought to ask about the next one. Maybe they could have gotten an insight into the next world.

Tim continued. "Plus there's this thing between us. Don't get me wrong it feels so good and so right to be with you. It's amazing…"

"There's a 'but' coming…." Evie instinctively moved away from him. Tim was quick and caught her hand.

"...but I kind of want do things the old fashioned way. I want to get to know you. Date you. I want to find out who you are for myself and why you are my soulmate."

Evie couldn't help the smile that blossomed on her face. "You, Detective, want to solve another mystery."

His lips found the back of her hand. "Maybe I do. It's one that is definitely worth solving."

"I think so too." She pressed a kiss to his lips. "So when you say the old fashioned way. Does that mean you wanna wait until we…again."

"Not at all." Evie squealed as he pulled her towards the bedroom.

[chaoticgeminate]

First Date

Pairing: Treasa Breathnach (OFC) x Tim Rockford

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.5k

Notes/Warnings: Treasa is the OFC of the lovely @leslie-lyman and I adore her dearly and could not resist giving her witch a handsome detective as a romantic interest.

This series is a side story to Chasing Shadows, part of the Iridescence Fictional Universe, happening while it's parent story happens.

Tim was quiet as he stared at the papers pinned to the cork board, trying to create some sort of pattern or connection between the string of robberies, he chewed on the temple of his eyeglass frames as he just stared at the pictures and case notes. Initially he’d been willing to put blame on the necromancer too, since death magic had been detected at the scene of each robbery, but after several investigations and comparisons the magic wasn’t hers. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, his glasses falling to the floor with a clatter of sound, but he just left them there and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Long day?” His head turned to see Treasa peek into the room, her green eyes sparkling with mirth after her earlier encounter with the High Council, and Tim felt his face warm at the sight of her smile; even though they had butted heads over her necromancer friend in the beginning it had shifted to an amicable thing between them, something playful that they could laugh at now that he’d accepted his prejudice and decided to change.

“You don’t know the half of it, we had another two robberies while your friend was here so now there’s hard evidence that she isn’t the problem and a lot of the higher ups are pissed.” Treasa looked at the board of evidence, this was where Tim was supposed to get her out of the office and hide all of it but he just felt it was unnecessary. Not when he’d petitioned that their coven help with the investigation instead, which was being taken into consideration, and eventually she’d see all of this.

“Everyone is mad that their little scapegoat can’t be used anymore, it means they actually have to do their jobs. Turns out she’s a Witch, a Death Magic user yea but a Witch, legally she’s untouchable without going through me.” He laughed lightly and watched the way Treasa’s chest puffed up, everyone who was anyone knew just how capable she was as a legal representative for her coven, even before when she’d had very vague laws to play with to protect her friend she’d cut back on a significant amount of the harassment from the Consortium and FBMI.

“She’s lucky, you know, to have a coven like yours.” Tim felt her hand settle on his shoulder gently, felt the weight of her stare on the side of his face, before Treasa crouched down to pick up his glasses for him and set them on his desk. Alfie was puttering around curiously, the little Familiar making his lips curl up into a smile, and then he found himself looking into those glittering green eyes as she moved a chair to sit in front of him.

“Talk to me, Tim.” There was something soft, understanding, in her voice and he leaned on the back of the chair to rub his clammy hands on his trousers. He could still remember the first day she’d come marching in, that first arrest, the way the sunlight made her hair pale gold fire and Alfie had very nearly torn a chunk out of several guards for trying to stop her from going toe-to-toe with Nathan using a pile of laws and cases on interpreting them as her weapon.

He felt his chest tighten before finally he slipped the watch on his left wrist off, revealing the very visible brand on the inside of his wrist, and he heard the sharp intake of breath, and her hand hovered awkwardly until he took it in his and held her palm flat so he could rest is branded appendage in her palm.

“You’re a Magician?” Treasa’s hands were so small compared to his, he stared at the way her pale skin looked against his and the slender lines of her fingers as they carefully traced the mark left behind. Even now he could feel the pain from when it was applied, when the poison and magic coated metal had been burned until it was near molten and pressed into his skin, and Tim’s pulse jumped when she raised his arm and pressed the most gentle of a kiss to the rune.

“I am, though my loyalty is to the Consortium. We- it’s not advertised but The Atelier doesn’t house the only Nexus in Se’Kvia.” There were several, not that anyone really knew that aside from the Council and the Magicians that shifted their loyalties after leaving The Atelier for the last time, and revealing that to Treasa was not a small thing. He could see the way she turned those words, that truth, over in her head and he was certain he had to be blushing under her scrutinizing gaze.

“Will you be okay?” Rumors about the marks, about a Magician’s rune, had spread like wildfire recently -he had an inkling why but nothing concrete- and the horror at the barbaric knowledge had earned The Atelier a good bit of negative attention. The truth that had been leaked had been elevated to the Consortium, confirmed by himself and the other Magicians that had traded their allegiances, and counters to the secondary nature of the rune were currently under research.

“Yes.” Tim couldn’t voice how her concern made him feel, couldn’t find the words to tell her just how honored he was that her worry about him made his heart race, but the way her eyes lifted slowly and her brows tipped in as she pressed her fingertips to his skin made him realize that she knew. It was slow, careful, the way he leaned forward just a touch before stopping; unsure, especially after their history together, starting out antagonizing one another.

Treasa closed the distance, the touch of her lips on his pillowy soft, and Tim couldn’t fight the soft whine that escaped him when she pulled away. The touch of her nose against his, the warmth of her breath against his lips, the light of her luminous green eyes had him feeling weak in the knees while he was sitting down.

“Can I- will you let me take you out on a date?” He wanted to do this right, she deserved flowers and a night out, he had already messed up once with another lover in his very early adulthood and he couldn’t stand the idea of losing her because he was impatient. Treasa’s brows raised before she smiled.

“I’d like that.” Whispered against his lips, so soft and sweet, he smiled and couldn’t help but grin into the next kiss before she had to rip herself away as an alarm began to screech overhead. Tim’s watch slipped back into place and he cast her a lingering look, watching her scoop up Alfie and leave before he got caught for having her in his office like this, but the dark shine of her eyes when she peeked back at him made Tim’s heart lurch with want.

Marching up the stairs to find several other officers talking over CCTV footage arguing, playing and pausing it at different intervals, Tim snatched the remote from someone’s hand to watch the whole clip himself. It showcased the hall of an art gallery, most recently a host for the Bay Relic Collection, and he watched the slight distortion as a shadow seemed to trail across the screen almost like it was strolling leisurely. Then one of the paintings disappeared, just like that, and that was all they had.

“Rockford, you know what you need to do.” He nodded, glancing at the Chief, before grabbing his phone and keys to get into his cruiser.

“So, can she do it?” Treasa stood beside him as the skeleton cat trailed after its Witch, the touch of Death Magic in the air that came from her as she listened and obeyed what she was being told by Daphne about the art of scrying made the hair on his arms raise, and beside him Treasa nodded firmly. The faith they had in this woman to learn, master, and utilize her magic after it being restricted so long was admirable. The bond of friendship they had made him feel honored that Treasa was even willing to give him a second glance, after how he’d treated them in the beginning, and he felt the small hand slide into his gently.

“Stop it, I can see you being all twisted up, the past is the past. You’ve apologized and moved past your prejudice, we’ve all forgiven you.” The reassurance made him nod and he watched the circle of dark purple energy begin to glow under the woman’s feet, the way her hands seemed to be coated with a swirl of black and purple energy before it faded to a gentle glow when she was told to reign it in, and then he watched as footsteps appeared on the floor. Following the path the shadow had taken through the room, appearing one after the other like whoever had stolen the piece was here, and Tim’s amazement earned a soft giggle beside him.

“Whatever has been stealing does use Death Magic, but they aren’t a spell caster.” He watched her drop to her knees and set her hands onto the carpeted floor, hearing the hum of pride from the woman beside him, and Tim watched as the small glimmer of black glowing power formed the silhouette of a person. But that was all she could get, which they’d luckily gotten recordings of, her power fading away as whoever it was seemed to sense that she’d tracked them down.

“That tells us much more than what we had, actually, thank you so much for your help.” Tim watched Daphne help her friend up, glancing at Treasa, but her eyes were on him and she slipped a piece of paper into his hand before hurrying to the others so that they could get the new Witch some food and rest after expending that much magic at once.

Meanwhile he made a beeline for the archives, after getting back to the Consortium, to start trying to figure out what might be the likely perpetrator for the thefts. Only stopping once to set his things in his office, seeing a phone number on the slip of paper, and Tim’s face exploded into warmth before he sent Treasa a message to let her know his number too.

What he hadn’t accounted for was how diverse the abilities of different magic races truly were, the amount of books and scrolls pulled from the archive were a teetering stack on the research desks, and he conjured several stands and page holders to make sure nothing was damaged before activating the rune on his eyeglasses that would allow him to essentially pick out key words by making them glow and save him time.

Tim spent more time in the archives, with only candlelight and lanterns, so he began telling time based on how many cups of coffee he had delivered to him and the team that assisted on research; they were on cup seven when his phone began to chime and Treasa’s message showed across the front of his screen.

I know you said you wanted to take me to dinner, and I know you’re not eating, so I think brunch in an hour is best?

He nearly cursed, looking at the time, it was half past nine the day after; he’d stayed up the entire night, something he didn’t enjoy doing, all because of a single lead. He was reminded of his early days as an officer when he put work ahead of everything, when he couldn’t balance things properly because the desire to close cases took over his desire to make friends or even nurture his friendships and relationships. Tim looked at the rest of his team, seeing their equally tired -but excited- expressions and sighed loudly.

“Alright, I’m calling it, we need to get some rest and showers.” He watched Nelly, Hannah, and Iggy all groan before stretching out in their seats; the sound of cracking bones -which proved most of them were getting old- only made the archivist Nobu chuckle behind his hand as he helped fill out the cards to keep tabs on each book and scroll they’d pulled before sealing the research room from being entered.

Brunch would be fantastic, Treasa, where am I meeting you?

How about Spun Sugar Teahouse? They have a wonderful brunch menu.

The little tea house was not a walking distance from his place, he’d passed by several times, but the drive would be short at least. He confirmed the place as he grabbed his things from his desk, tucking everything into his pockets, and Tim made sure to take a very small dost of a pep-up potion to make sure he didn’t fall asleep at the table. He’d crash when he got home but it’d be worth it.

His eyes scanned the tables carefully, when he got there, now that he was out of his work clothes he felt much calmer and Treasa waved from her seat; he took notice of her eyes taking in his cardigan and tee shirt combo, the slightly damp curls he was sporting, and the brunch tea smelled amazing.

“This is a red fruit tea, it goes with their french toast or their tartine sampler plate.” The excitement she had over the dishes made Tim smile before he glanced at the pictures on the menu, both dishes sounded amazing and he couldn’t choose if he tried.

“How about we order both and share?” Treasa’s eyes lit up at his suggestion, the sun shimmering through the window at the right angle to make her look ethereal and Tim felt his face heat up and his heart begin to race again.

“That’s perfect, I was hoping you’d agree.”

“You- you’re very passionate about food. Is- would you prefer to do that, than being the legal representative for your coven?” His question was spoken gently, though quickly, and he did partially interrupt her but Treasa only reacted with a warm and affectionate smile.

“Sometimes. I mean I have plenty of free time to cook and bake, I don’t hate the legal work I do since I can protect my family that way, but food is absolutely a passion of mine.” He smiled gently and handed his menu back to the server, after ordering, before reaching across the table for her hand.

“I think it’s really amazing, what you do, and I’m glad that even though our initial meeting was rocky… that we can be here now like this.”

“You were a bit of a jerk but I could tell you were coming around, and you even stepped in a few times to help me so that certainly made me reconsider my initial assessment of you. You went from a jerk who had no right to be as broad and good looking as you are to a broad and good looking man that I kind of want to climb like a tree.” His face had to have erupted into color with the way her lips curled into such a wide grin, the idea of her petite form wrapped up in his was a lovely image to be sure, and Treasa stuck her tongue out at him when he squeezed her hand as a response.

All Fics Taglist: @haylzcyon @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @tauralmie @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry @all-the-way-down-here @xoxabs88xox

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @aynsleywalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80 @emiemiemiii

[ladamedusoif]

Masterlist

Header - and slogan - by @agentjackdaniels

Hi there! I’m Rose (she/her/they), I’m 40 and I write fics - described with complete accuracy as “ethical porn for nerdy types” - for Pedro Pascal characters.

This is an 18+ blog so, for safety’s sake, minors should not access the content below.

I love hearing from readers! All comments, reblogs, likes, DMs, and asks are very much appreciated.

If you’d like to be notified about new fics and instalments, please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit - taglists aren’t working well at the moment so this is the easiest way to keep up.

I also cross-publish to AO3 if that's your preferred reading platform.

I do block empty/untitled/ageless blogs so, if that’s you and you’re a real person, just drop me a message - or, better still, populate your blog (you don’t need to be totally specific about your age) with a few things. If you’re not sure how, just ask! I’m happy to help and I’m sure others will be too!

Thank you so much for reading!

Visiting (Professor!Ben College AU - in progress)

Pairing: Professor!Ben x OFC Lydia (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, European art historian Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in the small New England college town of Barrow. She’s planning to spend a year there on leave of absence from her permanent job at home, expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor at Barrow College, a small liberal arts institution. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic Literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Rating: Explicit (18+)

See the main Series Masterlist for specific warnings and content notes.

Tempered in the Fire (Blacksmith!Din Djarin AU short series - in progress)

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Rating: Mature (series); Explicit (18+, later chapters)

See the Series Masterlist for specific warnings and content notes.

Gentleman Thief - The Heritage Crimes Universe (The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) - in progress)

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: He stole a priceless ruby after your first date. You reunited after the museum's winter ball. And now? Something keeps pulling you into the orbit of the world's greatest (ethical) gentleman thief.

Rating: Explicit (18+)

See the Series Masterlist for specific warnings and notes.

A Merry Fic-Mas - a Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar

31 days. 31 stories (hopefully). 12 Pedro characters.

Inspired by this set of December/holiday themed prompts.

Rating: Teen/Mature/Explicit (see individual chapters for warnings and content notes).

20/20 - no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Optometrist F!Reader

Summary: After months of pestering from Sarah, Joel finally concedes that he might to get his eyesight checked and makes an appointment at your optometrist practice. He really doesn’t want glasses, though.

Rating: 18+; not explicit as such but implied; see the warnings on the original story

Café Crème - Javier Peña x f!reader

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Javier likes mornings at your place for more than just coffee.

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI; see more notes on the original post)

A Cup of Kindness, Yet - Javier Peña x f!Reader

Part of the brilliant @pickled-pena writing challenge - check out the blog for the whole masterlist.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Another Auld Lang Syne in Laredo, twenty years after your first with Javi.

Rating: Teen (see notes and warnings on the original)

My Kiss, Only For You - The Thief x Museum Guide f!reader

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x Museum Guide F!Reader

Summary: You’ve noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on his favourite exhibit.

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI; see more notes on the original)

For the Night - Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Pairing: Agent Ortega (The Sixth Gun) x F!Sex Worker Reader

Summary: You might not be one of the “sweet young things” in the whorehouse any more, but a seemingly reluctant special agent helps remind you of your worth.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ (see specific warnings on the post).

Silvered - Detective Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Word count: ~ 800 words

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI; see specific warnings on the story)

Summary: Tim Rockford’s talented silver tongue has a reputation, in more ways than one.

Gentleman Cowboy - Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Word count: 3500 words

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI; see specific warnings on the story

Summary: A solo getaway, a whiskey for one, and a very charming cowboy in the big city.

Able - Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI; reader is disabled; see more specific warnings on the story.

Word Count: ~3.7k

Room Service - Dave York x F! Reader

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: You’re at one of those generic conference hotels to meet a man you know only as Dave.

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI; more specific warnings on the story

Word Count: ~2.3k

Coup de Foudre - Lucien Flores x F!Reader

Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader

Summary: Caught in a sudden storm on a break in Paris, you and Lucien race back to the hotel room.

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI; specific warnings on the story

Word Count: ~1.1k

Part of the April Showers Challenge organised by @undercoverpena

[trulybetty]

october x 500 | masterlist

for the month of october I've set myself a challenge to write 500 words a day, and me being me thought why don't I do some prompts? because you know, I haven't got enough going on. but the reality is I wanted something that wasn't tied to anything currently a WIP so I could just focus on getting out of the state of mind of 'this has to be the perfect finished version on the first go' and embrace just writing and seeing what happens. are any of these going to be any good? probably not. will many of them make sense? not at all. will they mostly be marcus pike? very likely. will I hope to have fun and stick to something for 31 days straight? hopefully.

prompts list used.

oct' x 01 - ruffled hair (joel x gn!reader)

oct' x 02 - apple scent (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct’ x 03 - full of colours (tim rockford x f!reader)

oct' x 04 - walks in the forest (strings!joel x reader)

oct' x 05 - autumnal (dieter x gn!reader)

oct' x 06 - falling leaves (gold rush!joel x charlotte)

oct' x 07 - chestnuts (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct' x 08 - umbrellas (will miller x gn!reader)

oct' x 09 - ravens (maverick!frankie x reader)

oct' x 10 - oktoberfest (sequins!joel x reader)

oct' x 11 - pumpkin spice (marcus x reader)

oct' x 12 - cornfields (sequins!joel x f!reader)

oct' x 13 - black cat (tim rockford x gn!reader)

oct' x 14 - spooky (dieter x gn!reader)

oct' x 15 - first wine (sequins!joel x reader)

oct' x 16 - flying kites (frankie x reader)

oct' x 17 - whispers (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct' x 18 - picking apples (sequins!joel x reader)

oct' x 19 - ghosts (dieter x f!reader)

oct' x 20 - sweater weather (chiffon!dieter x bryony)

oct' x 21 - acorns (tim rockford x f!reader)

oct' x 22 - pile of leaves (frankie x gn!reader)

oct' x 23 - harvest (gold rush!joel x charlotte)

oct' x 24 - fog (tim rockford x f!reader)

oct' x 25 - jack-o-lanterns (marcus pike x reader)

oct' x 26 - campfire (frankie x reader)

oct' x 27 - witches (sequins!joel x f!reader)

oct' x 28 - samhain (tim rockford x gn!reader)

oct' x 29 - stormy days (sequins!joel x f!reader)

oct' x 30 - seance (tim rockford x reader)

oct' x 30 - seance (chiffon!dieter x ofc!bryony)

oct' x 31 - trick or treat (marcus pike x reader)

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 8

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: The idea of it, of this outing being classified as something more than just two roommates getting breakfast, isn’t entirely unappealing to ponder. There’s actually a tiny bit of a thrill unfurling in your stomach.

Rating: T. Heed the warnings y'all!

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, crime-solving, Princess Bride reference

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you always for the kind support💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Breakfast

Rockford slips into the kitchen the next morning while you’re preparing Banjo’s food. The little mutt barely turns his head to acknowledge the man, his hunger outweighing his love of ear scritches. Your roommate’s freshly showered, curls fluffed up and slightly damp, wearing a casual waistcoat over his white button up and a pair of dark pants. He looks like a college professor, you think, setting the pet bowl on the floor for Banjo to dig into with relish. All Rockford needs are some elbow patches and he’d fit right in amongst the Ivy League elites.

He’d left last night shortly after you’d retired to bed. Like usual he didn’t stop to tell you his midnight plans, and also like usual his absence dwindled in your thoughts right up until sleep washed over you. Where does he go? What does he do? If only you could take a magnifying glass to the entire city, look for a trail or clues to follow. Knowing Rockford though, he’s too smart to leave traces behind. No, he can be a mere shadow of a human just like his brother.

“There’s a nice breakfast spot about a five minute walk from here.”

With your head half inside the fridge staring at a near-expired carton of milk, it takes a beat for you to realize the comment was directed at you. You shut the fridge door, turning to find Rockford staring at you expectantly. 

“Isn’t Inspector Dorrance coming over to pick up the suitcase?” you ask, although you have to admit, the idea of a stack of pancakes drowning in syrup sounds extremely appetizing to your empty stomach.

“Keziah may have been able to successfully substitute cigarettes with candy, but nothing on earth will ever replace his love of coffee.” Rockford sounds more amused than annoyed at the fact.“It’ll be several cups before his soonest convenience delivers him to our doorstep.”

“Well, in that case,” a grin grows on your face, “breakfast sounds wonderful.”

Stacked and Served is a bustling hive of activity when you and Rockford arrive, full of tasty smells and Fox Leap citizens eagerly tucking into their food. If dogs had been allowed, Banjo would’ve levitated off the floor due to the speed of his wagging tail. You’ll have to make it up to him when you return home with lots of belly rubs.

The interior is earthy colors, complementing shades of blues and browns, with a wooden bar lined with stools of happy customers chatting and dining. Throughout the restaurant are oversized, yet cozy-looking chairs arranged around tables, all occupied except for one marked with a reserved sign. It’s positioned next to the front window looking out at the busy city street, all walks of life beginning their days, some strolling along the sidewalks while others shout for cabs. 

Before matching with Rockford, you tended to avoid crowded places like this. All these people, all their shades of emotions, would have brought down an avalanche upon your empathy, overwhelming and suffocating. With the stability of the bond to rely on, their feelings are still detectable along the edges of your mind-gift, but no longer sharp and grating. Muffled like you’ve put on headphones. Ignorable white noise unless you choose to tune in.

Rockford makes a deadline for the reserved table immediately, gesturing for you to take the window seat before he claims the lone dark blue chair for himself. You slowly sit down, eyes flicking between your match and the sign, wondering if he’s going to acknowledge it, when a man in a flour-stained apron and marked with at least a dozen tattoos in thick black lines along his forearms steps up beside the table with a warm, delighted grin.

“Rocky,” he greets, voice deep as a canyon and booming over the encompassing chatter. The two men shake hands, clearly familiar with one another, and then you’re being given a menu that had been tucked under the man’s arm. “And you must be Roanie, yeah? Keziah said you were pretty, but seriously you’re way too gorgeous for this asshole. Do me a favor and let me know if you ever catch Kez with a smoke, alright? He’s a sneaky bastard when he wants to be and usually I’d find that hot as hell, but nothing’s attractive about cancer sticks. I’ll staple ‘em to his balls if he ever touches those damn things again.”

You blink. Once. Twice. “Um.”

The man stares back at you for a moment, blue eyes taking in your awkwardness. Then he slowly turns to Rockford, lips pursing into an unimpressed line. “You didn’t tell her who I am, did you.”

There’s no inflection in his voice. Definitely no question mark at the end.

“Even if I had, it wouldn’t change the fact you have a habit of running your mouth and making terrible first impressions,” Rockford replies, but his gaze is focused outside the cafe, sweeping the streets in search of something.

He earns a well-aimed slap to the back of his head as a result. You wince in sympathy, feeling the sharp pop of pain in sync with your match who rubs at the spot tenderly.

“Lest you forget, Rocky, I’m the one who makes your food here. Don’t tempt me to spit–” 

“So,” you pipe up, fumbling for a quick way to diffuse some of the brewing tension before it gives you a headache. “How long have you worked here…um.” It belatedly occurs to you that you’ve still yet to learn his name.

The tattooed-man takes mercy on you and offers a beaming smile just as warm as the one he’d initially approached with. Must’ve mastered it working in the food industry, you reckon. Or maybe warm and sunny is his natural temperament.

“Elio. And I’ve owned the place for…” he idly scratches the underside of his jaw, and there’s another flour stain there on the tendon of his neck, “oh just about three years now almost. It became mine after dear old Rocky here helped me prove to the police my old boss was skimming the cash register. Our paths should’ve split after that except then he went and introduced me to the love of my life.” His smile changes at the corners. Softens. A feeling sugary sweet and wispy flutters above your empathy, and you don’t need to bring it into focus to know it’s love.

“Introduce is a strong word,” Rockford interjects wryly. “As I recall, you saw him across the room and immediately lit up like a glow stick. I was then forced to explain to Kez you weren’t a criminal trying to escape incarceration by blinding the entire force.”

“Still ended up in handcuffs later that night.” Elio winks, but it’s the teasing, faint pulse of glowing skin that surprises you more. Reminds you of fireflies you used to see in fields back in your hometown. 

“On that appetizing note,” Rockford grimaces, but there’s nothing but amusement coloring his mood, “think you could whip us up two stacks of your specialty pancakes? It’s Roan’s first time here.”

“Oh, a first timer! My favorite kind of customer!” Elio presses a hand to his chest, looking absolutely thrilled at the news. He steals the unread menu back from your hand quicker than you can process. “Leave the food to me. And I’ll see if I can find a candle or something for the table–make this date a little more romantic.”

All you can do is sputter at that, choking on your own spit as the man scurries away.

Date? 

This isn’t–

You didn’t think–

No. No way. You fiddle with the silverware, thoughts spinning, unable to bring yourself to look at your match quite yet. A quick check of Rockford’s mood reveals he’s unruffled by the remark, not even the faintest blip resembling the line of exclamation marks running through your head. Does that mean you’re overreacting? Underreacting? 

If this really was a date, you would like to think you’d know that with absolute, 100% certainty. Surely you’re not that oblivious, or so you tell yourself, at least. So, with that in mind, Elio was mistaken with his labeling. This is definitely not a date. 

Still. The idea of it, of this outing being classified as something more than just two roommates getting breakfast, isn’t entirely unappealing to ponder. There’s actually a tiny bit of a thrill unfurling in your stomach.

Or that could just be hunger pangs.

Definitely plausible.and a lot less complicated to analyze.

You give your head a little shake, finally summoning the nerve to glance at Rockford. Except, low and behold, he’s looking out the window. Again. Not out of avoidance of your attention, no, you can tell by the roaming of his eyes taking note of every passing figure he’s keenly searching for something out there he wants to find real bad. 

Your patience runs out five minutes later after another waiter has dropped off a pot of coffee and a glass bottle of water for the table.

“What are you looking for?” you ask, pouring yourself a drink and taking a sip.

“We know now our killer abducts his villains,” Rockford answers without preamble. “He drives them to secluded, private spots where they swallow the cyanide. But there’s been no reports of abductions, no witnesses of suspicious behavior, which suggests the victims go with him willingly. They don’t put up a fight.”

“Maybe he’s got a weapon?” you suggest, resting your chin on your knuckles. “Tells them if they scream he’ll shoot?”

“Perhaps,” is his preoccupied mumble, still looking outside, lost in his head. 

Outside, the street is still full of commotion. A gray-headed businessman carries his briefcase in one hand and the morning paper in the other. Farther down the way, a pair of women point at something in one of the antique shop windows. Everybody’s got places to be, things to do. Oblivious to the dangerous predator skulking about.

Goosebumps rise up along your arms, like ice has found a way under your skin, imagining the killer out there right now. Hidden in plain sight, watching the goings-on. Hunting their next victim.

The pot of coffee goes cold. Untouched.

The Reason

Elio’s whistling when he brings the pancake stacks to the table. They’re golden, fluffy, and fucking huge, almost as round as the whole plate with a fat square of butter on top. He brings a candle with him too, which you studiously ignore, focusing instead on cutting off a small bite with your fork and dipping it in a cup of syrup.

“Ohmygod,” you utter around your mouthful, manners forgotten in the wake of tasting pure deliciousness. Elio looks very pleased with him, puffing out his chest as you all but inhale another bite. “It’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” Elio says, eyes crinkling. “Wanna know the secret ingredient? Self-confidence in oneself.”

“More like an extra helping of cinnamon sprinkled in,” Rockford says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Oh hush!” Elio swats at his arm without heat, clearly holding back a chuckle. “Enjoy the food guys. On the house.”

You spare a moment to swallow and thank him properly before he leaves. These pancakes really just might be the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your whole life, your mother’s famous triple chocolate cake officially bumped to second place.

Your fork scrapes against the plate as you cut off another bite-sized piece to soak in the syrup. Tastes like rich maple on your tongue, a faint hint of vanilla when you lick your lips. You glance at Rockford, wondering if he’s going to ignore the food the same as he did the coffee, but you watch as the man rolls up one of the pancakes like one would a poster or a rug, delicate and precise. Three bites, that’s all it takes. Three bites to devour the entire fucking thing without even a single drop of syrup. 

“Something on your mind, Roan?” he wonders, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. 

Blinking out of your mildly horrified daze, you start to shake your head no, but stop yourself. Truth is there is something on your mind. And it’s not the efficient way he consumes pancakes or where in the city the killer will strike next. 

“You don’t sleep at home.” It feels a little strange (and a little scary), to voice the concern that’s been a thorn ingrained in your thoughts since the first week you moved to 445D Albatross Lane. Hard to say if it was the change of scenery or good food that gave you the needed boost of confidence to finally bring it up. Perhaps it was both.

Rockford frowns, initial surprise shifting into a narrow-eyed wariness. There’s a change in his posture too, a subtle straightening of his spine you only notice because you’re watching him intently. “You noticed that, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard not to,” you admit with a small shrug. “I feel the absence of your emotions when you leave at night. You also don’t ever nap around the apartment either.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while.” It’s an observation, not a question.

“Yes,” you answer slowly, uncomfortably aware of the sudden sensation of walking on thin-ice. “I’ve been worried. Thought maybe…” You bite the inside of your cheek, warring with yourself over how much to reveal, but you’ve already come this far might as well take it to the finish line, “I thought maybe you didn’t trust me enough to fall asleep when I’m nearby.”

God, it sounds so stupid said out loud, doesn’t it?

Sure enough, Rockford is as blunt as ever when he confirms, “That’s total bullshit. We share a home, Roan. Of course I trust you.”

“Then where do you go at night?” You look at him, trying to understand if it’s not about trust then what is it about? “Do you have a secret girlfriend I don’t know about?”

That earns you a sharp bark of laughter, head thrown back and dimples out in full force. “A girlfriend? No. Not really my area.”

Oh.

A short pause follows, reassembling your thoughts.

“Okay,” you say, chewing your bottom lip. “So, do you have a secret boyfriend then?”

Rockford arches an eyebrow, and it’s deliberate, you can tell it is, the way he nudges your empathy. Judgy and bemused all at once.

“It’s totally fine if you do.” You hold up your hands, fork aimed at the ceiling, a defensive gesture that has Rockford’s other eyebrow rising to join the other, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“I know it’s fine.”

“So you do have a boyfriend then?”

“No, Roan.” He shakes his head, a low grumble. “I don’t have anybody. Not looking for anybody either. Relationships like that, they’re a distraction to my work.”

That settles it then, you realize with a faint sinking feeling. Definitely not a date.

“But what about when the work’s over?” you ask softly.

“The work’s never over.”

You frown, something awfully painful pinching in the center of your chest when his emotions don’t waver. He honestly believes that notion, as true a fact as water is wet. “Alright,” you murmur, reluctantly deciding not to push the subject further. “Explain it to me, please. Why don’t you sleep at home?” 

“Because I can’t,” is Rockford’s succinct response doing absolutely nothing to clear up your confusion. “My gift won’t let me.”

Your fork slips from your fingers with a clatter, tongue tripping over words, “Wh-what? How does that even–? People die if they don’t sleep.”

He wags a finger in the air. “That’s actually incredibly rare–”

“Rockford.”

“My brain is in a constant state of perception, absorbing information from my senses and my environment,” your match tries to explain, his eyes settling on the coffee pot with a disgruntled glare like it’s personally offensive. “I can’t fall asleep like a regular person. Getting the rest I need requires locking myself in a sensory deprivation tank. There’s a health center with one not far from our apartment. I've been going there for years.”

“That’s where you go every night?” you ask, eyes widening in surprise.

Rockford toys with his napkin, avoiding your gaze. “No. Not always,” he admits, sheepishness creeping into his voice, clouding his aura. “I really do have chronic insomnia, that wasn’t a lie. Sometimes I go to the police station, point out the flaws in their filing system. Or during exam period, I spend the night at Rosasharn’s when she’s up to her eyeballs grading papers to keep her company. Usually though I set myself up at one of the dozens of twenty-four hour cafes in the city with my laptop or a good book and hang out until sunrise.”

“You…” You blink at him, completely thrown for a loop. “Seriously, you'd rather spend the night at a twenty-four hour cafe than your own home? Good lord, Rockford, why?”

“You deserve to sleep peacefully, Roan. And you can't do that with my emotions keeping you awake,” he answers. His voice is soft, yet the words slice through you all the same, boring straight into your heart.

The reason for his leaving is the same reason Rockford had separated himself from you at the crime scene. Your empathy is deeply attuned to the ebbs and flows of his emotions, the bond growing stronger with each day he allows you full, unhindered access to his mind. Dozing for a half hour on the couch in his presence is one thing, when the afternoon sunlight’s bathing the living room in streaks of gold and your empathy keeps watch. Operating on its own battery. A side effect of spending too much time behind enemy lines.

Nights are different. The battery must recharge, weary from the day’s strain of processing, filtering, blocking on loop, or else risk incurring migraines. But in the darkness, the thin line between dream and reality becomes blurred, sometimes indistinguishably so. In the service, surrounded by fellow soldiers witnessing the same horror and traumas, nightmares were commonplace. Creeping out of their mindscapes into your own, twisted horror scenes absorbed by your psyche as if it were a sponge soaking up water.

Worse were the nights your nightmares unintentionally became theirs. 

You had tried to contain your empathy on nights where there was blood in your hair, under your nails, hell, you could taste it on your teeth. Chain your mind-gift up in a corner same as a mad dog. Dr. Odair hadn’t been pleased when you told her, dropping her perfect mask of poise and professionalism to level you with a look. She told you tactics like that caused unseen damage, a tipped over domino in the chain reaction leading to the necessity of matching to prevent your own self-destruction.

Shutting off your empathy isn’t a healthy solution, and neither is Rockford blocking you from feeling his emotions. Yesterday’s misunderstanding proved how much you both rely on the bond’s stability. To cut it off night after night…it feels dangerous even contemplating it, heart lodged in your throat.

Doesn’t come close to the guilt pressing down on your rib cage though, threatening to crush you from the inside out. Rockford’s been putting your needs first, uncaring that doing so means being driven out of his own home. And he’s been doing it every night all because of your specific mind-gift.

“It’s ok,” Rockford says, a steadiness to his voice you’re envious of, and he reaches out his hand across the table towards your own. You don’t know if it’s his perception that tells him you’ll shatter under his gentle touch or if you’re subconsciously broadcasting your tumult, but either way something makes him stop before he makes contact. “I don’t mind. Honestly.”

There’s something magnetic about the mere centimeters of space separating your fingertips from his, unable to tear away your stare. “You should,” your voice miraculously doesn’t tremble like a leaf, “it isn’t fair.”

All Rockford has to reply to that is, “Life isn’t fair, Roan. It’s just fairer than death, that’s all.”

For a second time you feel his unwavering belief in his own words. And you could leave it be, let the moment pass. Nothing changes if nothing changes, your mother used to always say. 

Rockford starts to pull back his hand, only for you to latch onto his wrist. Your grip isn’t tight, you both know he can easily slip free if he wants to.  

You both know he doesn’t.

“I’ll find a way.”

He blinks, the slightest tilt of his head.

“I’ll find a way so you can stay,” you vow. "Everything will work out one way or another."

And Rockford smiles, lopsided and dimpled, warmth pressing against your empathy expressing more gratitude than speaking out loud could ever manage. 

“Better finish your breakfast,” he says, returning to the art of pancake rolling, ignoring the disturbed wrinkling of your nose at him. “You’ll break Elio’s heart if you don’t clean your plate.”

[nerdieforpedro]

Get a room you two and BONE

Part two of the Roc & Doc Series

Tim Rockford x plus size OFC (Doc)

Rating: Mature only because of some of the banter.

This blog is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.7k

Summary: It’s been a month since “The Case of the Vanishing Pens” had been solved. Things have changed somewhat between Tim and Doc. Are they both okay? Turns out, friends can suck sometimes.

Warnings: bad TV references, teasing, theft, angst?, mention of murder and STD, friends being menaces, the trench coat, bad singing, a murder threat (affectionately)

Notes: Originally, part two was going to be 7k of words. 😅 That was way too long so we’ll have a part two and three. I am working toward something. We’ll all find out when I get there. I’m fond of trench coats now. 😎 A huge smooch to @lady-bess who beta read for me and had some hilarious commentary. 🤣

The top item from the “what should go missing next” poll is in here! The runner ups are in part three. 🤭

Dividers are by the ever lovely @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist / Tim Rockford Masterlist / Rock & Doc Series

You and the detective had dinner three times a week and tried to alternate who pays. Tim had you pay the first time but he insisted on paying the others. It’s been a month since “The Case of the Vanishing Pens.” You told Tim that his jokes were as old as Columbo. He was not amused. Tim told you that he’s a classic like Columbo, and you need to show respect. And honestly, he’s more like Kojak - able to find a parking space anywhere in LA. You choked on your shrimp fried rice while sitting in the passenger seat of his car, he patted your back to try and help the piece of shrimp go down, it eventually did. 

“You’re not bald Rockford. Are you starting to go bald? Is that why you think you’re like Kojak?”, you asked, "going to start rocking three piece suits with a briefcase?”. Tim’s face freezes and he squints his eyes. 

“I will kick you out of my car and leave you at this restaurant Doc. Don’t joke about a man’s hair.”

“You wouldn’t dare, Kojak would never. If you’re going to be mad about it, don’t compare yourself to a famous bald TV detective. Stick with Columbo Rockford.” The two of you grinned at each other. Since the pen incident, it’s become even easier to joke with Tim. You feel you’ve grown somewhat closer to him, but you still won’t ask him anything personal. He doesn’t ask you those types of questions either. It crosses an imaginary line you both have drawn for yourselves.

Tim had told you that you didn’t need to pay, he’d been teasing you for stealing his pens, though he still doesn’t fully buy it was just about a menu. You had also told him, “no, we’re both city employees getting shit pay. We gotta split it, Tim.” He laughed and reluctantly agreed. So the two of you started alternating tabs. Why would you offer to pay when you clearly have some unnamed grudge against him (in his mind anyway)? Is this a ‘keep your friends close and enemies closer’ sort of deal? 

The answer doesn’t come to him as he finishes the last of his egg roll, some duck sauce is on his chin in his beard. With a moist towelette you pull from the depths of your tote bag, you dab his chin and succeed in getting the sauce off and making Tim re-evaluate what your end goal is. It’s too soft of a touch as you could have pushed his face as part of your teasing but you didn’t. You’ve given him small hip bumps in the autopsy room or even in your office. Those don’t feel intimate like this, maybe it’s because it’s his car or the lack of space. It’s dangerously close to the line he’s drawn in the sand with you. It’s times like these that Tim is thankful you don’t notice him clearing his throat or keeping his cafe brown eyes on you as you slurp your noodles. He’s thinking too much again.

Rockford ensures that you get back to your small car you call ‘the blueberry.’ The car suits your personality. It feels loud, quirky but not over the top, much like its owner. He never leaves before watching you pull out of the parking lot and make the right turn at the light. It’s then that he begins his own drive home. He sometimes has an inkling to text if you got home alright but he’s never texted you outside of work. Except the two times he picked you up tacos… alright, maybe it was four times, but limited to food options. Why is it so weird? 

Rockford sighs at the orange streetlights ahead of the hood of his old Ford Crown Victoria. His mind is on you again, but it’s just because you spend a lot of time with each other and you look a hell of a lot better than any of his other partners. Well, you’re not his partner but it kinda feels like it when he talks out cases with you. Stevenson is a solid partner, but he’s wet behind the ears and still learning quite a bit. You, on the other hand, listen. Look at him with genuine interest with questions that tell him you were indeed hearing him. Tim is in his driveway wondering if you’ve already walked up the two flights of stairs to your apartment. He knows you like music but what else do you like?

“Shit.” Rockford gets out of his car and enters his home, dropping off his trench coat and shoes near the door. He stretches out on the couch and flips on the TV. There should be something to watch. An episode of Kojak is in progress with him parking perfectly, getting out of the car, bald head shining with a three piece suit and his briefcase. “What are the chances…?”

As promised, you brought him 4 boxes of pens over the months you’d been eating take out with him. He had nowhere to stick them and wondered if you were pranking him; you were not. You just felt bad about taking his pens for so long. You overdid it a bit, you explained and offered to hold some of them in your office. Tim declined and made room on the top of one of his file cabinets. Seeing something that you’d given him made him smile softly, before turning to face you, he cleared his throat and put his hands on those hips of his, saying he had work to do. You nodded and told him you’d see him around, you were sure there'd be more bodies to look at before long together. The detective sat at his desk and looked at the reports he needed to finish up, they suddenly seemed tedious. He’s wondering if he should have told you it would have been alright if you wanted to stay for a bit. Could have spoken to you while working on them to make the time go faster. Your absence is an issue for Tim. He’s got too many of those already.

Tim stopped by later in the evening to update you on what happened with the arsenic case. Turns out, the victim’s girlfriend had convinced him to become a pescatarian for better health. The girlfriend found out that the victim had two other lovers and had given them the clap (gonorrhea) in addition to her. The three happened to meet in the same clinic where they were getting tested. She had contacted those two after getting diagnosed as the name was different, but the physical description was the same as her boyfriend. It was then that the girlfriend started dosing his food to kill him. She told Tim and the other detectives that she wanted to watch him slowly die. She apparently laughed as they were taking her away in handcuffs. 

You are engrossed in the details. Tim tells you the entire thing from beginning to end, he adds in tidbits from his notes that wouldn’t be in any of your reports. Despite looking like he was tired of everyone’s bullshit ninety percent of the time, the detective was rather animated in explaining the case to you. He walked back and forth in your office and then placed his hands on the back of a chair while leaning in to go over how the dots were connected between the seemingly unrelated people. If the man wasn’t a detective, he should be a voice actor or teacher…you’re sure there’s a suitable profession you’re forgetting in between the options, whatever would warrant people listening to him for a while. 

Toward the end of Tim’s colorful retelling, Kim, one of the clerks and a friend of yours, stopped by the office. She was watching the two of you, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms. She would have made a joke about you getting yourself in Tim’s trench coat but knew you wouldn’t forgive her for saying it in front of the man that you swear you only have respect and adoration for. Kim had tried to get you to understand your feelings, to at least see that you may want to spend time outside of work with the famed detective. The time may include an actual date at some point.

You’d always told her that it was because he’s always been respectful toward you, and that he came by your office when he didn’t need to. Like today. Kim was sure you hadn’t asked for any follow up on the case, yet here Rockford is telling you about it and you’re giving him all his attention. It’s annoying to watch the two of you. Sure he might be older than you, but it’s less than ten years and she’s sure he doesn’t talk to his ex-wife at all. At one point the precinct did think they were going to get back together shortly after you’d become the new medical examiner five years ago but nothing ever came of it. Not that Kim kept that close on an eye on things for you.Thankfully, there’s only been rumors of maybe some women here and there. Detective Rockford is one who stays holster deep in murders and crime. Kim did have to agree with you on one thing, those holsters are a damn good look on the man. She understands why your eyes linger on him. Kim preferred her men to be on the skinny side so she could toss them around a bit - she can be a bit rough at times.

Waiting until Tim seemed finished with his story, Kim knocked on the open door so the two of you would hear her. 

“Hey Doc, Tim. What are you two crazy kids up to? Making some more dinner plans? Going to take it a step above take out and go to a place where there might be seats inside the restaurant?” The detective bit the side of his jaw which Kim was quick to notice and smirked. Like how does she not notice how bothered he is when anyone interrupts him speaking to her? Maybe Tim liked her stealing his pens? Hmm…that’s an idea.

Your face hardens at your friend’s joke and you start nervously pressing your hands together. At least it wasn’t the trenchcoat one she likes to make, thank goodness. Tim looked back at the door and stood up, shaking his head. 

“Hey Kim. Just knew Doc would want to hear how the case turned out. I’m going to head out Doc. I’m going to go make sure Stevenson isn’t still working on the homicide from last week. He makes fun of my chicken scratch, but he types slow as hell for someone fifteen years younger than me. Good night Doc, don’t steal anymore pens. I know she’ll be your accomplice.” Rockford nods, gives you a smile and once at the doorway, cuts his eyes at Kira before leaving. Your friend slides by Tim as he exits and plops down across from you and snickering. 

“Did the famed detective get a bit pissed at me because I came between him and his dear Doc? For shame and I guess I did know you were taking his pens. To be fair, I did tell you to stop several times.” She playfully tapped her own hand as if she was being reprimanded. You sat back in your chair and shook your head. She’s been teasing you about this for as long as you had stolen that man’s pens well after. Tim didn’t tease you as much anymore. Well, sometimes, but only when you got in the car and he asked to see your hands to make sure you didn’t remove anything from his glove box or console.

“Could you just drop it? Please…what did you come here for Kim?”. 

“I came to remind you that this weekend is our friend’s engagement party. And before you start,” Kim reached out and took hold of Doc’s hand, “you’ve RSVPed, we bought an outfit a few weeks ago just for this party theme and I could give this back to one such man in a trench coat after you go.” Kim’s free hand exposed a little black book that Tim often carried everywhere for his notes. Your eyes are wide, it’s bad enough about the pens but it’s a funny joke now. His book?! 

“Dammit Kim, you need to give it back now!” Kim is shocked at your growl and lets go of your hand, holding tighter to the book. 

“No. You give it to him and say it fell out of his pocket or something. He has fifty places in that trench coat I could have been. I honestly think he likes it when you take his stuff.” She stood up and so did you, were you really going to fight her over this man’s book? “The fact that you’re this upset, proves my point. You need to talk to him, stop just watching him, have him take you to a place where you order and eat inside and maybe go to your place or his and-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. Just give me the book and maybe he won’t push for me to resign or be in a different county or something for harassment.” Your hands are on your head, running through how badly this could go. No matter how nice Tim is, taking that book is almost as bad as taking his tie or holsters. It’s a part of him. Though it would be kinda cool if you held it for a minute. No…no. You can’t go into that rabbit hole. That is reserved for when you’re in your apartment in your PJs and are sipping on some hot chocolate with some cookies. 

“You just need to bone….be on the desk and bone…maybe he keeps the trench coat on while you bone…I know he’s wearing the holsters when you bone…maybe you pull the hair he still has while you bone…you grab his biceps while you bone…”. Kim is singing horribly off key and if you weren’t so frustrated and anxious you’d tell her to shut it. But you need a laugh to release the tension in your body so you do, doubled over on your desk. Kim drops the black book before you and kisses your forehead.

“You just need a push to talk to him and you're already a bit of a thief. Just slip his book in his car the next time you two eat and talk to him. It’s not like people in the department don’t date. That’s how the captain met his wife.” She pats your head. “They fought over a stapler, she threw it at him. He said she had an excellent throwing arm. Love was in the air.” Kim did a jazz hand flourish and you look up, rolling your eyes.

“I would rather not be violent with the man. And I will not…bone him. Gah, you made me say it.” You shake your head and sit back and sigh. “Just please don’t push it. Can I just stay in my safe little bubble, please? Daydream about the man, why can’t I do that? Why will you not let me do that?” 

Kim sat back down and crossed her arms, sucking her teeth, “Real talk right now Doc. It’s not your job title that keeps you from talking to Tim. It’s that you’re scared that he might actually reciprocate your feelings and you may have to be in a relationship with a grown man with baggage, can hold a conversation with you and will be able to hold it down in the bedroom.” Your hands cover your face. You’re not discussing this at work. No…but you are. “Stop acting like you haven’t thought about it.” Kim laughs at your discomfort and embarrassment, but pauses to sneak a peek at her phone. “I would drop more truth bombs at you but I have to go. Tony’s here to pick me up. I will see you tomorrow and this weekend. Maybe one day you’ll have your detective use his investigative skills under a dress like that.”

“Please go to Tony before I have to call and tell him you're on my slab.”

“You’re too busy trying to find a way into a trench coat to worry about murdering me. Take care getting home.”

“I will never tell you anything again. Good night.”

Part One

Part Three

Keen moots who may want the trench coat on with nothing else 🧥:

@alltheglitterandtheroar @sin-djarin @morallyinept @yorksgirl @bitchwitch1981 @heareball @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @yorksgirl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @avastrasposts @clawdee @pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing @rhoorl @inept-the-magnificent @grogusmum @agentjackdaniels @pedroshotwifey @laurfilijames @frenchiereading

[burntheedges]

Summer Stuff-My-Inbox Fic Rec List (Part 2)

I can't believe it's already September? What the hell, honestly. Thank you all for sending me your fics again!

Remember to check out Part 1, too.

The list has 57 more Pedro-character fics posted since June 1, organized by character and then alphabetically by author. Mind all tags and warnings! I've noted word count (we've got a range!), whether it's part of a series, and pairings. Let's get reading and reblogging!

Characters in this rec list: Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Javier Gutierrez, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Pero Tovar, Tim Rockford

...

Dave York

melt by @sizzlingcloudmentality | 960 words | Dave x f!reader summary: wine drunk and with fresh croissants from the bakery you're having French breakfast and sex with Dave. | Daphne mentioned being proud of this one particulary because of the smut!! 😏

Dieter Bravo

Eros & Psyche by @schnarfer | ~16k, complete | Dieter x f!reader summary: Dieter is a modern day Greek God Eros. We’re going full existential dread rom-com, actually. | I can't wait to read this!

Golden Girl by @whocaresstillthelouvre | 2.9k | Dieter x f!reader summary: What happens when you discover your husband has been cheating on you? You call his best friend to help comfort you.

Starlet by whocaresstillthelouvre | 3.7k | Dieter x f!reader summary: Your husband has a big movie premiere, sure he looks great, but his co-star looks even better.

Din Djarin

Fifteen Weeks by whocaresstillthelouvre | 5k | Din x f!reader summary: It's been fifteen weeks since Din Djarin first entered your life, now you can't imagine it without him. You take a leap of faith in your relationship and visit him at his farm. | this is part 2! Don't miss part 1!

Oath Broken and Soul Bound by @whxtedreams | 1.8k, wip | Din x OFC Witch hunter!Din x OFC!Witch, from Flora: It's a Witch AU, fantasy and forbidden love. It's very new, only one chapter out but I have very big plans. I have pretty much the entire fic mapped out. It also has Ezra, Frankie and Joel as characters. You can learn more about their characters here in the character study i did for them. This is my passion project, I have so much love for them and I can’t wait to share my story in more detail!

Tales from the Dark Garden by @hapan-in-exile | 9k | Din x f!reader summary: The reader is a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house, where you encounter the Mandalorian.

Touchstone by @sawymredfox | 2.6k | Din x f!reader summary: Things are not always what they seem. They have a meaning. They have a reason behind them, private and cherished.

Ezra (Prospect)

There are Other Fish in the Sea by @beefrobeefcal | 4 parts | Frankie x f!reader, Ezra x f!reader summary: an alternate ending (and continuation) of another of Beefro's fics, where Frankie messes up and Ezra comes along.

Joel x Ezra

who knows where the time goes by @sixhours | 11k | Joel x Ezra (Prospect) summary: It's New Year's 2027 and the dads are going through it. An i know you by heart one-shot.

Frankie Morales

Like the Rain by @jennaispunk | 2.9k | Frankie x f!reader summary: Frankie has something to say….will you listen? | Jenna said this one is her first Frankie fic!! and a challenge because it has more spice, which is fun!

There are Other Fish in the Sea by @beefrobeefcal | 4 parts | Frankie x f!reader, Ezra x f!reader summary: an alternate ending (and continuation) of another of Beefro's fics, where Frankie messes up and Ezra comes along.

Tide by whocaresstillthelouvre | 1.2k | Frankie x f!reader summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything… except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at.

Javier Gutierrez

KEPT by @beefrobeefcal | 5.3k | Javi x f!reader summary: You might just have bitten off more than you can chew by possibly becoming Javi G's sugar baby.

Rhapsody in Blue by @maggiemayhemnj | 5.5k | Javi x f!reader summary: Javi G takes you to the Oscars. Takes you to the Vanity Fair party. Takes you back to the Chateau Marmont. Then just takes you. | Maggie said this one took her out of her comfort zone, and she ahd fun delving into more spice!

Javier Peña

An End to Drought by @almostfoxglove | 5.4k | Javi x f!reader summary: The future of your family's homestead hangs in the balance as Javier Peña comes home in the middle of a drought.

Dispose of Me by whocaresstillthelouvre | 1.8k | Javi x f!reader summary: Javier Peña needs you… and you're moving away in two weeks.

Dusk by @the-orange-tabby-cat | 8.7k | Javi x f!reader summary: Javier sees you again years after the end of your love affair. Torn between the memories of what happened then and what is now, you both face the weight of your actions from Bogotá to Madrid.

Hold my hand by @milla-frenchy | 4.1k | Javi x f!reader summary: a stranger saves your life. Or your and Javi’s love story.

I'll Carry You by almostfoxglove | 2 of 3 parts, 13.6k | Javi x f!reader summary: You reunite with your childhood best friend when he arrives home from Colombia. Javier's sudden return to your life exhumes buried heartbreak, but he longs to set things right.

Scathed by @dancingtotuyo | 41k, wip | Javi x OFC summary: Javier and Emily experienced the drug war on different fronts in very different ways. Maybe, they’re what the other needs to heal.

Joel Miller

Joel & Ellie, no pairing

happy birthday, baby girl by sixhours | wip | Joel and Ellie summary: Ellie has never had a birthday. Joel can fix that.

Joel x Ezra

who knows where the time goes by sixhours | 11k | Joel x Ezra (Prospect) summary: It's New Year's 2027 and the dads are going through it. An i know you by heart one-shot.

x reader or x OFC

A summer with the Millers by @milla-frenchy | 4.2k, wip | Joel x f!reader x Tommy summary: you come back to your father's house for summer vacation and want to get closer to your crush and dad's best friend, Tommy Miller. His brother Joel is gonna help you to reach your goal.

Always in my Heart by @mermaidgirl30 | 1.2k | Joel x f!reader

summary: Losing a pet is never easy, but you’re not alone because Joel is right there with you, keeping you afloat.

BDSMaid by @mountainsandmayhem | wip | Joel x f!reader summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Cover Me Up by almostfoxglove | 97.7k, finished | Joel x f!reader summary: After you spare the lives of two kids who break into your isolated cabin in the woods, they lead you back to their settlement. You intend to get in, trade for valuable supplies, and get out, but end up staying. Four years later, you're a solitary but respected pillar of Jackson's close-knit community when Joel Miller shows up, kid in tow. You think nothing of him or the kid. You like your quiet life. Too bad it won't stay quiet for long. Or: Joel and Ellie make you human again. | Freya's first series!

Dark Shades of Innocence Lost by mermaidgirl30 | finished | Joel x f!reader summary: After your friends drag you out to Club Inferno on a Friday night, you meet an unexpected man with dark brown eyes. That man is Joel Miller, who turns out to be the owner of the club. The menace that will turn your life upside down. After not dating for a couple of years, Joel finds out and strikes up a proposition for you. Keep coming back and he’ll make sure you experience pleasure like you’ve never felt before.

Fragile State by @galway-girlatwork | 2.5k | Joel x OFC Tara summary: The aftermath of a traumatic car accident leaves a family struggling with fear and uncertainty. The emotional toll weighing them all down as they try to find some normalcy which they all know is impossible until he wakes up. Vulnerability and desperate needs for the man who is the center of their lives to remember who they are and the life he had with them. | the author mentioned this way of writing a story was new, which is very fun!

Halcyon by @justagalwhowrites | ch 16, 110k so far | Joel x f!reader summary: When your life falls apart, you find yourself back in your hometown of Austin, Texas for the first time in more than a decade. Eager to make your own way after a rough divorce, you reconnect with your high school best friend Joel Miller - a man you never thought would be in your life again. Things have changed since your falling out just before you left for college but friendship with Joel comes easy. His life isn't in any better shape than your own and the two of you make a vow to get your acts together - personal, professional and romantic - in the span of a year. But will your burgeoning connection make it so you can figure everything out or will your history together get in the way?

Her by milla-frenchy | 3.2k | Joel x f!reader summary: after Joel confides one of his fantasies to you one day, you make it come true. | her first kinda sub!Joel with Joel realizing a fantasy. 😏

In Need of a Top Up by @tateypots | 1.5k | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel likes calling you his wife and you like hearing it.

In pain and heartache. In comfort and love. by whxtedreams | 2.5k | Joel x f!reader summary: They were so desperate to hold each other after tasting life without one another.

It Tastes of Magic by sawymredfox | 12k | Joel x f!reader summary: Your grandmother always told you the same thing. Have always salt in handy to spill over your left shoulder. Knock on wood to keep away the bad luck. Don't forget that mint likes to have her space to grow. Actions always speak louder than words. And love as much as you can, because even when it hurts, it makes you stronger. Will she still be right?

Lock the Gate by almostfoxglove | 23k+, wip | Joel x f!reader summary: You're less than enthusiastic when your uncle's partner Frank invites two strangers from the Boston QZ to your compound to trade. Joel Miller proves just as callous as you and brutishly stubborn—but after a cutting first impression, a bloody inconvenience, and a long walk through infested woods, you're not sure if the fire you carry for him is actually hate.

Push it by milla-frenchy | 3.4k | Joel x f!reader summary: you have a secret “relationship” with Joel, your dad's best friend. You know you can't have more, but you can’t resist the idea to provoke him a little.

See How She Rides by @arcanefox207 | 4.4k | Joel x f!reader summary: BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun. | Ally said she had a lot of fun writing this one and I think we're going to have a lot of fun reading it!!

spin me around by @ace-turned-confused | 2.4k | Joel x f!reader summary: you find a vintage record store full of rare finds, the man behind the counter the rarest of them all. | for the Secret Springs challenge!

Stranger in a Bar by justagalwhowrites | 17.3k | part 2, finished | Joel x f!reader summary: You meet a stranger in a bar, one who is fun and sexy and makes you wonder if the single life is all it's cracked up to be. But there's one big problem: you probably shouldn't be fucking your dad's best friend.

Teach Me How to Play Coach Miller by whocaresstillthelouvre | 3.2k | Joel x f!reader summary: You're home alone, relishing a lazy day when your hot neighbor knocks on your door. Seems his TV is out and he really wants to watch the Rangers game. You know nothing about baseball… maybe he can teach you a thing or two?

Tear You Apart by mermaidgirl30 | wip | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you into the forest?

Tenacity by whocaresstillthelouvre | 2.3k | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel Miller will never allow himself to take what he wants and you know that. How can a broken shower make him realize it's too late and he's already fallen for you? (Or Joel fucks you on his beat up couch in the QZ.)

The Fallen Warrior by @bluestar22x | 6.7k, wip | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel Miller, once the great archangel named Jaoel, fell from grace many centuries ago. After his brethren take everything from him, he immerses himself in human culture. Careful not to get too close to anyone new, everything changes when Joel finds a nephal (nephilim plural) living on the streets in Austin - the first since his fall. A trusted co-worker (reader) ends up adopting her. But just as the street kid, Ellie Williams, is settling into her new home Heaven’s angels come to town searching for her. They have a plan to use her blood in their battle against Hell, then dispose of her after. Joel can’t allow that. He won’t.

The green flannel shirt by milla-frenchy | 817 words | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel comes back home from work and finds you asleep wearing his shirt.

The Savage and the Sanctuary by justagalwhowrites | 8.3k, wip | Joel x f!reader summary: After the death of his daughter, Joel Miller fell apart. But when searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and within his own rage doesn't fix it, he resigns himself to working for his brother in private security. It's a job that starts him down the path to stability and a semblance of a life, even if it's not one he particularly wants. At least it does until you show up. The biggest movie star in the world with your newly adopted niece in tow, you throw everything about Joel's life into flux. Is he capable of letting himself feel something again while protecting the only things left in the world that matter?

untitled by @idioticcatss | ~1.5k | Joel x reader sophie mentioned being proud of getting out of a writing slump with this fluffy, smutty fic! some tags: love marks, age gap, pet names, smut

Wings of the Dawn by the-orange-tabby-cat | 49k, wip | Joel x f!reader summary: You are Jackson’s librarian, a doll with good heart, that has your life changed when a handsome man and his kid decides to start again in your small town. Having a hard time ignoring Joel’s dark brown eyes, you found yourself wishing to have him closer as you both navigate through love triangles, teenage drama, city gossip and ghosts from both your pasts.

Woman by dancingtotuyo | 74.6k, finished! | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel Miller returns to Jackson bringing back memories and feelings from 20 years ago, but you refuse fall into the universe’s trap again. Your table is at capacity. Adding another chair will only kill you when they get taken away. | also Em just starting posting a no-outbreak AU of this fic!!

Yearling by justagalwhowrites | 306k, finished! | Joel x f!reader summary: After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

Yearling No-Outbreak AU by justagalwhowrites | 4.1k, wip | Joel x f!reader summary: When Ellie sees you riding at a rodeo, she knows you have to teach her. A no-outbreak AU of Yearling, where you and Joel find each other in every timeline. Can be read independently as a no-outbreak AU fic.

Marcus Acacius

Legionary by whocaresstillthelouvre | 3.4k | Marcus x Lucius x f!reader summary: Marcus returns to his hometown while traveling with his young soldier who's eager to learn from him. Good thing he knows your domus is always open to him.

mould me for ruin by ace-turned-confused | 4.6k | Marcus x f!reader summary: after years of watching general acacius, you long to wield a sword of your own — an opportunity arises for your dreams to come true, in more ways than one.

proud to be yours by ace-turned-confused | 2.7k | Marcus x f!reader summary: it's the first time you've seen acacius since he took your virginity, and he has plans for a different kind of training.

Marcus Moreno

(Some) Bodies by galway-girlatwork | 3.1k | Marcus x OFC Priestly summary: In the shadows of the ancient city, a dark romance blossoms between a healer and a sinner. It is a connection of light and dark, life and death. Can he accept her past? Can she believe there is redemption for what she’s done? Can carefully guarded secrets stay that way?

Marcus Pike

Code name: Hephaestus by @604to647 | 3.2k | Marcus x f!reader summary: Marcus requests a change to his FBI Agent code name. | Emily wrote this for Kel's Pedro Pantheon challenge and really challenged herself!! I'm excited to read. 🧡

next year by me! | 18.3k | Marcus x gn!reader summary: You expected your vacation to go like it always did -- a week of reading, relaxing, and so much alone time you'd be almost happy to see your coworkers when you got back. You'd spend time on the beach and walk around town and generally do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, just like you did every year. But when you locked eyes from across the sand with the handsome man renting the house next door, something told you this year would be different.

Pero Tovar

Maple by @sawymredfox | 2k | Pero x f!reader summary: A fox, a rifle, and two strangers in a forest. What could go wrong?

Tim Rockford

The detective by @milla-frenchy | 2.6k | Tim x f!reader summary: being a suspect in a theft case, you get interrogated by a handsome and dominant personal investigator.

...

happy reading and reblogging! 🧡

[galaxyedging]

Tim Rockford x OFC. Name only, no physical description.

WC:1.9k

Warnings: Death. Some bad language. Some descriptions of smut.

Follows on from this.

Someone mentioned more Tim, and this happened. In my defence, I'm still very sick. This may be a fever dream.

Afterlife?

The two of them stood in each other's embrace for what felt like eternity. It could have been and the both of them would be fine with it. It was so strange. Even on top of the strangeness of apparently being ghosts. The two of them didn't know each other except they felt completely in love with one another. 

Though Tim's marriage didn't end well, it started lovingly. That love strengthened with the birth of his two children. He knew what love felt like. This was it. Except this was stronger. He felt an incredible bond to her. He prided himself on being a very articulate man. A skill used in crafting his cases. In interrogations, he used his carefully chosen words to twist and trip up his suspects. His words had never failed him. Until now. He couldn't for the life (afterlife?) of him, put into words his feelings for her. 

The feelings that bound her to Tim were indescribable. This whole thing was insane. Like some weird Alice in Wonderland-esque drug trip. She had died but there was no grief, she was completely okay with it. There was something in the back of her mind telling her everything would be fine. 

Then poor Tim showed up. Damn her aunt being under her mother's thumb. Her grandmother who seemed sweet to the outside world. Who had fooled her for the most part, only letting her facade fall on a few occasions. Blaming the snap of anger on the crotchetiness of old age. If only she'd looked deeper, sooner. 

Now Tim was here, in her arms. He was suddenly her whole world. She barely knew any facts about him but she knew he was the love of her life (afterlife?). It was the strangest feeling. Also, the most beautiful and profound. She thought her ex was the one. She had truly loved him, at first, then things just..nothing lasts forever she supposed at the time. But this, with Tim, she knew it would last forever.

Even death couldn't stop her from overthinking. Her curiosity had always been a weak spot. Sadly, it led to her death.

"Detective?" Lifting her head from the warm, firm comfort of his broad shoulder she came face to face with him. 

He was a beautiful man. Those whiskey rich eyes. The nose and jawline that would have even the finest sculptor down their tools in envy. The pillowy fullness of his pouty lips. 

His face softened as he answered. "Please. Call me Tim, Jessica."

"Tim. Then you can call me Evie." Evie smiled almost shyly. Only her friends called her Evie. It was oddly intimate, given that they were already oddly intimate with each other. The taste of the coffee he had earlier, still on her tongue. Their chests still flush together. The press of something that had her questioning where he kept his firearm, to her hip. 

"Hey, Evie." He smiled awkwardly. 

Gradually the walls of the little bubble they were in started to thin. As if their nagging doubts were over inflating it. Untangling from each other they stood in silence for a long while, until the silence and the bubble was broken.

"Great. I knew you'd be one of those couples. More paperwork for me. Alright, this way." The rough smokers voice belonged to a woman who looked like she'd stepped right out of Central Casing for a 1950s telephone operator. Complete with headset. Standing next to the door to Evie's closet she tapped her foot impatiently. "Well, don't just stand there. In you go."

The two of them stood there dumbfounded. They stared at her until she huffed and swung open the door. The door that should have revealed a very haphazard filing system of old shoe boxes, box files and childhood mementoes. The door that actually revealed what looked like a huge police station bullpen. 

"What the….?" Evie breathed.

Tim had already moved toward the door hand hovering over his gun in his shoulder holster.

'So, that wasn't his gun. Good to know.' Evie thought to herself.

Tim's instincts took over and he kept Evie behind him while he cleared the area. There was no way what he was seeing was real but it appeared to be. It felt real as he put his hand into the closet. The cool air from a nearby fan blew over his hand. The noise of a hectic police station filled his ears. The smell of old coffee and printer toner wafted his way.

"Listen. I haven't got all day. In or out?" The woman asked, seemingly completely uncaring of their choice as long as she got an answer soon. 

Evie wondered who the hell she was. A chill ran down her spine at the mention of hell. Well, standing her wasn't getting any answers. As Tim turned back to her, brown eyes seeking her answer, she walked straight past him. Once the two of them entered the bull pen, Central Casting lady followed. Closing the door behind her, it disappeared. Not one person in the room looked twice at the dissipating door. Or them for that matter. They all carried on with whatever they were doing. Sorting papers. Talking on the phone. Typing on computers, all from various decades. Evie spotted a brand new, state of the art laptop, a big chuckled 80's number, one of those late 90's colourful iMacs. Tim spotted a guy using a typewriter and,he swears, a guy with a quill. 

"Boss's office is this way." The woman's heels tapped on the hard floor as she raced ahead of them. She must have been in her late 60s but she could move. 

The boss in question had 'Henriksen' painted on the glass of their door. Opening the door for them, she shut it behind them when they entered and left without a word. 

Another mystery woman, Henriksen presumably, didn't even look up from her paperwork. "Take a seat."

Only when Tim and Evie hesitated, looking at each other for reassurance did she look their way. "Seats, now. Please."

The two of them moved like the school principal had summoned them. 

"I'm Henriksen. I run this office. I know this is strange for you. We have a whole procedure to help you deal but we need signatures first. Red tape will drive you nuts!" She spoke a mile a minute and dumped two heavy files in front of each of them. Each labelled with their names. Evie barely had time to register that Tim's middle name was Ernesto before the woman started again. "Short version. You died. When people die they hang around unfinished business and what not. Most people move on after the closure of the funeral or loved ones saying goodbye or murder victims wait for justice. Some are stubborn S.O.Bs and can't move on. They are the ones we have here." Jumping up she moved to her window to tilt open her floor to ceiling blinds. 

Tim fumbled for his glasses as Evie stood moving closer to the window. "Tim?" 

Warmth bloomed in Tim's chest as she reached back for him. 

Neither one of them could comprehend what they were seeing. Over a few blocks of relatively new city buildings, the view diverged into a forest complete with a castle that looked like it came from the middle ages except it was in pristine condition. The other side held the view of a suburb that looked like it was from the 1940s. Further up the city blocks it looked like Tokyo all bright and neon, except Tokyo didn't have hover cars. 

"We have a lot of people from a lot of different times. This place seems to adapt to what people want. Most people are actually quite happy here. Some want to move on. That's where you come in."

Evie finally found her voice. "That's where we what?" 

"You two have everything you need to move on. You know who killed you. You have the love of your soul mate. You can choose to go to the next place. I can't tell you exactly what is there but it's peaceful. I know you two experienced a little of that back there. You were on your way until you started questioning it. If you sign here. You stay with us and you can help others find what they need to move on and help us police this place. You have twenty-four hours to think. Phillis will show you where you can stay." 

With that Henriksen press a button on her desk and Central Casting…Phillis came to collect you. Henriksen say another word as she went back to work.

The ride over had been silent but eventful. It's not every day you see a road rage incident involving a hover car and an old timey horse and cart. The two of them ate in silence. Phillis had left some TV dinners for them. They sat at the table in silence until the leftovers had cooled and congealed. 

Tim eventually spoke first. "I don't even know where to begin…"

"Me neither. This is too much."

"I know. It's weird but I kind of miss when I was just dead and standing over my body with you."

"Same. I mean, not you being dead or the body part but it felt…"

"Right."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to..?" Tim stretched his hand out for her to take. Once again they stepped into each other's arms. It felt nice, reassuring, but the same peace wasn't there. 

Chuckling nervously, they both realised it was different now. 

"Maybe if we..?" Evie leaned in to kiss him. The peace wasn't there in the kiss. Although something else was. It took them over as they pulled at each other's clothes and blindly fumbled their way to one of the bedrooms that Phillis had pointed out. 

The next morning, with the sunlight warming her bare back it was easy for Evie to forget everything. It was just another beautiful morning at home. Opening his eyes to see Tim, looking beautifully at peace, brought her back to her and now. Shame flooded her. It wasn't like she hadn't had a one night stand before. There were a few bad ones, a couple of good ones. Neither of them compared to last night. It was perfect, the kind of sex she thought only existed in movies or female producer porn. It was as if he knew what she wanted before she did. When she did want something different, she didn't feel uncomfortable to ask. During the second round, that they woke up for in the night, she'd asked for him to be rougher. He'd delivered, with great enthusiasm. It was amazing. Now, it suddenly felt awkward. She had so many conflicting feelings. On one hand, she was head over heels in love with Tim. On the other hand, he was a stranger! She didn't know how old his was, where he was from. Was he a cat or a dog person? An early morning or a late night person. She knew nothing about him yet she'd been happy enough to share some of her kinks with him.

Tim slowly woke when he felt her turn over. Needing a minute he kept his eyes closed. Fuck, this whole thing was just ridiculous. He was in love with a stranger. Sleeping in an apartment that belonged in the 40s. Was he dreaming? It all felt real. Last night felt very, very real. Making a beautiful woman cum, twice, around him felt very real. Her taking control to make him cum, felt very real as well. Her begging him to cum inside her, that felt very real. And like the most erotic experience of his life (afterlife?) He started to swell at the memory of it. A memory cut short by the sound of shouting outside their apartment. 

Any awkward conversation they might have had to have took a back seat as they quickly dressed to the point of decency and ran to the front door of their apartment. 

Outside, in the hallway, there stood an honest to goodness pirate, complete with eye patch and wooden peg leg. Apparently about to shoot a knight, in full mediaeval armour. 

Tags @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass

[baronessvonglitter]

Summer's almost over, and since I've been officially posting on tumblr since June, I'm going to start compiling fic recs on a seasonal basis, so naturally we're starting with summer.

I realize some of these fics are older, and some are even out of season ("Boo" takes place on Halloween) but this is my blog and I'm not gonna hold myself to too many standards 😜

Honestly, everything I reblog is an automatic "fic rec". The ones below are my particular favorites of this past summer 🌅

Abducted ~ Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @propheticbride

Boo ~ Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @pascalsbby

Brat! ~ Joel Miller x brat!female!reader ~ by @shellshocklove

Caught in the Act ~ pre-outbreak Joel Miller x roommate!fem!reader ~ by @mermaidgirl30

Cuts Like Glass ~ Dave York x f!reader ~ by @morallyinept

Dinner and a Show ~ Joel Miller x Roman Roy x f!reader ~ by @strang3lov3

Doctor's Pet ~ doctor!Dave York x nurse!reader ~ by @evolnoomym

Heavenly Bound ~ Jackson!Joel Miller x afab!virgin!reader ~ by @ozarkthedog

I Can Bring You in Hot ~ Din Djarin x Maxwell Lord ~ by @ghostofaboy

In the shadows of others, we grow (series) ~ Tim Rockford x Dave York ~ by @sin-djarin

Just Like That (series) ~ dark!perv!stepdad!Joel Miller x fem!reader ~ by @sweetpascal

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder ~ Javier Pena x reader ~ by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

The Nebble Files (series) ~ Tim Rockford x OFC Jane Nebble ~ by @inept-the-magnificent

Please, Sir ~ Marcus Pike x female!reader ~ by @mountainsandmayhem

The Police Officer ~ uniformed!Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @myownwholewildworld

Privates ~ AU!Joel Miller x Javier Pena x afab!reader ~ by @eff4freddie

Push It ~ Joel Miller x fem!reader ~ by @milla-frenchy

Put it in, Coach ~ Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @magpiepills

The Rift (series) ~ Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!reader ~ by @whataperfectwasteoftime

Savior ~ dark!Joel x captive!reader ~ by @lokischocolatefountain

Strawberry Sugar ~ modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader ~ by @guiltyasdave

Sweet Tooth ~ mom's bf!Javier Pena x f!reader ~ by @magpiepills

Table for Three ~ Joel Miller x f x Dave York ~ by @aurorawritestoescape

Untitled Joel Miller x f!reader ~ by @joelslastofus

Untitled Marcus Acacius x f!reader ~ by @joelslastofus

Volatile ~ Dave York x f!reader ~ by @javier-pena

The Wedding Night ~ Marcus Acacius x female!reader ~ by @ienjoywritingfilth

Wildest Dreams (series) ~ Dave York x f!reader ~ by @guiltyasdave

[almostfoxglove]

it's been a minute. here are some fics I've been gobbling whole & heartily! go give 'em some love!!

💖 - fluff | 🔥 - smut | 😭 - angst | ⭐ - one shot | ✨ - series

surprise me! (misc)

if the wind turns by @itsokbbygrl - joel miller x f!reader ⭐😭 💖

two roads diverge in a forest by @marisferasiop - ezra x f!reader ⭐💖😭

need a good cry?

peace by @guiltyasdave - oberyn martell ⭐😭

what was I made for? by @604to647 - tim rockford x f!reader ⭐💖😭

a home with you by @burntheedges - din djarin x f!reader ✨😭💖

pent up, down bad, or chasing release?

sunday brunch by @milla-frenchy - joel miller x f!reader ✨🔥

slow by @sizzlingcloudmentality - dave york x f!reader ⭐🔥

you'll just have to taste me by @thetriumphantpanda - joel miller x f!reader ⭐🔥

blur by @moonlitbirdie - dieter bravo x f!reader ⭐🔥💖

raw by @gasolinerainbowpuddles - joel miller x f!reader ⭐🔥

tucked in for the long haul? (series)

psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat - dieter bravo x ofc ✨🔥😭💖

strawberry shortcake by @604to647 - frankie morales x f!reader ✨💖🔥😭

guilty pleasure by @for-a-longlongtime - joel miller x f!reader ✨🔥

dividers by @thecutestgrotto

[ladamedusoif]

An Inspecteur Calls

A Visiting Pedrotober One-Shot - Day 20, Merge Mansion

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Lyd is stressed and frustrated, and hit with a bad dose of Parisian nostalgia. Thankfully, Ben knows of a detective - sorry, inspecteur - Roquefort, who is free to investigate the cause of her woes, shoulder holsters included.

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (series/one-shot specific): Visiting fic one-shot; Professor Ben College AU; Ben and Lydia are contemporaries; canon is not a thing here; smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); safe PiV sex; enthusiastic consent; strong language; praise kink; references to stress; bad French; terrible French accents; role playing; these two are fucking dorks; extreme silliness

A/N: This is @jack-whiskey-daniels' fault. I wrote up this smutty little vignette, heavily inspired by the photo of Tim Rockford above, last night. Today, Luce informs me that it's Merge Mansion day for Pedrotober and I should post this. Well, who am I to say no?

With apologies for Ben's deliberately terrible attempts at role-playing a cliched French detective (inspecteur is the more common title). No apologies for me using Lydia to work through my love of Tim "Shoulder Holsters Tight Shirt Undervest" Rockford.

(And, seeing as it's his birthday and these two are film nerds, I had to throw in a reference to a film by the French director Jean-Pierre Melville, creator of several exceptional French crime dramas in the 1960s and 1970s. Le Cercle rouge is one of his finest, but they're all brilliant and highly recommended.)

Read the main story on the series Masterlist.

Usual Visiting taglist: @jack-whiskey-daniels , @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle , @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @javierisms , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile, @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring, @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @lizzie-cakes

His warm, broad hand rests lightly on your shoulder as he passes you at the dining table. You turn to look up at him, handsome face full of concern.

“You’re not yourself. What’s up?”

You sigh and stare into your coffee. “It’s dumb.”

He pulls out a chair and sits down, quirking an eyebrow. “If it’s bothering you, I doubt it’s dumb. What’s wrong, love?”

“It’s this stupid essay I’m trying to get finished. I’m missing some of the stuff that would be really useful for it, and I should have gone to see it last time I was in Paris, and I’m frustrated with myself.”

“That’s not dumb, darling. Even if you are being too hard on yourself, as usual.”

You slump forward on the table, mumbling against the wooden surface. “And then I thought about how easy it used to be to just…pop over to Paris, whenever I could, and then I started thinking about it and how much I love it.”

He pats your arm affectionately. “Still not dumb.”

“And then we watched Le Cercle rouge last night and even all those dodgy cops and inspecteurs in their trenchcoats and hats and crime were making me miss Paris. See? Dumb.”

Ben shakes his head and smiles softly. “Not dumb at all. It’s a part of you, of who you are.” He traces a circle on the back of your hand. “And anyway, didn’t you once tell me you had a thing for dodgy cops with moustaches?” He looks at you mischievously and you grin.

“You, Benjamin, are a very tolerant man.” You reach out and trace your fingers over the coarse hair on one side of his face, and he closes his eyes and hums happily.

“I love you, Lyddie. It’ll be okay.” He pushes himself away from the table and heads towards the hallway. “I gotta go for my early seminar, but keep Hemingway in mind.”

You laugh and roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course, the answer is in literature.” He pauses at the door, waiting for you to acknowledge the quotation. “‘Wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.’”

He does that half-smile that never fails to make you melt, blows you a kiss, and heads off to work.

You meet him later for lunch, having worked at home for most of the morning. In between bites of his sandwich, he excitedly talks about the graduate seminar he’d taught, and you discuss your plans for your workshop on gender and visual culture that afternoon while Ben listens attentively.

“You feeling any better?” he asks, as you brush a stray couple of crumbs from his moustache. 

“A bit. I’m sorry, I just spiralled. Probably mostly stress and frustration at my own shitty work ethic and crap ideas.”

He kisses the tips of your fingers swiftly and discreetly, and you giggle. “You have to be kinder to yourself. You’re working too hard, thinking about it too much.”

You clear your table and bring your trays to the designated area, hands brushing lightly against each other as you stroll out of the cafeteria and back towards your building and your offices. You smile to yourself at how, even now, the slightest touch from him sends a current of electricity sparking through your body.

Ben opens his office door and pulls you in for a quick kiss before you have to go and teach. He pulls away reluctantly as you whine softly. 

“Please be kinder to yourself, Lyd.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as you move into the hallway. “I’m happy to help distract you, you know.”

“I’m home, love!” 

You drop your bag beside the hall table and hang your coat up on the rack before kicking off your shoes and stretching upwards as you walk towards the kitchen, where you expect to find him. On days when you have a later teaching schedule, Ben likes to get home earlier, finish his work in his attic study, and then get dinner started for both of you.

Something delicious is cooking away in the CrockPot, but there’s no sign of your boyfriend. You pass into the dining room, noticing the light from the living room coming through the glass-panelled doors. 

Ben is sitting on the sofa, wearing his glasses - nothing out of the ordinary there. But he’s also clad in the trenchcoat he wore for his Dave Toschi costume on Halloween, which is decidedly weird. 

“Uh, baby? You okay?”

He turns to face you, arching an eyebrow and running his eyes up and down your body as if he’s appraising you. 

“Ben?”

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”

You scrunch your face up in absolute confusion, and wonder if you should call Jen. Maybe some kind of accident happened at work? Did he take a knock to the head?

“Ben, I’m…what the fuck is happening?”

He holds a hand up to one side of his face and does a sort of stage whisper. “Go with it, Lyd! Just an attempt at cheering you up. You want to stop, just say the word.”

You burst out laughing and shake your head. “No, I’m… I’ll see where this leads, monsieur.”

He grins in satisfaction and stands up. “Je suis Inspecteur Timothée Roquefort, and…uh, I mean, et je suis un…Parisian police homme.”

“Baby, I know your French is better than this.”

Ben holds up a hand and continues speaking in what can only be described as one of the worst comedy French accents you have ever heard. “Mademoiselle! Do not interrupt moi.”

You bite your lip, body shaking with laughter. “D’accord, monsieur.”

“I received une message at the commissariat de police that une jolie femme was…” He looks away as he thinks. “Triste parce que she is not in Pareeeeee.”

“D’accord, mais je ne sais pas pourquoi les flics doivent intervenir dans une question personnelle, en fait, et alors -” [Okay, but I don’t know why cops have to intervene in a personal matter, really, and anyway -]

Ben looks panicked, and starts to rub at one side of his moustache with his pointer finger.

“Uh… HON HON HON. OMELETTE DU FROMAGE.”

That does it. You collapse against him in a fit of laughter, eyes creased and tears rolling down your cheeks. He holds you close against him as you look up at his open, handsome face. 

“You are a very goofy man, Benjamin Morales, and I love you for it. Though I don’t really understand how I want to fuck you this badly even with that accent.”

He grins. “You want to fuck moi because je suis a sexy Parisian police homme, non?” 

He plants a kiss to your forehead as he hugs you tightly. “L’Inspecteur did have une question de plus, Lyddie.”

“Eh bien?”

You can see him struggling not to laugh as he makes a cheesy, cliched “sexy” face at you. 

“La question, s’il vous plait.”

“Well, mademoiselle…” Ben shrugs off the trenchcoat to reveal the shoulder holsters he’d worn at Halloween. The ones that had helped show you just how beautifully broad he was. The ones you’d held onto as the two of you sat as close as it was possible for two friends to sit, both taking any opportunity to make contact with the other’s body. 

The ones you’d asked him, a while back, if he’d kept. “Just because,” you’d explained. “They were kinda hot.”

You reach out and trace your fingers over the leather of the straps, biting your lip and feeling the flame of your desire building steadily into an inferno.

“La question, monsieur l’Inspecteur.”

He arches his brow and gives you his most seductive smile. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

You make it to the bedroom in record time, laughing as you race up the stairs and sit down on the bed as he stands in front of you. 

“Where do you want me for the, uh, investigation, monsieur l’Inspecteur?”

Ben grins delightedly and leans forward, encouraging you to lie back on the mattress as he shifts his broad form over you, arms caging your body as you run your hands over his warm, solid chest and that tummy that makes you absolutely feral. His white shirt is perfectly snug, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and your hips are already shifting upwards to meet his crotch, desperate for him.

You grip the shoulder holsters as Ben chuckles, bringing his head lower and whispering in your ear. “Je think that les clues are hidden dans your body.”

You both burst out laughing, but your eyes stay trained on each other, never breaking the intense intimacy and erotic power of the shared gaze. 

“You should probably do some searching, then, Inspecteur.”

Ben kisses you deeply as he moves you towards the middle of the bed and loosens his tie before unbuttoning your blouse, bringing his mouth to every new area of skin exposed. “Might be here?” he murmurs, lips brushing off the velvety flesh of your breasts before sucking on your nipples through the pink lace of your bra. 

Your back arches as you gasp. “No, don’t think so…sir.”

You feel his cock twitch in his pants at that and you smile wickedly. “Liked that, did we? Sir?”

Ben hides his face against your tummy and laughs. “Maybe.” His broad hands roam up to your shoulders as he helps you out of your blouse, before tracing the outline of your waist and the curves of your hips and ass as he unbuttons your dark green pants and slips his fingers into your panties. 

“Fuck, Ben, fuck, that’s -”

“Maybe the clues are here? What do you think, mademoiselle?”

He shifts his body down the bed and looks up at you lasciviously, eyes burning black with lust as he pulls your pants down and discards them. He eases your legs apart and you react with a gasp and a giggle as he works his way up your thighs. 

“Looking for treasure, sir?”

He laughs, low and warm, and brings his face to your core. “Found it, mademoiselle.” The heat of his mouth hits your pussy through the fabric of your panties, and you moan loudly. He hums happily as he kisses your soaking cunt, pulling the fabric aside to grant him more access before he drags them off you completely and buries his mouth between your legs. His tongue moves between your folds, flicking your clit every now and again before diving into the warm wetness of your entrance while the strong line of his nose keeps the pressure on the sensitive nub. 

The first orgasm hits you hard, and your hips bear down on Ben’s face as he groans with pleasure. He slips two fingers inside you to sustain the climax a little longer, and with the other hand unbuckles his belt and undoes his zipper, slipping off his pants and boxer briefs while he continues to massage the spot inside you that he knows, having had you so many times, will deepen the orgasm and build to an even stronger one next time.

“Need you, baby,” you whine, eyes drifting to his hard cock, tip glistening with pre-come. “Need you so badly.”

You reach up as he shifts his weight over you, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his white undervest, clinging perfectly to his gorgeous, solid form. He makes as if to take off the holsters. 

“Don’t you fucking dare take those off. They’re staying on, sir.”

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. “Oh, mademoiselle likes them, does she?”

You giggle, feeling his warm breath against your lips, and slip your fingers under the straps around his shoulders. “She really likes them, monsieur. Liked them from the first time she saw them on you.”

He kisses you hard, one hand groping your tits while the other gives his cock a few strokes as he shifts into position. “Sometimes I wish you’d told me back then, that night,” he murmurs, sucking lightly on your neck and making you cry out.

“Think we made up for lost time, though,” you gasp, tilting your head to look at his hard length notching at the wet folds of your cunt. “Please fuck me, baby.”

He slides into you in a fluid motion, moaning long and slow as he bottoms out and the tightness of your pussy takes hold around his cock. He drags back out of you slowly, luxuriantly, savouring every bump and ridge inside you and trying to restrain himself from driving back into you too quickly.

“Jesus, baby, your pussy is fucking incredible. So warm and tight for me.”

He starts to fuck you, picking up pace quickly as you keep hold of the shoulder holsters.

“Tell me, darling.”

He closes his eyes, face a perfect expression of ecstasy. “It’s just fucking perfect. Like you’re made for me, made for my cock. Made for each other.”

You tilt your pelvis slightly so that he’s grinding a little more on your clit as he moves in and out of you, and before long the friction has you coming again. Ben groans at the sensation as your pussy clenches around him and you ride out your orgasm on his cock. 

“Fuck, Lyd, I - oh, fuck.” He seems surprised at how quickly his own release comes, spilling into you while he buries his face against your neck, muttering a litany of curses and praise. 

“Oh fuck fuck fuck baby, that’s fucking it, that’s - my good fucking girl, fuck.”

When he lifts his head again, his face and upper body are drenched in sweat, dripping onto your neck and chest. He kisses you slowly, deeply, before he pulls out. You whine with pleasure at the taste of yourself, of your cunt, on his lips.

He flops back onto the bed, turning to kiss you again and stroke your cheek as he whispers his love for you, over and over.

You return the gesture, nuzzling against him, sated and feeling completely loved, completely adored, completely safe. 

The sight of the shoulder holster makes you giggle affectionately. This beautiful, goofy, sexy man, who would come up with something so silly and so sweet and so insanely hot, just to make you feel better.

“Can the inspecteur come by another time, baby? I think there might be more cases to solve.”

(tape warning by @cafekitsune; star dividers by @saradika)

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 4

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count:2.8k

Summary:  “Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, HTTYD reference, scars

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Case

You take possession of one of Rockford’s spare notebooks, yellow and spiral bound, scribbling down details about the case he’s been asked by the police to help investigate.

7 suicides over the past 8 months 

Unsure why the brief lapse during the third month

Perhaps to throw police off potential trail?

Victims are all different ages, backgrounds, careers

Also found dead in different locations across Fox Leap—alleyways, parking lots, isolated spots

No witnesses

No suicide notes left behind 

Single commonality: all died by ingesting a cyanide pill

Suspects? None

Police aren’t convinced deaths are connected 

Rockford is certain they are

I don’t know what to think

The Invitation

Friday evening finds you job hunting across the internet from the comfort of the couch. It’s another one of the steps of Dr. Odair’s grand therapy plan to reintegrate you into society. Of course, what she failed to mention was that the potential career opportunities for ex-military empaths are few and far between. You lean back against the cushion, resisting the urge to grab your mug of tea and pour it onto your laptop. It’s not the computer’s fault there’s a prejudice against those with mind-gifts after all. 

The squeaks of Banjo’s stuffed toy pull your attention towards the dog rolling around on the floor, his beloved plush panda Bamboo held between his paws, teeth gnawing at its leg. Rockford lies stretched out on the white rug nearby, eyes closed, the picture perfect example of tranquility. He isn’t sleeping—you can tell by the tapping of his fingers against his stomach, a song only he knows—but it’s nice to pretend. For all that you’ve pestered him with questions about his job and for all that Rockford has patiently answered each one without even the tiniest thrum of irritation, his bizarre, seemingly nonexistent sleeping schedule is a topic you’ve yet to broach with him. 

Brown eyes snap open, startling you so badly it’s a miracle your laptop isn’t sent crashing to the floor. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Rockford’s on his feet and stalking off down the hallway in a blur. You blink, caught off guard, and exchange a look with an equally bewildered Banjo. Should you follow after him or…?

A knock on the front door makes the decision for you.

The prospect of a guest sends Banjo into a tizzy, ditching Bamboo without remorse, tail wagging so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off. You can’t exactly blame him. Other than a quick visit from the landlady to give you your own set of keys and introduce herself— Professor Rosasharn Claremont, an instructor of forensic sciences at the local university with prehensile hair she used to slap the back of Rockford’s head for not visiting her enough—nobody’s knocked on the door as long as you’ve lived here.

You’re not sure who’s brain function shorts out first when you open the door: yours or the unknown man wearing a police badge on his belt. He’s middle-aged, dirty blond hair, a scar twisting along in a distorted line from the left side of his mouth to his ear. A hideous mark, but at the same time intriguing in its uniqueness. You can’t help but think how if it was copied onto the right side, it’d almost look like some kind of villainous grin.

Banjo’s attempt of squeezing between your leg and the doorway to get a good sniff of the man is enough to jumpstart you back into motion. Nudging him away with your socked foot, you tell him to return to his bed, punctuating the command with a firm point of your finger. Only once he sullenly pads away, ears drooped as if you’ve just gutted Bamboo right in front of him with a butcher knife, do you turn back to face the policeman, who appears to have also gotten over his initial surprise.

“Can I help you, officer?”

“Inspector,” he corrects with an accent you can’t quite place, almost like a rumbling sort of growl, but despite the harsh sound his tone is polite as he introduces himself. “Inspector Dorrance with the Fox Leap Police Department. I’m here for Tim Rockford.”

His emotions are almost unnaturally steady, like he’s got the internal parts of a clock ticking away rather than temperamental hormones. You figure he must’ve gone through some sort of training course for mood management. Smart. A lawman with a high pressure job, anger issues, and a loaded gun is a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, is this about the case?” you ask with far more perkiness in your voice than you intend. 

“He told you about that, did he,” Inspector Dorrance says in the exact same instant that Rockford calls out from the depths of the apartment, “Get to the point why you’re here, Kez.”

Kez? You mouth to yourself before opening the door wider, inviting the inspector to step inside. He isn’t subtle as he looks around, gaze lingering noticeably on the few personal items of yours spread throughout the room, before he turns towards the hall.

“Another body’s been found. Abandoned warehouse near the wharf.”

“And?” Rockford asks, still out of view. 

Dorrance side-eyes you, clearly debating with himself the legalities of discussing an open case with a civilian present. A civilian he clearly knew nothing about as of two minutes ago. You offer up only silence in response, too curious for your own good to leave without him directly asking.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Your roommate emerges from his office, his trench coat gripped in one hand and mouth fixed in an unimpressed frown. He gestures between you and the inspector. “Kez, my current roommate and match, Roan. Roan, my ex-roommate and one of the only competent members of law enforcement in the city, Keziah. Can we get back to the victim now?”

Your eyes widen. Ex-roommate? How long have they known each other? There’s definitely a story there. 

“I’m sorry,” Dorrance begins, “did you just say she’s your match? When the hell were you going to tell me this happened?”

“Apparently not,” Rockford mutters. “I was going to tell you when it came up. And it just did.”

“You—” Dorrance cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose.

It really is a credit to Dorrance’s mood management training his emotions don’t even so much as dip or catch fire. Instead, he shoots Rockford a look that plainly says, We’re going to be talking about this later, and then turns to face you once more.

“I wish we were meeting on better circumstances. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you since you’re his match that underneath this—” he gestures vaguely at Rockford which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

Dorrance carries on, unbothered, “—is a giant question mark nobody will ever find the answer to. But if I were to bet on anyone coming close, I’d put my money on you.”

“Thank you, I think,” you say, daring a quick glance at Rockford’s face, which you’re pleased to notice has softened the tiniest bit. “You’ll be the first one I tell if I do.”

For whatever reason, your answer has the inspector immediately smirking, left side of his face stretched tight due to the scar tissue.

“Kez, in addition to being a recurring pain in my side,” Rockford explains, sensing your confusion, “is also a lie detector. Any hint of dishonesty and his gift’ll catch it. Makes him handy in the interrogation room.”

Gifts can be interesting like that sometimes, lining up perfectly with a specific job. A singer with the ability to alter their voice to any pitch, a fireman with an immunity to burns, a veterinarian who can speak to animals–you’ve seen them all. Human lie detector is a new one though, you’ll admit.

Dorrance shoves a hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone vibrating with an incoming text. He scans the message, smirk wiped off his face and replaced with grimness. 

“Right, back to the reason I came over,” he says briskly, tucking his cell away again. “You know how the victims never leave notes?”

“Yes.” Rockford’s listening attentively, eyes narrowed. “What of it?”

“This one did.”

Rockford’s expression doesn’t change, not even a twitch of his brow. His mind though, oh his mind’s the calm before the storm. Something’s beginning to stir awake underneath the surface. Tempted by the reveal, hungry for more details to dig its teeth into. 

For weeks you’ve wondered about the depths unknown to your empathy, about what lurks there. You’ve got a distinct, icy certainty crawling up your spine you’re soon to discover another side of your match previously unseen. 

“Will you come to the scene?” Dorrance asks hopefully.

“Of course. No point sitting at home when there’s an exciting development going on.” Rockford begins slipping his arms through the sleeves of his trench coat, adjusting the collar to his liking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been down to the wharf.”

“Just try not to piss off anyone, will you? One dead body is enough to deal with as it is.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rockford says with a wry grin. Then, turning to you, he arches an eyebrow, “Well, Roan, you got any plans this evening?”

You think of your laptop back on the couch, numerous job sites still left to be checked. 

“Uh, no,” you answer, shaking your head. “Not really.”

“Roan was in the military,” your roommate tells the inspector, but his eyes remain held on your face, a speculating glint in them that has you subconsciously straightening up. Almost as if you’re standing at attention. “You saw a lot of violent deaths, didn’t you?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Witnessed several dangerous situations?”

“Worst of the worst. Stuff of pure nightmares.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavier. There’s a crime scene needing to be examined, a case to be closed, and yet everything seems to have slowed down all at once. As if the very air itself has frozen solid. And you realize you’re holding your breath, waiting for something.

“Want to see some more?”

An invitation.

Dr. Odair’s been telling you now that you’ve matched and your mind-gift has become more manageable, it’s time to pick up some hobbies. To go out to more places for fun other than just the library and dog park. No doubt she was probably thinking of safe and relaxing options like chess or badminton or pottery classes at the rec center.

The problem though, is that safe and relaxing doesn’t spark a wildfire in your blood, bringing you back to the days where you had a clear purpose to fulfill and problems to deal with head-on. You want another adventure, and here’s one dangling right in front of you, just waiting for you to say—

“Hell yes,” you blurt out, and even without your mind-gift you can tell Rockford’s happy with your choice by the half curl of his mouth and crinkling around his eyes as he asks Dorrance for the address.

The Doubt

Rockford holds the cab door open for you, sliding in after you’ve settled against the plush seat with Banjo secure in your lap. The little mutt’s tail beats a rhythm against your jacket, excited about the trip even if he has no clue the final destination. You’re still not convinced bringing a dog of all creatures to an active crime scene investigation is the wisest move, but let the record show your roommate has a helluva weakness for Banjo’s puppy eyes. 

“Keziah’s team of imbeciles disguised as CSIs are wreaking havoc on the scene as we speak. I highly doubt there’s much more damage Banjo can cause,” Rockford had said with an amused look when you voiced your concern. “Besides, no man left behind. Isn’t that the military creed?”

And well, he wasn’t wrong about that. (Not to mention, you’ve got a pretty big weakness for Banjo’s sweet brown eyes too…)

The drive to the wharf is brief without too much annoying traffic. Outside, the sun’s dipped out of sight and darkness is enveloping the city, street lights blinking on. Inside, it’s quiet except for a country song playing lowly on the radio. The cabbie’s mood is easygoing if not a little bogged down by exhaustion whereas Banjo’s is a bouncy spring of enthusiasm, nose practically pressed against the window as his eyes struggle to keep up with all the sights rolling past. Still, as entertaining as the pup’s emotions are, your mind-gift continues circling back to the man sitting next you like a homing pigeon.

Nothing’s changed within his mindscape during the journey. The calm, almost eerie stillness from before is still in effect. You can tell he’s thinking about something—the man’s never not thinking—but whatever it is clouding his gaze, furrowing his brow, is not disturbing enough to imprint upon your empathy. It’s moments like this one where you wish you were a mind reader, if only for a few seconds. 

“We’re here,” Rockford announces, paying the cabbie his fare.

Scrambling out of the vehicle, you set Banjo down on the ground. While he performs a full-bodied shake, you take in the cluster of police cars and flashing lights and abundance of barricade tape surrounding a warehouse, derelict and foreboding, along the waterfront. The press have also caught wind of the scene, prowling around with their microphones and cameras like vultures. You swallow, subconsciously twisting the leash around your fingers.

You’d wanted an adventure and yet…this is all so very, very different from a battlefield. It’s a whole other form of organized chaos, and it’s terrifying not having the slightest clue how to safely navigate it. 

Your initial fears were misplaced. It won’t be Banjo making a mess. It will be you.

Rockford starts forward, clearly eager to get to work, only to halt after five steps when you fail to follow. He turns around to look you over from head to toe, carefully nudging at your mind-gift as he does so, confusion only deepening when he fails to understand your lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”

You bite your lip, glancing nervously once more between the hive of activity and his steady brown eyes. “I don’t think I belong here.”

Rockford stares at you, the glow of the street light illuminating one side of his face. 

“Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Your head’s already shaking aggressively before a response forms. “N-no, absolutely not!” you say hastily, frantic to assure him of the truth. You close the gap of distance, hoping somehow being closer will remedy the spiraling situation, but when that doesn’t smoothen out the wrinkles on his forehead your empathy reacts by hurling a tangled ball of loyalty-friendship-safety-contentment straight at him. The most desperate of Hail Mary plays.

Rockford sucks in a breath. You watch his expression spasm, knocked off-kilter, before it settles into something as exasperated as it is fond. This time, the nudge against your mind-gift is firmer, the only warning you get before the ball you’d thrown returns and smacks you square in the chest. 

“Oh,” is your immediate reaction, breathless from the intensity.

What was it he had said before? You and him are two halves of the same whole.

And then there’s a warm hand on top of your head, gentle, affectionate, and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. You blink up at Rockford, heart thudding in your chest.

“That’s right. You,” he says slowly, purposefully, “belong anywhere I am. Banjo, too.”

Banjo woofs, baring his teeth in a snaggletoothed grin, and you’d chuckle at that if you had any air left in your lungs. Not for the first time, you cannot help but marvel at your match’s realness. There’s no such thing as perfection, but you think he comes pretty damn close. 

“Now you’ve done it,” you aim for humor, but you can’t shake the wobble from your voice. “You'll never know a moment’s peace again.”

“Ah, peace is overrated,” Rockford declares with an unconcerned shrug, hand returning to the pocket of his trench coat. “So, we’re in agreement then. We’re stuck with each other.”

“Mhmm, no take backsies.”

You needed this moment, this reassurance. The doubts you hadn’t even known you carried have been firmly put to rest, vanquished by the proof he values the soulbond tying your lives together just as much as you do. 

But despite the importance of this conversation you can’t keep ignoring the flashing lights up ahead forever. Your eyes slide past Rockford, spotting Inspector Dorrance in his grey suit amongst the sea of navy uniformed officers gesturing with his arms.

“Ultimately, it’s your choice where you go,” Rockford says, and it’s clear he’s made up his own mind by the way he turns away from you, resuming his walk towards the scene. 

You watch the dramatic flaring of the bottom of his coat with each step, watch the tapping of his fingers against his left thigh, watch as the man tosses one last remark over his shoulder:

“Keep up, Roan. We both know you’re coming with me.”

By the time he reaches the barricade tape, you and Banjo are right by his side. Exactly where you both belong.