#Tim is smitten 😏

[monstera-modd]

Ultraluminary

DPxDC #7 DeadTired AU, also a Songfic 

For a visual of what Im’a…trying to describe, here’s the link

_______________

Tim was going to explode! His favorite singer Phantom, was coming to Gotham. He even made sure he got an extra ten hours of sleep, to prepare for the concert. Con was just as excited, and both of them (along with the whole of Young Justice) had scored pit passes to see Phantom live.

They arrived at the venue two hours early, just like they’d planned. Technically, it was to get good spots at the front of the stage for all the performers… but let’s be real– Tim wanted to be as close to Phantom as physically possible.

The air buzzed with anticipation. The sky overhead was dimming toward dusk, and the venue lights flickered to life, casting golden beams across the crowd. People were jittery, loud, and booming with excitement. But Tim’s nerves felt different, he wasn’t just excited. He was wired, on edge, like something electric was coiled tight inside him.

His heartbeat had been climbing all day, not just from the adrenaline of the concert, but from the thought of seeing Phantom in person.

Hearing that voice live. 

Seeing his smile. 

Feeling whatever strange, magnetic pull that voice always had on him—but this time, face to face.

The first performer to hit the stage was Spectra. Her haunting voice swept over the crowd, quieting them instantly.

She opened with a slow, melancholic melody, her voice threading through the air like mist. Every note was bittersweet, aching with beauty. The kind of sound that curled around your ribs and squeezed.

Tim found himself holding his breath through parts of it, his heart beating in time with the hollow echo of her voice. He noticed Con quietly wiping at his eyes halfway through the second song, and honestly? Tim couldn’t blame him. Her music didn’t just tug at your heartstrings– it played them like a violin.

When Spectra’s set ended, the crowd clapped softly, reverently, as if afraid to break the spell she'd cast.

Tim exhaled, realizing he’d been gripping the barrier at the front without noticing. His palms were sweaty. He wasn’t even to the main event yet, and he already felt undone.

Then, all at once– Ember stormed the stage like lightning.

A thunderous chord split the air as her guitar roared to life, wild and electric. The speakers shook under the weight of her sound, each riff scorching through the air like fire made music. She didn’t just play– she owned the stage, strutting across it with the kind of effortless swagger that turned chaos into art.

The crowd exploded into motion, a tidal wave of movement crashing against the rhythm. Ember was a storm in leather and flame, her voice a howl of rebellion that wrapped around the crowd and refused to let go.

Cassie lost it completely.

She was shrieking the lyrics like they were gospel, arms in the air, hair flying as she headbanged and danced without a shred of self-consciousness. She grabbed Wally by the shoulders, shaking him with wild enthusiasm until he finally gave in and started jumping beside her, laughing.

“You don’t get it!” she shouted over the music, practically vibrating with joy. “She’s a legend! Ember was my entire villain era– LOOK AT HER!”

Wally grinned, eyes wide as he tried to keep up with her energy. “I am looking! I think I’m witnessing a religious experience!”

Cassie didn’t hear him. She was too busy air-guitaring along, eyes shining with awe every time Ember hit another screaming note. Her voice was fire, her presence pure magnetism– fierce, beautiful, untouchable.

Tim laughed, the sound half-swallowed by the crowd, but still warm. There was a buzz under his skin now– a steady, pulsing anticipation. Ember’s energy was contagious, but the real reason his pulse wouldn’t settle was because next… was Phantom.

As Ember’s final song hit its climax, she spun her guitar around her back in one smooth, defiant motion and strutted to center stage. Sweat glistened on her skin under the stage lights, her eyes blazing with the high of performance.

She raised her arms high and shouted into the mic, voice still crackling with adrenaline. “Y’ALL KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!”

The crowd erupted, deafening.

“GOTHAM CITY! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE ONE! THE ONLY! PHANTOM!”

The lights cut out in an instant. A thin curtain dropped from the ceiling, casting the stage in silhouette.

The cheering reached a fever pitch– screams, stomps, whistles, cries of “WE LOVE YOU!” echoing into the darkness. It was pure chaos, pure electricity.

And Tim… Tim’s breath caught.

In the suspended hush between the cheers and whatever came next, his heart thundered in his chest. That tiny pause felt like it stretched forever, holding him still in its grip.

Then– A breath through a microphone.

The sound alone sent a shiver down Tim’s spine, sharp and sudden, like the world itself had inhaled with him.

The crowd fell quiet.

“I'm the light, every night in your world…”

That voice.

That voice.

It hit him like gravity. Smooth and silken, wrapped in a depth of emotion that settled in his bones and pulled tight around his chest like a velvet ribbon. There was something rich and haunting in it– rising and falling like the tide, aching and beautiful in every syllable.

Tim’s heart clenched. He’d never heard anything like it.

A soft glow began to bloom on the stage, a wash of blue light illuminating a figure behind the curtain– silhouetted, ethereal.

“Are you ready to watch me be leg-en-dary?”

The figure moved, arm raised high in a bold, elegant pose– singing into what looked like a microphone.

“'Cause I'm… ultra-luminary.”

With a sweep across his body, the veils dropped– timed perfectly with the thrum of the first beat. Light cascaded like a waterfall, revealing Phantom in full.

And Tim forgot how to breathe.

Phantom smirked beneath lashes dusted in glitter that shimmered like stardust, casting celestial sparks around his vivid green eyes. His outfit shimmered in deep hues of blues, indigos, and rich violets that rippled like a galaxy draped across his skin. Every movement sent his fabric trailing behind him in waves, and the very air seemed to warp around his presence.

Tim was spellbound…completely, hopelessly frozen. So close. He was so close. If he just reached out–

A sudden push from the crowd knocked him forward, shoving him straight to the front of the T-shaped stage. The pulse of bass echoed in his ribs, but all he could see was Phantom.

Phantom tossed the fake microphone into the audience with a grin, striding confidently down the extended runway. His steps matched the beat, his hands swinging with graceful intention.

“You wish on me in my glitter light, First star you see tonight…”

He pointed toward the distant horizon, foot dragging gently along the stage with the melody’s pull, like painting light with movement.

“So wish away– wish with all your might Upon this radiant sight.”

Phantom threw his head back in a sweeping motion, then spun in a dazzling flare of color. His hands sparked with glowing light, and as he dropped smoothly to the stage floor, brilliant beams burst outward from his fingertips, piercing the blue atmosphere with radiant streaks of pink and orange.

The audience screamed in delight, but Tim could barely hear it. The world had narrowed down to this: light, sound, color… and him.

“The stars Ignite, They flame from dust Born out of gravity and force– they combust…”

The beat dropped into a low, pulsing thrum that vibrated through the floor and straight into Tim’s chest. His breath caught, his heart pounding in time with the rhythm, pupils blown wide as Phantom moved closer.

Swaying. Flowing. Every step like a ripple through liquid light.

Phantom swept down the strip with effortless grace, closing the distance, and Tim’s whole body leaned forward, drawn like a moth to flame.

He stopped right at the edge of the stage.

Right in front of him.

Tim looked up, caught in the gravitational pull of him, and the world narrowed down to Phantom’s silhouette bathed in starlight.

Backup dancers rose seamlessly from hidden platforms, flanking him with perfectly synchronized movements, their voices layering in sweet, high harmonies.

“And though they try…in ri-val-ry They’ll never shine bright as me.”

The lights suddenly went black.

Tim's breath hitched.

Phantom held the final note, arms rising in slow reverence… and then, with a single, dramatic throw downward, the stage exploded into blinding bursts of white, pink, and yellow, washing the entire stadium in light.

His outfit shimmered again, colors shifting, reflecting the explosion like a living aurora. He had become a supernova incarnate.

“I’m the light every night in your world– Eh”

Phantom pointed directly into the crowd, his body bending down low before rising back up in a fluid arc, hips rolling effortlessly as he danced across the stage’s edge. The backup dancers followed him like orbiting satellites, flawless and entranced.

And for a heartbeat, Tim could swear Phantom’s eyes locked onto his.

His breath hitched –cheeks flushing hot– and somewhere behind him, he faintly heard Conner’s laugh, low and teasing.

But he couldn’t look away.

“You revel in the glory of my beau–ty”

Phantom shimmered, dragging one hand slowly across his face, fingers trailing like liquid light. His eyes flared brighter, almost glowing. Then he raised his leg in a dramatic kick forward, stepping into a powerful pose, dragging his hand up the length of his own body.

Tim’s gaze followed every motion, helplessly caught in the slow, sensuous gravity of it.

This… this being wasn’t just a performer.

He was a celestial event.

A deity wrapped in stardust and soundwaves. And Tim…Tim would kneel, would offer up his soul if it meant getting closer.

To feel.

To hold.

To touch.

“Ya ready to watch me be le-gen-dary?

'Cause I'm ultra-lumi-nary.”

Phantom spun around, and the screen behind him lit up, catching the motion in perfect clarity. Even with his back to the crowd –back to Tim– the camera zoomed in on his face, capturing the sly smirk and the teasing shrug he tossed at the lens.

The audience screamed.

And then…he launched.

Phantom shot upward, soaring off the stage like a burst of cosmic light. His laughter rang out above the beat, bright and joyful, as he twirled mid-air arms spread wide, trailing glittering streaks behind him.

He danced across the open sky like a star set free, and Tim… Tim was falling.

“Whoa… Wel-come to Lu-na-ria Whoa… So Spec-ta-cularia”

Many more screens lit up all around the stadium, like constellations blinking into existence. Each one shimmered with Phantom’s dazzling smile as he flew along the outer walls, trailing sparklers in his wake like a rocket launching into space.

“Whoa… Super Sin-gu-lary”

Phantom soared in a graceful arc, then descended slowly toward center stage, lowered on a hidden platform. He didn’t miss a beat– didn’t stumble, didn’t even breathe wrong. He glided, slipping effortlessly into the next movement. Arms raised in a dramatic flex toward the crowd, then swept high above his head before cascading low in a fluid ripple through his torso.

With one hand on his hip, he pointed out to the chaotic, euphoric sea of fans in every direction. Then he spun his hand in a loop, pressing it against his chest and crossing both arms into an X, winking playfully at the nearest camera.

“‘Cause I’m so Very Very

Extra-ordi-naria”

The crowd screamed, a tidal wave of sound crashing into the stage. Tim felt dizzy from the sheer intensity of it all.The lights, the music, the energy thrumming in his bones like a second heartbeat. His fingers curled against the barricade in front of him, clutching it like an anchor.

There was a brief pause in the music as a spotlight swept to the side stage.

A DJ stood behind a set of turntables, bathed in golden light. He wore a red beanie and a dark blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Short dreadlocks framed his face, warm-toned skin catching hints of the light display still strobing in blues, pinks, and yellows.

One hand pressed a headphone to his ear, the other flicking and spinning expertly across the console, each movement subtle but confident, shaping the entire pulse of the show with flicks of his wrist and taps of his fingers.

Tim barely noticed him.

But Wally? Wally definitely did.

Even now, with the DJ’s booth dimming again as the spotlight faded, Wally’s eyes lingered on that corner of the stage, a quiet grin on his lips.

Tim would’ve teased him– if he could look away from Phantom long enough to form a coherent sentence.

“The cosmic shine of my fine display

Can turn the Night to Day”

The lights slowly shifted, bleeding from galactic neons into soft gradients of peach and rose gold, mimicking the glow of a rising sun. Phantom ascended with it, higher than before, bathed in the morning light. His silhouette floated in a swirl of lavender, white, and the faintest dusting of orange; like sunrise painted into motion.

“I hear they say that the Milky Way Can't help but envy me”

He twirled in slow, lazy circles, each movement dripping with confidence, every step and flick of his fingers divine. He held his hand out in a dramatic flourish, head bobbing with a lidded gaze and a smug, dazzling grin that made Tim’s stomach twist with heat.

That grin could end empires.

And then Phantom spun –faster, brighter– arms thrown wide as he rose even higher, a glowing white light rising with him like the first star of a brand new dawn.

Tim felt breathless.

Completely and utterly wrecked.

“I am the Brigh-test Star

Superb Spec-tacular…”

Phantom tilted backward… then suddenly dropped.

It was like a wire snapped. A high note rang out –sharp, jarring– and then nothing.

The music vanished. The lights blinked out.

For a moment, the stadium was swallowed in silence.

Gasps echoed from every direction. Uneasy murmurs swept through the crowd like a rising tide.

And then, a dim green glow flickered to life on the stage.

Phantom was kneeling, bowed low, hands braced on the floor like he was in mourning or prayer. His freckles shimmered faintly in the dark, barely illuminating the sorrow carved into his face.

A low beat began to thrum again– soft, slow, like a heartbeat pulled from the wreckage of grief.

“It was a desert on the Moon... When… We... Ar-rived

Gathering all of my tears, heart-break and sighs”

Tim’s breath hitched.

His chest clenched tight as Phantom lifted his head, glowing green tears streaking down his cheeks. They slipped into his cupped palms, forming a soft, shimmering puddle –grief made visible, grief made beautiful– until the tears began to rise, floating gently into the air.

They curled upward in spirals, slow and reverent, trailing like stardust through the air.

And Phantom rose with them.

He didn’t move like a performer anymore… he moved like a spirit in mourning, following the path of his sorrow through the stars.

“Tuck made a potion Ignite and Tur-ned the Night

To a Ra-diant City of Light”

The tears –no, the galaxy– shifted into swirling hues of color: pinks, purples, blues, golds. They danced in graceful spins and turns above the audience, encircling Phantom in a spiral of light. He hung at the center of it, delicate and radiant, like the eye of a sorrow-born nebula.

Tim could hardly breathe.

Around him, he heard sniffles…quiet gasps, soft sobs, people trying to hold it in and failing. And he wasn’t any better.

His eyes stung, vision blurring through tears he hadn’t even realized were falling. His cheeks were damp, catching the colored lights and reflecting them like glass. He hiccuped –sharp, involuntary– and clenched his jaw to keep another from slipping out. His whole body trembled, shoulders shaking as he held himself together by threads.

And still, Phantom rose.

“From tears I Rise!

I Rise!”

From the center of that luminous constellation, Phantom surged into motion, trailing light behind him like a comet’s tail. He streaked across the stage, over the crowd, a radiant streak of motion and color and sorrow reborn.

The crowd’s voices rose with him– soft at first, then louder, catching the echo of his words like a lifeline.

Tim looked up, eyes swollen and burning, heart wide open and cracked down the middle. Phantom was a force of nature, a miracle.

He was the ache in Tim’s chest made manifest, wrapped in starlight.

“I’m the light every night in your world– Eh

You revel in the glory of my beau–ty”

Phantom landed back on stage with effortless grace, dancers surrounding him in synchronized motion. Behind him, the jumbo screen projected every perfect step, every flick of his hands, every breathtaking close-up of his face.

Tim had been jostled back a few rows during the crowd’s earlier rush, but he barely noticed. His body moved on autopilot, weaving between people with numb determination until he found his spot again– right where he started.

Then he looked up.

And his heart stopped.

“Ya ready to watch me be le-gen-dary?

'Cause I'm ultra-lumi-nary.”

As Phantom drew out the last word, he raised his arm and pointed directly into the crowd.

Directly at Tim.

Their eyes locked, and the world around them faded.

A slow, knowing grin curved Phantom’s lips as he began descending down the stage again, hips swaying, steps fluid, rhythmic. The chorus echoed behind him, voices and lights swelling in tandem– but Phantom only had eyes for him.

“So Spec-tacularia”

The grin widened when he caught sight of Tim’s face– completely stunned, flushed, eyes wide like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Whoa… Super Singulary”

Phantom stopped at the edge of the stage, just a few feet above him.

Tim stared up, breath held tight in his lungs. His heart was a thunderclap, pounding so loud it nearly drowned the music.

And then Phantom leaned down –slow, smooth, like a secret unfurling– and reached out.

Fingertips brushed under Tim’s chin, tilting it gently upward.

The touch was featherlight, reverent, like he’d been waiting for this.

“‘Cause I’m so Very Very

Extra-ordi-naria”

The last note rang out, echoing into stillness.

But Phantom didn’t let go.

For a second, it was just them. Stage lights casting halos. Phantom’s fingers still resting beneath Tim’s chin, eyes soft and warm now– softer than they’d ever been in the performance. Almost fond.

A small, tilted smile curled on his lips. “Star-struck, baby?”

Tim choked on a breath and nodded, couldn’t even pretend to be smooth about it. He was red-faced and trembling and absolutely wrecked. He followed the movement of Phantom’s hand as he let go and stepped back, body still humming from the brief contact.

The crowd roared, but Tim barely heard it over the racing beat of his own pulse.

Phantom turned with a dazzling flourish, arms stretched wide to the audience. “Thank you for having me, Gotham City!”

The stadium erupted into thunderous applause. 

“And let’s give a big thanks to my lovely openers– Spectra and Ember!”

The two women stepped forward with elegant bows, basking in the crowd’s adoration. Phantom slung an arm around them easily, still glittering in the spotlight.

Tim just stood there.

Still.

Dazed.

That touch –that smile, that look– it hadn’t been part of the show. It couldn’t have been.

He could still feel it. Right there on his chin. Like fire and electricity wrapped in a ghost’s kiss.

Phantom glanced back once more before leaving the stage– eyes finding his with precision.

Another smirk.

Brighter than starlight.

“Bye, baby~.”

And then he was gone.

________________________________

I feel like I was typing the same sentence over and over again 🫠

But this was fun! I’ve never done a song fic before and let me tell you it was… an experience, that honestly took me like a week to finish ✊🏼

It's also now posted on my AO3!

[imdeadinsidesiriuslydead]

Shut Up! | Bart Allen x villain!reader

Bart Allen x fem! Reader

Based off this imagine I made.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Violence. Blood(tiny). Smutty! Just go ahead and read the imagine if you don’t want spoilers. Slight smut. Maybe I’ll write a part 2 with full on smut😏

notes: female reader. Villain reader. Villain name never mentioned. Race or appearance of reader never mentioned.

a/n: dude I was minding my business when this scenario popped into my head and now I just have to share it with the world. Enjoy!

———

Being chained up to a chair with his feet being bound together isn’t how Bart thought he’d spend his Friday night.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in Gotham. He protects Central City with Wally. Kinda. Wally doesn’t really like Bart as a sidekick. He was more of Max Mercury’s sidekick.

Max was probably worried out of his mind. He just really hoped Max wouldn’t show up or try to look for him, or else he’d find something he doesn’t need to know.

Bart has a secret. A secret crush on a certain Batman villain. Ever since he had to fight her with the young justice team, he was smitten.

His favorite pass time is running to Gotham city and foiling her plan before heading off to go hang out with Tim.

She would always catch him, she always did. And he would always let her. He loved it. A game of cat and mouse.

He loved watching her smile in victory as she caught him. He loved watching her integrate him. And he especially loved annoying her.

Like right now. He could vibrate his molecules and get out of the ropes, but what’s the fun in that?

She had caught him by freezing the ground and him falling into a trap she had made. She than knocked him out and tied him to a chair.

She stood in front of him with a scowl. She didn’t enjoy this game as much as he did. Her mask had been removed, giving Bart a few look at her face. She stared him down before smiling.

“Butch you can leave.” You said to your guard standing by the door. He left and closed the door, leaving the room in a dark cast.

The lights from outside the windows cast shadows across your features. The only other light was a small one back behind Bart, giving him the tiniest bit light to see your face.

“Impulse.” You stated “why do you always pop up and ruin everything?” You asked, no malice in your tone, Bart noted. Only curiosity.

“Well when you’re about to do something bad it’s kinda my job to come stop you.” Bart said as he smiled at you.

“Hmm” you hummed as you moved to a table full of weapons.

You grabbed a knife and turned to face him. Bart watched as you walked up to him slowly before leaning down to be at his eye level.

“You know,” you started with a sly smile “usually, I’d let you off with a warning. Maybe a slap on the wrist.” You whispered to him as you raised the knife to his face.

“but today you didn’t just mess up my plan. No.” You whispered with fake sorrow. You dragged the knife against his jaw, causing Bart to let out a breath. “You messed up the Bane’s plan too.”

Bart sucked in a breath. He didn’t know that. Obviously, he could put run Bane, but that didn’t change the fact that he was scared of him.

“Yea so, now I have to teach you a real lesson Impulse. Either with me or Bane. Take your pick.”

“Oh I’d much rather be punished by you.” Bart said as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

Your smile turned to an annoyed look. “Suit yourself.” You dug the knife at his neck, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to hurt.

Bart winced in pain, but another idea popped into his head. Acting like his name, he impulsively took action.

“So what do you do when you’re not trying to kill me?” He asked teasingly. The smirk on his face prevalent.

Your face slipped for a minute before the walls were back up again. “Is that really what you’re asking right now?” You asked dumbfounded.

“Well,” he started staring you right in the eyes, you could finally see the color of them. A nice golden brown. “I figured since your bodyguard wasn’t in here anymore, we could get to know each other a little more.” He smiled seductively.

Your blush was very noticeable, especially since your mask was off. “But- stop trying to distract me from your punishment.” You said sternly, though Bart was not convinced.

“Well I normally wouldn’t let someone tie me up the first official date, but you’re a special exception.” Bart winked. “So, at least tell me about yourself, since I’m being so nice.” He looked at you with faux innocence. You won’t lie, the look on his face was turning you on. You had to figure out a way to have him keep the look on his face.

You quickly remember that Bane would have your head if you didn’t take care of Impulse. Your need for survival trumped the need between your legs.

“That’s a vague question.” You say as you resume moving your knife against his neck, watching the goosebumps that it leaves in its wake.

“Huh?” Bart asked.

“Thats a vague question. Be specific. What did you want to know?” You ask as your knife slowly pierces the skin of his neck.

He hisses at the pain, before almost chocking on air. You moved your head towards his neck and licked the blood off of his neck. Bart stares at you, completely turned on and kinda scared.

You watched as the cut immediately healed itself, leaving no scar. You notice his shocked staring and laugh.

“How about a deal? Every question I answer, you have to answer one of mine. Deal?” You asked as you made the same innocent look he had given you earlier.

He nodded dumbly and you smiled.

“So too fast too furious, what’s your question?” You asked him.

“What’s your name?” He asked, his smile returning.

Your knife continued on its path across his neck going up to his jaw line.

“Y/N” you said as your knife gently touched his jaw line. He breathed out, liking the sensation of it gently touching him. “Your turn.” He tells you.

“Why do you heal so fast?” You asked as he breathed deeply. You were genuinely curious.

“Super fast metabolism.” he breathed as your knife made its way to the end of his suit by his neck.

Your knife gently teared the spandex, revealing more skin to slice at. His skin was incredibly soft. Slightly tan with freckles all over the part of his now exposed shoulder.

“Why are you working for Bane?” He asked. You weren’t really a villain in his eyes. More of an anti hero. You didn’t really harm people. You helped bad guys though, but you didn’t seemed fond of that.

“Cause I have to.” You said, still mesmerized by the goosebumps you were creating on his supple skin.

He figured he can ask you about it another day. Right now he didn’t want anything to stop you from dragging the knife all over him.

“Why do you always come to Gotham? I thought you and the flash protect Central City. That’s like two states away.” You say you start to cut the skin of his shoulder gently.

He breathes out a whine as it hurts. You try not to focus on the way that noise made you feel.

“What do you think sweetheart? Why am I here?” You might have been intimidated by his words if you weren’t meant to be torturing him.

You grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head back fast. He whined again and stared at you in shock.

“I asked you a question, speedy!” You say, giving him a dangerous look.

He stares at you in shock and overwhelmed lust. You smirk and decide to sit on his lap instead of kneeling on the floor.

You let go of his hair and go back you his shoulder. Watching the blood drip down a little. You saw the cut had healed and just to turn him on more, you lean down and lick the blood up his shoulder. You lick a little higher than where the blood stopped just to mess with him.

“Because I wanted to see you.” He states. Blushing madly.

You look up at him, and look through his goggles into his eyes. You saw shame and embarrassment. He’s telling the truth.

You won’t lie, that statement might have made your day, hell, your week. You try to hide the smile on your face but miserably fail. You had a lot of body image issues growing up and were bullied heavily, it was nice to find out someone actually wanted to see you, not just for a business deal.

“Your turn.” You tell him, still a little giddy.

“Why do you always kidnap me?” He asked with a handsome smile.

“You always try to stop me. So why not just stop you before you can?” You say as you pick your knife back up and continue your assault of his skin.

your hand pulls down the fabric a bit that had been cut on his shoulder, revealing part of his chest.

Bart sucks in a breath. Waiting for your next move.

“Why aren’t you actually hurting me?” Bart asked. You looked up at Impulse.

“Do you want me to actually hurt you?” You whisper as your kinda gently trails down from his shoulder.

“No.” He said as the cool knife hits his chest.

“I’m not gonna hurt cause I don’t want to.” You say turning back to work.

“But won’t the henchmen outside notice I’m not hurt?” Bart asked.

“What do you mean?” You asks as you slice a tiny shallow part of his right pec.

Bart makes a small whimper at the sensation, as another better idea pops into his head.

“Like don’t people who are tortured usually scream and make noise?” He asks in a seductive voice.

Your knife stopped moving again and you look at him and see his eyes blown out with lust. Your mind made a decision before you could stop yourself. You leaned down and licked up the blood before dragging your tongue up his shoulder to his neck, before sucking on the skin of his neck.

Bart moaned as he leaned more into your touch. The noise he made went straight to your core.

You pulled back, a tiny bit of blood on the corner of your mouth. Your hands went into Impulses hair and you gently tugged, causing him to leg out another whine. You moved your sitting position so that your legs were straddling his.

“Yea. I suppose they do. You wanna help me make this sound real?” You ask as your hand move onto his face, pushing his goggles up so you can see his eyes.

“Yes.” Bart says as he felt his dick harden against your thigh.

“Good boy.” You say before leaning in to kiss Bart.

——

anyone want a part 2?

Edit: Part 2 here

[alrightbuckaroo]

Hii ada 🥰 For nice ask week, tell me about your favorite Lone Star character, if you like!! I'm pretty sure I know who it is but just want to hear you talk about them 😏

Desi, my dear! How are you? I hope life is being kind to you <3

What if I pulled an absolute wild card and said something like Pearce LOL

No but I think you're right in the fact you already know who it is because lord knows I do not shut up about Carlos Tomás Reyes!

I don't know what it is about that man, but god there's much to explore and I want a map to all of it.

I want to know more about his sisters, I want to know if he's an uncle (I've already decided he is but whatevs), I want to know what happened to Kique the Koala, I want to know if he played JV soccer in high school or if he was a stage tech for theater.

Then there's of course just his normal disposition; it's so familiar in the sense that I know why it's stoic, but it's so alien in the sense I know there's more to it that we don't know yet.

I want to know about his relationship with religion, I want to know if there was a battle between that and his sexuality and what the aftershocks of that were. But alas, this is a 44 minute ensemble show that is also a procedural, so maybe we'll get all these answers by season 34 😭

Anyways, I just realized that I didn't say why he's my favorite character and barring everything above because I do love that there's so much to explore, I love that he's just as much a hopeless romantic as TK is.

How smitten he was when talking about TK in the early episodes of s1 to Michelle? Calling him a 10 with a smile he probably doesn't even know he's making? Making dinner in the middle of the night to a man who sees it as nothing more than a booty call? Tim Minear said we're gonna get this man some love on GOD

I don't know, I think he's just so interesting because we know he, in his own way, struggled with terms around his sexuality, but seeing that it doesn't stop him from having so so so so much love for TK, for another man, proves that they are, in fact, soulmates. He'd love him in every universe because he'll always have so much to give.

[milla-frenchy]

Tim(my 🤭) and Shutterbug 😍😍😍 I missed them 😍😍😍

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

I really, really love this. It made me giggle, but also, kinda made me sob happily? Because Tim is a bear, you said it. And Shutterbug is a sweetheart.

And as you wrote it "the gruff grizzly bear detective that was Timothy Rockford had been tamed by your gentle hand" and it makes my heart tickle and I love it ❤️❤️

“Hi Shutterbug,” Tim radiates a happiness that you feel as much as you can see - you’re finally back in his arms. “Timmy.  They all want to talk to me about police stuff, and I’m running out of things I know,” your silly tipsy face conveys some unwarranted trepidation, as if there was any chance in hell you could ever disappoint this group of smitten cops.

Oh my god she's just so damn cute!! I feel like I'm falling more in love with her every time 🥰

Tim presses his forehead to yours as he holds you close, finally letting himself relax now that his broad frame can once again melt and mold to the softness of your body

ughhhhh reading them is like being on my coach under my favorite blanket 😍😍😍 (and it's my favorite place in the world)

Tim growls, grasp tightening around your waist, “…not that tiny.” 

😌😏😏😏 not that tiny for sure

The sound of Tim’s belt buckle clicking open has you arching your back, ass wiggling and eyes closing in giddy anticipation.  Smack. You yelp in delight at the bright sting blooming on your ass cheek from Tim’s open palm.  He chuckles as he pulls your lace panties to the side, “Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby.”

oh my god I need him so bad 🫠🫠🫠

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

OMG YES§§§

“It wasn’t all luck, Shutterbug,” Tim flashes a shit eating grin. “What do you mean?” “I mean, that day at the aquarium, MacMillan and I were both interviewing potential witnesses.  And when we got down to the final few interviews, I bribed him to let me question you.”

So damn cute 🥹🥹🥹

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

omg? Omg Emily???? I could cry for real omg I'm so happy!!! They're getting maried!!!! 💞💞💞💞💞

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Emily!!! These two are my comfort couple, I already told you, today more than ever!! Thank you for this gift 🥹🥹🥹 SHE SAID YES§§§§§§

Tiny Tim

A The Rockford Portfolio Christmas Special

5.2K/ Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Tim takes you to the precinct Christmas party.

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

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

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

Tim watches the scene from across the bar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe we should let them hear, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking perfect, Shutterbug.”

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

“But they can’t have you.”

“You’re mine, baby.”

“Mine.”

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

“I love you, Detective.”

“I love you more, Shutterbug.”

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

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

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

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

“Leaving already?  Bah humbug!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

“Omigod,” you giggle, “And?”

“Hmmm?”

“Was it worth it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re nodding now, happy tears overflowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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