I was asking because you’re a teacher but I realize how that can sound like something else
I’m a student teacher, I’m getting my Masters at Hunter. And yes- I like kids. Some kids
I just really can’t believe he brought you to the apartment
Stop saying that, you don’t know where I live
Well it’s kind of early to find out. Isn’t it?
Yes I suppose it is
I don’t know what you’re expecting. I mean a couple of alta cockers arrange a little meeting like this- it sounds very old world. But it doesn’t feel like it. I- I mean you’re a sexy girl! A-and you smell great, you don’t need to be set up! And I sure as hell didn’t arrange this, I mean I’m sure my father told you what a Lothario I am but I’m not. I’m very anxious about it I’ve never had sex not even once
*laughs* Ookay
What am I doing, I ordered soup *sigh* I just said that.
Michael. I’m just doing a favor for my parents, tonight will not be the night. And I saw a picture of you and honestly you’re very handsome. And I’m, obviously very shallow
I owe you all an apology for overlooking Officer K, my sad boy I’m so sorry I missed you off so many posts!! I’ll link this to the longer post to make up for it!
∘₊✧ Officer K
K doesn’t think about his dick at all. He knows it serves a function and that’s about it, so he’s really surprised when you show so much interest in it. He’s only ever been hard once, when he had sex for the first time, and he feels kind of awkward about it.
He’s average in size — there seemed no need for a replicant to have anything other than that so it’s how he was created. He’s smooth and has some short, soft hair around the base that he’s never really thought much about. He doesn’t know it until you, but his cum is luminescent (luminescum), glowing blue and so pretty.
K is nervous when you start to touch him and worries he won’t know what to do, but you’re calm and caring and really take your time to put him at ease. He cries all the way through it, whimpering at how good you can make him feel even though he doesn’t think he deserves this. He doesn’t mind what you do with him, as long as you’re really sure you want to do it (he never seems to believe you really do want to). He will be very concerned with your pleasure and focus heavily on it every time you even hint you want to satisfy him. You encourage him to touch himself, and he’s really unsure at first, but once he’s more comfortable and a little more experienced, he will start to get hard without thinking about it; waking up with a boner and occasionally when he allows himself to think about you. When he does jerk off, he will tell you about it in detail and then make sure to get you off too because he seems to think that’s only fair — and you’re certainly not complaining!
K ask with the thoughts here’s another one! This could be super off character idk
-K thought he was gonna bleed out but he wakes up in your house after you fix him up. He does not understand why you saved him he’s just kinda decided he’s your partner now and lives with you. Like a stray cat you feed once and let in during a thunderstorm and decides to stay.
Anon who sends me gorgeous K thoughts, my beloved!!
∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘
K wakes up comfortable. There’s pain somewhere, something isn’t quite right, but he’s in a soft bed with a warm duvet and a plump pillow.
You float into the room like a dream and he’s convinced this is one. Until you realise he's awake and rush toward him, checking him over, this way and that. He lets you move him around however you need to, but you’re surprisingly gentle and careful so it’s not strenuous at all. You seem satisfied with whatever you've looked for.
Next you bring him a tray of food. There’s nice stuff on there — snacks he’d never tried before because he thought he didn’t deserve nice things. After just a few bites, he feels stronger.
‘Where am I?’ he asks quietly, voice a little broken, looking at you like a deer in the headlights, certain this is all going to crash down around him before long. ‘Why-’
‘It’s okay, you’re safe here. You can leave whenever you’re ready, of course, but I just couldn’t leave you out there injured in the snow, now, could I?’
You smile. It's warm, and K looks back confused.
'Get some rest,' you whisper, stroking his hair.
Is it weird that he leaned into it?
In the coming days, you draw a hot bath for him (he's never taken time to relax like that whilst getting clean... it's strangely refreshing), keep him fed, ensure his comfort at all times, and even spend time with him. Not because you have to, but because you choose to. Chatting, playing games, reading to him.
Two weeks later, you remind him that although he's welcome here, he can go home if he wants to.
'No,' he smiles. It feels odd on his face, but it came naturally, like the urge to press his lips to yours that follows. 'Not yet.'
── synopsis .✦ your boyfriend, erling haaland, returns home broken-hearted after losing to england in the world cup. he's beating himself up over the conceded goal, so you do what you can to comfort him and help him to stop blaming himself for his country's loss.
── contains .✦ light angst, hurt/comfort, haaland gets a little vulnerable, fem!reader, soft!haaland, cuddling, clingy!haaland
── word count .✦ 1.8k!
The sound of the key scraping against the lock was the most terrifying thing you had heard in weeks.
You stood frozen in the middle of the living room, your hands clasped in front of you, knuckles white. The television was off, the curtains drawn. Oslo hummed quietly outside the window, oblivious to the earthquake that was about to step through your door.
The lock clicked, the handle turned, then the door pushed inward.
And there he was.
Erling Braut Haaland. The man who carried the hopes of a nation on his broad shoulders. The man who – just forty-eight hours ago – had been pushed into shoving another player, mistimed it completely, conceded a goal, and watched Norway's World Cup dream evaporate in a single, cruel moment against England.
In the doorway, he looked less like a superstar and more like a ghost.
He was wearing a plain grey hoodie, the hood pulled up despite the warmth of the July evening. A single duffel bag hung from his hand. His face was half in shadow, but you could see the pallor of his skin, the dark bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes, the tight line of his jaw working constantly.
He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at the floor.
“Erling…”
At the sound of your voice, he flinched. A tiny movement, barely perceptible, but it cut you to the core.
“Hei.” He finally spoke up. The word was a croak, and he cleared his throat; swallowed hard. “Hei, jenta mi.”
“Come here.” You cooed.
He dropped the bag, and it hit the floor with a heavy, final thud. Then he was moving, crossing the foyer in three long, desperate strides.
He didn't stop until he crashed into you, his huge arms wrapping around you and pulling you so tight against his chest that your feet left the ground.
Burying his face in the curve of your neck, you felt his whole body shake.
He was crying – making these terrible, quiet, hitching sounds that were nothing like the man you knew: the man who celebrated goals with a savage roar; the man who laughed loudly and easily, who filled every room with his presence.
“Hey, hey…” You whispered into his hair, trying your best to comfort the giant who had awkwardly folded himself into your hold. “I've got you, Erl... I’m here.”
He didn't speak. He just held you, stumbling backward through the living room until his knees hit the edge of the sofa and he fell onto it, pulling you with him.
Erling arranged you on his lap, his movements urgent and clumsy, until you were straddling his hips, your body pressed flush against his, your arms around his neck.
He pulled your head down, burying his face against your chest. His fingers clutched the fabric of your shirt at your back, gripping it like it was a lifeline he was terrified of losing.
You could feel the slight dampness of his skin; he had been stressing, his mind clearly still trapped in that stadium in the States.
He didn't admit that he felt like he'd let down his entire country; didn't admit that the guilt was eating him alive. Instead, he just clung to you, seeking the only sanctuary where he was just himself.
For the next few hours, this became your world.
The sunlight shifted across the floor, the city of Manchester humming outside the windows, but inside, there was only the sound of Erling’s steady heartbeat and the soft friction of your clothes.
Every time you tried to shift to get a better angle, his arms would tighten, and he’d let out a small, discontented noise in the back of his throat.
“You're so needy today,” you teased gently, rubbing your hand up and down his spine.
“’M not.” He murmured, though he responded by nuzzling deeper into your shoulder, his nose brushing against your skin. “Lille due, just stay. Please.”
The way he said it – the soft, pleading tone – made your heart ache. He was so rarely this vulnerable. To the world, he was an unstoppable force of nature, a man of steel and precision.
But here, in the privacy of your home, he was soft and sulky and yours.
As the afternoon wore on, the hunger finally started to set in. You had barely eaten since he arrived, and you knew he hadn't had a proper meal in days, surviving on tournament catering and stress.
“Erling, honey, I'm gonna get up and make us some dinner. Or maybe I'll run down to the shop and get those snacks you like?”
The reaction was instantaneous. He didn't let go; instead, he shifted his weight, effectively pinning you further into the cushions. He let out a soft, annoyed groan, his forehead resting against yours.
“No.” He whispered.
“No? But we need to eat, baby.”
“Don't go…” He muttered, his voice taking on that mildly pissy edge.
He wasn't angry – he could never be truly angry with you – but he was stubborn. He was in a sulk, and the idea of you leaving the immediate radius of his body was unacceptable. “Stay here. I don't want food. I want you.”
You giggled, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “You can't live on cuddles alone, Erling. Just five minutes, ‘nd I'll be right back.”
He let out a huff, his brows knitting together in a pout. He looked genuinely offended by the suggestion that you would leave the sofa. He didn't yell or argue – he just became a heavy, immovable weight.
He shifted his leg, draping it over yours, locking you in.
“Five minutes is too long.” He grumbled, his voice muffled against your neck.
“You are being so dramatic!” You laughed, kissing his cheek.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes wide and swimming with a mixture of sadness and longing. “I just... I don't want to be alone right now. Everything is too loud in my head. When I'm holding you, it's quiet.”
The pout vanished, replaced by a raw honesty that stopped your heart. The guilt of that foul was still there, a ghost haunting him, and you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
Your heart melted, and you stopped struggling. You sank back into him, wrapping your arms around his thick neck.
“Okay,” you conceded, “I'm not going anywhere. We can just stay here, and I’ll look for something to order, yeah?"
A small, triumphant smile touched his lips. He let out a contented hum, pulling you back into the cocoon of his arms. “Good idea, min skatt.”
For the rest of the evening, Erling remained in his state of clingy bliss. He was a gentleman in every sense – he made sure you were comfortable, he adjusted the pillows beneath you, and he spoke to you in those low, melodic tones that always made you feel safe – but he was also completely possessive of your time.
When the food arrived, he barely let you walk to the door to retrieve it.
He’d practically trailed behind you, his hand resting on the small of your back, his presence looming and protective. The moment the bags were on the table, he guided you back to the sofa, insisting that you eat together, huddled under a massive wool blanket.
As you ate, you tried to bring up the game, thinking that perhaps talking through it would help him move past the guilt.
“You know, Erl, the fans still love you. One mistake doesn't erase everything you did for the team this tournament.”
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The softness remained, but the melancholy returned with a vengeance. He stopped chewing, his gaze dropping to his plate.
He didn't snap at you, but he became quiet: that heavy, oppressive silence that signaled he was spiraling back into his own head.
“It was a stupid foul.” He huffed, his voice devoid of its usual confidence. “I gave it away. I cost us.”
“You didn't cost us, the game is a team effort—”
“I did.” He interrupted softly, his lip curling into that characteristic pout. He shifted away from you just a fraction, a sign of his internal distress.
Seeing him withdraw was worse than the clinginess. You immediately dropped your food and slid across the sofa, throwing yourself back into his space. You grabbed his face in both your hands, forcing him to look at you.
“Look at me, Erling. You are one of – if not the – best strikers in the world. You are a hero to those kids in Norway. One penalty in a World Cup quarter-final doesn't change that. You're human, love. You’re gonna make mistakes”
He searched your eyes, his expression crumbling. The wall of the 'professional athlete' finally broke, and he leaned forward, burying his face in your chest and letting out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a sob.
He didn't cry again – he was too stubborn for that – but he clung to you with a strength that would have been frightening if it weren't so full of love.
“I just wanted to win for you,” he admitted into your skin. “I wanted to come home with the trophy so I could give it to you.”
You felt a tear prick your eye. He was so incredibly soft, so deeply devoted. He had carried the weight of a nation on his shoulders, and in his mind, he had failed not just them, but you.
“I don't want a trophy, you big idiot.” You objected, stroking the back of his blonde hair. “I just want you. I want the man who cuddles me like a koala and pouts when I go to the kitchen. That's the only prize I care about.”
He let out a small, wet chuckle, his chest heaving against you.
He pulled back, his eyes shimmering, and pressed a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but one of profound gratitude and relief. He tasted like the salt of his skin and the sweetness of the home he had finally found again.
As the night deepened, the mopiness evolved into a heavy, sleepy contentment.
Having refused to let you go to the bedroom, Erling insisted that you both sleep on the sofa. He wrapped himself around you, his large body acting as a living heater, shielding you from the world.
“I love you, lille due.” He murmured, his voice trailing off as sleep began to claim him.
“I love you too, Erling.”
He let out one last, satisfied sigh, his grip tightening just a little more, as if making sure you were still there.
On the pitch, he was a warrior, but here, in the quiet of the night, he was just your big, cuddly boyfriend, and you wouldn't have had it any other way.
a/n: first post on this account kinda nervous sweats
if anybody! any author! someone! what do you guys think rygos characters will be if reader has the one wish willow and wished for the rygos charcter to love them more than anyone in the entire world (am i crazy? also idk whom to ask so im just gonna post it in hopes of getting picked up)
leximillian… :) you know what i want… i need k like i need water and i need your most DISGRACEFUL headcanons neow!!
oughhh K x reader headcanons… i love that almost-human man… (sfw AND nsfw headcanons) (nsfw under the cut! 18+)
also sorry i got carried away LMAO
SFW
first off let me say i headcanon his human name as Keaton. because im sorry but Joe is dumb. sorry joi!!
he finds himself quite uncomfortable with…whatever he’s feeling when he’s around you at first. his chest is tight and he’s on edge like he’s in danger and he feels hot. it gets to the point where he considers bringing himself in as defective but doesn't.
he doesn't fully understand why you like him back, either. he’s been told his entire existence that he’s sub-human. he was made in a lab, his memories are fake, his emotions subdued. you shouldn't want him. but he finds that he really likes that you do. that you respect him and care for him like anyone else.
if you cuddle that man, he will MELT. full stop. he never gets physical contact like ever. people avoid him on the street, go out of their way to keep themselves at a distance. so when you go out of your way to hug him, kiss his cheek, hold him as he lays against your chest? he swears he's never felt more human.
adding onto that, he LOVES laying on your chest, simply because he gets to hear your heartbeat. it reminds him that he has one too. that maybe he isn't so different.
love language is 100% acts of service. getting you small gifts and bringing you wherever you want to go (and, behind your back, maybe handling some people who are especially mean to you...)
immediately quits smoking once you two start dating. he never really did it because he wanted to, anyway, it was more of a small act of rebellion. something to make him feel DIFFERENT for once. but now he has you for that :)
teaches you self defense because i said so (he can't bear the thought of you getting hurt while he's not around to protect you)
lots of forehead and cheek kisses from him. all the time. he loves how warm and soft and alive your skin is
likes going on late night rides in his police vehicle with you (which is probably not allowed but then again, he's not supposed to be dating humans. so.)
back to kissing he just likes it in GENERAL. he didn't realize how much he loved being loved until he met you
doesn't understand the concept of showering with someone (in a bonding/non-sexual way) but lets you do it with him anyway since you like it
NSFW
the man isn't completely inexperienced, but he certainly isn't used to having sex. he's only done it like once ever. so he probably needs guidance at first
but once he's got a solid grasp on the mechanics of it? ohhh BOY buckle in
he's not used to making decisions on his own so it's kind of a free-for-all. if you want to do it? sure, he will too! no kink is taboo for him because he has virtually No Idea what the social norms around sex are anyway
probably is very bad at communication at first. you have to drill the concept of consent into him several times before he gets comfortable enough to tell you when he wants to stop
the first time you guys have sex its literally insane to him. like for once he actually WANTS to do it and its amazing. he can't help but wonder how humans get literally anything done because they COULD be having awesome mind-blowing sex all the time!!
this does lead to him becoming a little sex-crazed for a while. wants to do it several times a day (and has the modified stamina to back it up). i'm talking when you wake up, before he goes to work, when he gets home, before you go to bed type shit.
he gets a little animalistic in bed i feel. because god it's the only time he feels completely and totally human. he's not a replicant, he's not an officer with a serial number, he's yours. and it makes him insane
probably quite noisy once he gets comfortable, low sounds deep in his chest
8.5 inches, keeps himself well-trimmed (like the rest of him)
his favorite thing in the world is getting head. i'm sorry. but it's one of the only times he can let himself be selfish. it's all for HIM
actually incredibly hygienic afterwards i can't lie (unless you convince him otherwise...cough cockwarming...)
switch but prefers soft dom (again, unless you wish for otherwise. he'll do whatever you want)
Karadec going "You can't work with Daphne and Oz, they're each other's partners, it's not a throuple situation" is so funny, bc MY GUY, wasn't that EXACTLY what you were doing in the pilot before you met Morgan?
Summary: Your new captain has a lot of questions about Morgan and about your relationship with Oz. He may never know what you really have, but you do.
Warnings/Word Count: Nick Wagner gets plotted against and is creepy, brief angst, gross misuse of blood that I didn't explore enough, fluff, confessions, team banter. 1.6k+ words, requested.
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“I’m Captain Nick Wagner.”
You step back, startled by his action of thrusting his hand toward your chest. You’re holding a box of files, stressed about a missing couple, and already overwhelmed even though it’s 8 a.m.
“And I’m busy,” you reply, twisting to go around him.
“Sorry,” he offers, following you toward the bullpen. “It’s my first day as your captain and I just wanted to- oh sorry,” he murmurs when he nearly runs into someone else. “You’ll be seeing me around, so I wanted to introduce myself.”
“That’s great,” you say. “But we’re in up to our eyes with this case and it’s just not a great time.”
“I wanted to get together with you,” he presses. “Talk about your experience, what you’d like to see from me, how I can help.”
You drop the overfilled box onto your desk and sigh. With your best friendly smile on, you say, “I’ll call you when we close this case and we can set something up.”
“How about tonight?” he suggests.
You meet Karadec’s eyes over Wagner’s shoulders, unsurprised to see him roll his eyes.
“When the case is closed,” you repeat. “If that’s all?”
You don’t give him a chance to answer before you move to Daphne’s desk, bending forward to review the surveillance footage you waited all night for.
“Detective Ozdil,” Wagner calls.
“Still busy,” Oz replies without looking up. “Look, we’re running out of time to find these people, we can’t talk to you right now.”
“The painting!” Morgan exclaims from the other side of the bullpen. “It looked out of place, remember? It’s because it’s a replica! And I’m willing to bet it’s not your traditional paint.”
“Excuse us,” Karadec tells Wagner, meeting his eyes just long enough to communicate that his departure is not optional.
“Good work, team,” Wagner calls before he steps into Selena’s office and closes the door.
“I don’t like him,” Morgan muses.
“Welcome to the club,” you joke.
“What did you find?” Daphne asks.
“Right.” Morgan points to the painting CSI bagged as evidence. “I think the artist used blood instead of paint.”
“Whose blood?” you question.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
It’s nearly midnight when you return to the station. The young couple that was snatched from their apartment complex is being treated at the hospital and, because of your team, still have all their blood in their bodies.
“Good work,” Captain Wagner applauds, perched on the edge of your desk. “Ready for that conversation?”
You look at Selena, desperate to get out of whatever this is. She shrugs, then mouths an apology.
“I guess,” you murmur. “Your office, or?”
“We’re using Soto’s office.” He stands, then gestures for you to lead the way. “I’ll be right in,” he murmurs, then rushes toward his own office, like he forgot something.
“Godspeed,” Oz offers.
“Please don’t quit,” Daphne adds.
Before you can reply, Wagner returns, so you walk into Selena’s office and sit in the chair closest to the door.
“I was hoping to finish my report before I head home,” you explain softly. “Is this going to take long?”
“Not at all,” Wagner promises. “I just want to get a better understanding of Major Crimes, how your team works, what I can make better for you, that kind of stuff.”
Humming, you nod. Maybe the less you say, the quicker this will be over. Since the moment you laid eyes on him, you’ve felt as if he’s off-putting. You want to leave, but he’s your captain. The least you can do it give him ten minutes, you suppose.
“Tell me about how Gillory fits into your team’s dynamic,” he requests, leaning back – almost too comfortable – in Selena’s chair.
So that’s why he’s been hounding us all day, you realize. He only cares about Morgan.
Smiling, you keep your answer short. “Morgan is great,” you say. “She’s incredibly helpful, offers insight and perspectives that we often forget about. She’s an asset to our team, through and through.”
“Interesting.” Wagner twists a pen between his fingers, then leans forward. “I’ve gotten the distinct impression that she’s disruptive, that she interrupts the routine your team has spent months and years building.”
With your thighs pressing your hands to the chair, you resist the urge to clench your fingers into fists.
“Morgan is nontraditional,” you correct, “not disruptive.”
“If the department could no longer employ her, for one reason or another, do you think your solve rate would be negatively impacted.”
“We can solve cases regardless. Morgan makes it easier on all of us.”
Wagner hums, staring at you like he wants more. That’s precisely why you remain quiet and don’t say another word about Morgan. Even if Karadec fought back about her being here, she is an asset, and she’s become a friend. If Wagner wants to get rid of her, he’ll lose more than a consultant.
He pulls his chair to the edge of the desk, far too close for comfort before he asks, “Tell me about your relationship with Detective Ozdil.”
The polite smile you’ve maintained until now fails, your face falling into something more indicative of your feelings toward this meeting.
“We work well together,” you answer simply.
Wagner barks a laugh, leaning closer as he asks, “That’s what you’re going with? Come on, detective, I can see the tension. If your emotions are going to get in the way of what this team can do, I will-”
“My emotions are none of your concern,” you interrupt. You push up against your hands, then stand. “If that’s all, I’ll get back to my report, Captain.”
Smirking, Wagner leans back in his chair. He moves one hand flippantly and murmurs, “Go ahead.”
When you walk out of Soto’s office, taking deep, measured breaths, you shoot Oz a warning look. He steps toward you, but then Wagner calls his name.
Based on the look on your face when you walked out and the glimpses Oz had through the window, he anticipates Wagner to overstep, to make this awkward. Yet, the question about you catches him off guard. He thought all Wagner cared about was Morgan based on his first few questions.
“Everything stays in this office,” Wagner adds. “Right, detective?”
Oz knows it’s bait. Wagner wants Oz to stay quiet, think he’s the only one playing devil’s advocate. Wagner clearly doesn’t know this team.
“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Oz offers, explaining your relationship. “We’ve been partners for even longer. All that time has allowed us to develop a shorthand. If you’re misconstruing that as tension, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I see. Or maybe I’m seeing something that you’re not. Maybe even something you don’t want to see.”
Oz shrugs, not trusting himself to reply professionally.
“If I keep seeing what I think I’m seeing,” Wagner adds nonchalantly, “I’ll have no choice but to remove her from the team.”
“All due respect, Captain,” Oz begins coldly. Which is none. “If you remove her from this team, you will not have a team anymore.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, sir. Just want to manage your expectations.”
Captain Wagner smiles, then tells Oz to send Daphne in. He whispers, “Good luck,” while he holds the door for her, then realizes you’re gone.
“She went home to finish her report,” Soto offers. “Please feel free to do the same.”
You’ve submitted your report and are staring blankly at the television screen when someone knocks on your door. It’s late, you’re not expecting anyone, and after the day you had, you feel justified in being hesitant to open the door.
“It’s me,” the person knocking calls.
“Oz,” you greet as you unlock the door. When you pull it open, you offer a tired smile and wave him in.
“Daphne threatened to quit,” he tells you, leaning against the back of your couch.
“Do you have any idea what he wanted?” you inquire, moving to his side.
“No clue. I tried to find out if Soto knew, but he kept her in the dark. Other than wanting to know everything about Morgan and then asking about us, his motives were unclear.”
“I think it’s mostly Morgan he’s interested in,” you agree. “I just don’t know why. It bothers me.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Oz assures you. “Get through it like we get through everything else.”
You nod, then lean your head on his shoulder.
“If Wagner could see it…” Oz begins carefully.
“The tension?” you clarify.
“That’s the word he used with you?” Oz asks with a chuckle. “He used ‘relationship’ when he asked me about us.”
You lift your head, then move in front of Oz. His hands rise immediately to your waist, holding you close as you smile at him.
“Wagner is using us for something. We are different. We’re more.”
Oz nods, leaning toward you when you raise your hand to his jaw.
“And as for what’s between us…”
You move forward, and Oz meets you halfway. The kiss is perfect, everything you dreamed of and more.
“That’s what’s between us,” you whisper when you separate. “I think it’s what we should focus on now.”
Oz wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against him. “I agree,” he sighs against you.
“You’re all on thin ice until we figure out this Gillory business,” Captain Wagner exclaims before he storms out of the bullpen.
“At least he didn’t ask when your most recent kiss was,” Daphne jokes.
“About that,” Oz murmurs, taking your hand. “We need your help with something. It’s not exactly… department approved.”
“Will it get us in trouble with the new captain?” Selena asks.
“Almost undoubtedly,” you answer honestly.
“Then we’re in. Tell us what to do, when, and how. We’re a team, no matter what questions he asks.”
Oz has never looked hotter than when he's defending Daphne 😫😫😫 "That's my partner, choose your words carefully." "Sounds like a warning, detective." "How perceptive." AOOOWWWWWW 😝😝😝
Summary: When you're asked to observe a Major Crimes case, Morgan and Daphne learn that there's a deep connection between the Major Crimes bullpen and the Internal Affairs dungeon.
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“You’re needed in Major Crimes,” your lieutenant says when you step into your office.
“Yes, sir,” you reply easily. “I understood that Consultant Gillory was reprimanded but allowed to return to her position?”
“She was, and she’s here, but there’s a conflict of interest in the current case. Detective Forrester knows the victim. You’re there purely to observe and assist as needed, and to ensure that things remain above board.”
“Of course.”
With your badge and your phone on you, you lock your office and head upstairs to the Major Crimes bullpen. Somehow, you’re there before the detectives on the case, so you take a look around.
“Weren’t you just here?” Lieutenant Soto asks, smiling as she opens her office door and beckons you inside.
“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you reply easily. “Because of Detective Forrester’s relationship with the victim, my superiors want me here.”
“And what are you expecting to tell your IA superiors when you return to the dungeon?”
You smile at her vivid picture of what IA is, then admit, “The same thing as always. That Major Crimes is a team of good detectives under great leadership.”
“See, this is why I didn’t want to lose you. You were a good detective, but you know how to stroke my ego in a way that Karadec just can’t manage.”
“Oh, you should try asking him for a compliment. It’s always entertaining. Is there anything you can tell me about the case they’re working?”
“A psychiatrist went missing last night,” Soto explains. “Husband said she never came home which is out of the norm for her, and patients who saw her yesterday stated that she seemed paranoid.”
“You think it was some type of retaliation?”
“We’re not sure what to think. No ransom note, no trace of where she went or who she saw before people realized she was gone.”
“Did the husband report it quickly?”
“She was home at 6:10 every night. He called 911 at 6:15, very cooperative and helpful so far.”
“Interesting,” you muse.
Two people walk into the bullpen, so you rise from the chair at the side of Soto’s desk and follow her out.
“Oh, hi,” Detective Forrester says. “Are we in trouble again?”
“Wait, who are you?” Morgan asks.
You offer your name, then explain, “I’m with Internal Affairs, and you’re not in trouble again.”
“You were in trouble?” Morgan questions.
“Actually, you were in trouble,” Soto tells her. “Which is why we have to talk before you go out in the field again.”
“Fantastic,” Morgan deadpans. “But I’m still not clear on who you are or why you’re here.”
Detective Ozdil walks in just as Morgan asks you for clarification. He looks at you, then Morgan, then Soto, and back to you. He’s clearly trying to decide if he should say something. Once, you were part of Major Crimes, a valued team member that brought something neither he nor Karadec ever could. After you moved to IA, Daphne took your position, so it feels weird to bring up what a good detective you were. More, he thinks that if he says anything about you, Morgan will know. She has a knack for knowing things she shouldn’t.
“I’m with IA,” you repeat as Karadec comes in. “I am only here to make sure this case is approached carefully and respectfully. It’s something we have to consider every time an officer on a case knows the victim. And, Detective Forrester, I’m sorry. If there is anything the LAPD can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve got a lot of contacts but I understand why you may not want to go through IA.”
Oz lifts his eyes, hiding a smile when you glance at him. Smiling, you shake your head and tell the team to do their thing, to act as if you’re not even there.
You stand at the back of the room, watching as Karadec leads the team briefly before Morgan jumps in with a fact that seems out of place until she explains herself. They work well together. Maybe even better than when you were here.
“You can speak, you know,” Oz murmurs from your side.
“Seems like Karadec and Gillory have this one figured out,” you reply.
“They need more help than you’d think.”
“Don’t we all.”
“You never did.”
“Flattery, Detective? That’s your play?”
Oz smiles, bumps his shoulder against you, and whispers, “It’s worked before.”
“We’re going to the psych office,” Karadec tells you. “You riding with us?”
You look at Oz, who nods once. “Yes, I am. Could I make one small suggestion?”
“Always,” Karadec affirms.
“One of the patients on her schedule recently transferred from another psychiatrist at the same practice. I think Dr. Bhurman might be worth talking to.”
Daphne pulls the schedule from the case board and nods. You follow Oz to the elevator, distantly wondering what life would be like it you were still part of Major Crimes.
“That’s not a good sign,” you say as you step into the victim’s office.
“The door was locked,” Morgan offers. “Someone locked the door behind them after trashing her office. Interesting.”
“Reminiscent of the Tiller case,” Karadec muses, glancing at you. “If you want to find a show in here that solves this case, too, please feel free.”
“You were a detective?” Morgan asks you, pausing with one glove on.
“I was,” you reply. “Was part of Major Crimes for a while.”
“Wait, I got your position?” Daphne clarifies. “I didn’t know that.”
“Let’s go back to the Tiller case,” Morgan interjects. “This scene is similar? Think the outcome could be similar as well?”
“Possibly,” you say. “Tiller was targeted by a jealous ex. Jealousy is a strong motive regardless of the relationship between two people.”
“Surprised you remember the case,” Karadec jokes. “You and Oz wasted a lot of time with those not-so-secret glances.”
Smiling, you chuckle, then walk to his side.
“Guess we work a little better now that we’ve admitted what that was about,” Oz offers.
Morgan and Daphne remain quiet, their jaws dropped as they look rapidly between you and Oz.
“You could have said something!” Daphne points out as she backhands Oz’s arm.
He raises his other hand to his bicep, wide-eyed as he stares at Daphne with unconcealed shock. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to!” he argues. Then, he turns toward Morgan and warns, “Do not hit me!”
“Karadec,” you sigh, squatted beside the desk. “You’re not going to believe this.”
He takes two long steps, then bends his knees to follow your line of sight. “You should not have relegated yourself to the Internal Affairs dungeon,” he sighs. He stands and removes his gloves as he says, “Oz, your girlfriend solved the case.”
Oz can’t move fast enough to avoid Daphne and Morgan’s hands. He simply stares at you as you shrug apologetically.
A week after the case is closed and your reports have been approved by your IA Lieutenant, you wander upstairs to the bullpen that once felt like home. Karadec, Daphne, Morgan, Oz, and Selena are getting ready to go somewhere, it seems, but they pause when they notice you lingering by the door.
“I won’t keep you long,” you preface.
“We’re going to dinner,” Karadec offers. “We haven’t been on time yet, so don’t rush.”
Smiling, you turn toward Daphne and Morgan. “I was hoping I could properly introduce myself,” you explain. “Maybe we can meet next week? Get coffee or something?”
“Not a chance,” Morgan says.
Your smile drops, but then Morgan and Daphne take your arms, holding you between them as they steer you out of the bullpen.
“You’re coming to dinner with us,” Selena calls after you. “Whether you want to or not.”
“Start at the beginning,” Morgan requests.
You glance over your shoulder, unsurprised to see Oz following you with a smile. Whether you go to the dungeon (your office) or the bullpen each morning, this group is still your family. And they’re a very curious bunch.
Oz Taglist🏷 @kmc1989 @sogoodtoheritsvicious @hiireadstuff @amesayjpg
Pairing: sunshine!Lev "Oz" Ozdil x grumpy!fem!reader
Summary: You and Oz don't look like a typical couple. You're the grumpy to his sunshine, the cloud in his silver lining. But you're more in love than anyone could have guessed. Even the people expecting you to get married.
Warnings/Word Count: grumpy x sunshine trope, r is depicted as being goth/wearing alternative clothing, r gets objectified + protective!Oz reacts, accidental dirty joke, major crimes team is nosy, fluff, physical affection, discussion of marriage. 1.1k+ words, requested
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You enter the kitchen with a groan, your hand shielding your eyes from the sunlight filtering into Oz’s kitchen.
“Good morning,” Oz greets happily. He pulls the collar of your oversized band tee up from where it had begun to slip off your shoulder. “I saved you the last donut with sprinkles,” he adds.
“Ugh,” you grumble, leaning forward until your forehead meets his shoulder. “It’s too early. And too bright.”
“So, you don’t want the donut?” Oz inquires, smiling as he slips his hand past the hem of your shirt to rub your back.
“’Course I want it,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his neck.
“You going back to bed?”
“No.” You straighten, your lips quirking up when Oz smiles at you. “I have some errands to run. Might as well get them over with early.”
“Anything fun?” Oz asks, holding your face.
“My favorite store is having a sale, so I might get a new outfit. Unfortunately, they’re boring errands like groceries and a stop at the bank.”
“Get the groceries delivered,” Oz encourages. “I’ll make dinner tonight.”
“I love you,” you hum.
“I love you more,” Oz counters.
He kisses your forehead, then nudges you toward the donut box on the counter while he turns to finish getting ready for work.
An hour later, you’re walking out of the house when you see Oz’s lunchbox on the counter. It’s probably past its prime, but he insists on continuing to use it because you doodled all over the bottom of it, black stars and leafy swirls.
“Gotta do everything around here,” you muse as you pick it up. “Eh... What’s another stop?”
You glance down to make sure your outfit looks okay, then lock the front door behind you and walk to your car.
“I never put the visitor’s badge on either,” the woman you share the elevator with confides. “Always clashes with my outfit.”
You nod, frowning at the sticker adhered to the back of your hand.
“Are you going to Major Crimes?” she asks.
“Yes,” you reply shortly.
“Cool. Me too.”
The rest of the ride is silent, you looking at your boots while the woman beside you steals glances at your reflection in the door. When you follow her off the elevator, she shoots Daphne a look, then tips her head toward you. It’s less than subtle, but you choose not to comment on it.
“Sweetheart!” Oz exclaims when you step into the bullpen.
“Sweetheart?” Morgan repeats incredulously.
“You forgot this,” you say, passing Oz his lunchbox.
“Thank you!” Oz takes it from you carefully, then sets it on his desk, and moves closer to you. “While you’re here, want to see Karadec?”
You tap the bobble head on Oz’s desk and shrug. Morgan watches you and Oz, shocked by the stark difference between the two of you. You turn first, walking toward Soto’s office. Oz trails behind you, watching you move.
“Okay, I’ve got some questions,” Morgan tells Daphne.
“You get used to it,” Daphne replies. “She’s a lot sweeter than she seems.”
“I tried to make small talk in the elevator, and she looked like she wanted to jump out,” Morgan hisses. “And then Oz is being super sweet to her and she just- she’s just standing there!”
“Stoicism doesn’t make her mean,” Daphne argues with a chuckle. “You of all people should know not to judge someone on their appearance, Morgan.”
“But, Oz,” Morgan continues, watching you greet Karadec with a terse nod. “He looks like he’s giving a whole lot more than he’s getting.”
Daphne pushes back from her desk and smiles. “You have no idea how wrong you are, Morgan.”
“Nice outfit,” an officer calls, smirking at you. “Is that a kids’ size?”
“Why?” Oz barks, standing behind the chair you’re sitting in. “Looking for one for the kids you’re supposed to be a role model for? Or did their moms finally come to their senses?”
“Easy,” you murmur, barely moving your lips.
“Sorry,” the officer adds, lifting his hands in surrender.
“Huh,” Morgan scoffs when the officer leaves.
She watches Oz give you a hand to help you up, and the smile that stretches across his face when you kiss his cheek in thanks. Your brows furrow as you wipe the remnants of your lip gloss of his skin with a murmured comment that makes him laugh.
“Maybe you weren’t entirely wrong,” Morgan admits to Daphne. “They are pretty cute together.”
“Wow, keep talking like that and they’ll ask you to give a speech at the wedding,” Karadec deadpans.
“They’re getting married?!” Morgan demands.
“Eventually,” Daphne answers. “We’ve been waiting long enough.”
“Morgan thinks I give you more than you give me,” Oz tells you.
You pull your black silk pajamas out of his drawer, where they reside tucked amongst his things. Looking back over your shoulder, you raise a brow.
“That supposed to sound dirty or am I just a lost cause?” you inquire.
“Oh, no, I hear it now, too,” Oz admits. “She’s wrong, though.”
“I give you enough?” you check.
Oz lifts his arm, smiling as you curl against his side. “More than enough.”
You kiss his jaw, then rest your head on his chest. “She doesn’t like me. Which, I know that I probably don’t look like I’d be with you. More accurately, you don’t look like you’d be with me. But I do love you. I hope you know that.”
“Of course I know that,” Oz promises. “And I think you look exactly like someone I’d love.”
“So, me grumbling and complaining and being the black cloud to your silver lining doesn’t bother you?” you ask, already knowing the answer. “My stoicism isn’t jading you to the beauty of life and butterflies and donuts?”
“Quite the opposite,” he answers, interlacing your fingers. “Especially because I know you love me as much as I love you. You and your grumpy outbursts and your cat-like tendencies.”
“Which makes you what? A golden retriever?”
“If that’s what you want,” Oz agrees.
You smile, kissing him again.
“They’re waiting for me to propose,” Oz tells you a few minutes later, his confession whispered against your shoulder.
“You think we’ll have a normal wedding?” you ask.
“No chance,” Oz answers immediately.
“Good,” you sigh, inching closer to him. “And if or when you’re ready to talk about that… I’m in.”
“Yeah?” Oz asks, shifting to see you better.
“Of course. You… you’re the bright spot I didn’t know I wanted, or needed, until you came along.”
“Sweetheart,” Oz mutters, “you’re getting soft.”
“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” you grumble. “You’re not that good.”
Lev’s reaction when he sees you walking out of the precinct building after the bomb threat.
You were leading the now handcuffed man who threatened the precinct when Oz saw you, there were a lot of people exiting the building so he was looking around, trying to find you. When he finally saw you, his eyes widened, then you saw relief wash over his face when your eyes met his.
You asked for another co-worker to lead the perpetrator when you saw Lev started running towards you, and you ran right into his direction. As soon as you were close enough, he engulfed you in his big arms, holding you tightly.
- Are you okay? Did he hurt you? - he moved away a little to look at you, not really letting you go.
- No, I’m fine. - you put your hand over Oz’s, which was now on your face - I actually disarmed him.
- Of course you did. - he smiled and buried his face in your neck again - Don’t you ever scare me like that again, okay?
- I’ll do my best. - you laughed, and you could see the smile on his face when he finally let go of you.
- Don’t move a muscle, I’ll take you home.
