stella, twenty five, she/her, french canadian, 18+ mdni pls, multifandom, don't be an asshole i will bite you
asks & dms are open; feel free to make requests (moodboards, fics, etc). i am probably forgetting things i like and would be down to write for, so worst case scenario make a request and i will see ! this is my first like actual blog that i post on and stuff so bare with me ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡ i'm not a big writer, just kind of dipping my toes into the creative writing so hihi
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tags: sammy bryant x detective!reader, jake peralta/amy santiango relationship vibes, reader color-coordinates everything, loosely based on "the bet" from brooklyn 99, fluff, workplace teasing, they both want each other, non-linear southland timeline, also loosely based on this post (but I don't do infidelity sorry), there is use of y/n and l/n, 18+ MDI
notes: I had so much fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoy! I'm also cooking up some requests and possibly another doppleganger post! like aways, if you want to be added to my permanent taglist, please comment here!
note pt.2: my requests are still open!
word count: 3.7k
“Suck on this, Bryant.”
Sammy barely had time to react before a pile of paperwork was thrown on his desk with the elegance of a herd of cows. The implication of the pile plus your voice meant that the stupid bet he had going on was going south and not in his favor at all. His hazel eyes traced up past the pile, up your dark purple blouse, and settled on the smug grin you decided to bless him with. He reached out and quickly thumbed through the stack.
“What the hell is this, L/n?” he spat, even if he knew exactly what it was.
Your hands glued themselves to your sides. “You know exactly what it is.” You leaned down a bit closer to meet his eyes. “But because you have seemed to forgotten, I’ll so graciously remind you.”
With a saunter of your hips, you walked over to the bullpen’s whiteboard. The black Expo marker made a satisfying squeak and pop and squeal as you added another tally mark to your side of the board, giving you a head lead by two. You capped the marker before turning around with another grin.
“Like I said: Suck on this, Bryant.”
Sammy gave a disbelieving chuckle, head shaking behind his hand as something stirred in his gut. The bet between you and him had been going for a month, and it was eating him alive to the point he just wanted it all to be over. However, the winnings were too good to pass up. He’d been wanting to knock you down a couple of pegs, so, if he somehow had more arrests than you by tomorrow, you’d have to do the one thing that seemed to grate your nerves more than your notes getting out of their color-coded perfection: go on a date with him.
Opposite of that, you had chosen your prize: his ex-wife’s 1967 Chevrolet Camero. Weird request to him, but the vintage car was one thing he’d won in the divorce that he actually wanted to keep since he was the one to put the downpayment on it. If you won that, he could kiss his sunset beach drives goodbye.
Sammy’s fist curled around his pen while Nate laughed quietly into his hand in the desk. You were good—probably one of the best detectives the LAPD had, but Sammy would rather die than tell that to your face. Ever since you’d joined last year, the two of you had been at each other’s throats in a “friendly” competitive way. In the first few months, Sammy pretty much hated the way you sucked up to the captain with a sweet smile and extensively written paperwork that had everyone cooing and thanking you for making their lives easier all while you’d turn and send him a devilish smile his way when no one else was looking.
It made him hot and bothered in a way that bothered him immensely.
You, the newbie, the overachiever, had made him feel things that no other woman—not even his wife—had felt before. Your ways made him want to be a better detective. So, he just had to get up to your level.
If you brought in a street gang, he needed to bring in two. If your paperwork was pristine, his had to be the neatest most organized paperwork the LAPD had ever seen. If you kissed ass to get your way, you best know that Sammy Bryant was about to kiss ass like no one had ever seen.
Hence, the bet that he was about to lose.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” he muttered before leaning back into his seat, the leather creaking under his weight.
Your smirk only widened, and for once, Sammy wished he could kiss it right off your face.
“Oh,” you pouted at him, tone laced with a tease. “Don’t be like that, Bryant. Losing actually builds more character than winning!”
His face pinched. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“It a hundred percent does.” You crossed your arms, and Sammy had to rip his eyes away from the neckline of your blouse. “I’d just hand over the keys right now, ‘cause it looks like I’ve got this in the bag.”
Sammy eyed the whiteboard with faux wonder. “How many am I down by?”
“A measly two. Honestly, you insult me, Bryant. You’re this close with less than two hours left in the shift, and you’re just sitting here on your ass.” You glanced toward the clock mounted above the pen, letting your gaze linger there for a second to make sure he followed to see how long he had left.
Sammy let out a long, suffering sigh. “You counting chickens in that thick skull?”
You tisked at him. “Bryant, sweetheart, my chickens are already hatched and on their way to college by now. They, like me, are positively thriving.”
“Fuck, I hate when you get like this,” he groaned.
“Like what? When I’m right, and you aren’t? Pretty much every day of your life, right?”
That earned you a few giggled from the detectives that seemed more into this bet than either you or Sammy were. All of the female detectives had already asked to take a ride in the car when you won, because in their mind, there really was no competition.
“No,” Sammy almost whined. “I mean when you’re smug. It’s not a very becoming look on you, detective.”
“Well, detective,” you sent back his way, “I happen to look my best when I’m winning. And if that means smugness comes with it, then I’m fucking hot right now.”
The look he sent you should have burned a hole straight through your forehead, but all it did was make your heart flutter. Because in just the same way you didn’t know you made Sammy feel things, Sammy Bryant had your heart from the moment you stepped foot into the precinct. Back then, he’d been married, and all your hopes and dreams had been crushed. However, the day he walked through without that metal band around his ring finger, you swear the sky had literally opened up with angels singing.
Unfortunately, you’d been too deep in the back and forth that at this point, you believed he hated you, that him asking you out on a date would be the most humiliating thing on the planet simply because Sammy Bryant could never be interested in you.
You tapped the marker thoughtfully against your chin. “You know, I’ve actually been looking at custom license plates.”
Sammy’s head snapped up so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t pull a muscle. “No.”
Your tongue ran across your bottom lip. “Oh, yes.”
“No.”
Your head tilted. “I was thinking something that screams that I’m the best detective this side of California.”
“You don’t even own the damn car yet,” he sneered, though there really wasn’t any heat behind it.
“Yet, Bryant. But in exactly—” You pushed out your hand, so that your watch flashed brilliantly in the lighting. “One hour and forty-five minutes, I will be the new owner of your car. How does BY3 SAM sound? I think I’m digging that one.”
This time, Nate actually snorted. Sammy turned to his partner with a glare that could send the man six feet under if he could. There was absolutely no way he was going to let you drive off in that car if he had anything to do with it. He sat in his chair, eyes never wavering from your figure as you stalked back toward your desk.
“You think you’re funny,” he muttered loud enough for you to hear.
You looked up with a smile. “I think I’m actually fucking hilarious.”
When you turned toward Lydia, Sammy took a moment to look back up at the clock. Six-thirty; the time had the corner of his mouth tugging up instead of down. Remember, no matter how high you stepped or how low you stooped, he was always doing the same. The moment you turned back to face him, your stomach dropped at the sight of his small minuscule smirk. If there was anything you knew for certain about Sammy, it was that he didn’t smile when he was losing.
Sammy didn’t smile when going through his divorce.
Sammy didn’t smile after arresting the kid he was trying to help.
Sammy didn’t smile when you took the moment to make sure that he knew you were better.
But now, with almost an hour left of the bet, he was smirking like he knew how this would end. You hated seeing it and the feeling had you curling in on yourself. Your chair squeaked when you turned his way.
“What?”
Sammy hummed before shaking his head. “Nothing.”
“No; not nothing,” you imitated his deeper voice. “Bryant, what the hell is that look on your face?”
He shrugged and leaned back into his chair, now looking far too relaxed for a man who should have been preparing his five-paper long farewell speech to a beloved vintage car. It had been a cheap shot when you’d first asked for it, and you didn’t even think he would agree at first before he begrudgingly shook your hand. When he agreed, you thought you had this in the bag. Now you weren’t so sure as you were almost an hour ago.
Suddenly, his smirk grew almost ten times larger. “L/n, do you ever get a feeling like something good’s about to happen?”
You narrowed your eyes. “What the hell are you going on about? You’re acting weird.”
He looked up at the clock and held up a wide-spread hand before tucking in his thumb. A strange tension settled over you to the point it became too impossible to ignore. For a second, your confidence wavered, and it was enough to make you glance toward the entrance. Sammy tucked his pinky under his thumb, and your brows furrowed at the movement.
“Bryant? What are you doing?”
His ring finger joined his pinky, and his grin widened. Somewhere in the depth of your mind, a warning bell began to ring loudly.
“Bryant?”
His middle went down, leaving only his pointer raised toward the sky. It was only when that one went down too that the bullpen doors burst open so hard they slammed against the wall. You turned so hard your hand whipped your cheeks after you settled. Your eyes widened as a flood of uniforms poured inside at once, escorting suspects in handcuffs, carrying filled-to-the-brim duffels, and shouting over one another as they navigated past your desk like some kind of horrific conga line right out of your worst nightmare.
“Twenty-three arrests from a gang task force operation. All of them had multiple felony warrants and so happened to have lots of evidence,” one of them announced.
Your smile was wiped off the planet.
And standing in the middle of the surging bullpen motion, was Sammy Bryant, smirking like a man who had just personally witnessed divine intervention. You knew it was over. The division that these gang members had come from were under Sammy’s belt and not yours. Each one was an added tally to his side, which he seemed to know since he was now stalking toward you, eyes lidded like he’d just bitten into the most decedent cake he’d ever tasted. He only stopped a breath away from you, smirk so sultry that it could make the strongest woman swoon (you included). Not breaking eye contact, he took the marker from your grip and drew twenty-three shaky lines on his side of the betting board.
He leaned in close and whispered, “I think I just won.”
You were now full-on glaring. “This is cheating,” you hissed.
“You made the rules, sweetheart.”
“Fuck the rules.”
“Awwwww, but you loved the rules thirty minutes ago.”
Somehow, your glare deepened. “They weren’t actively ruining my life thirty minutes ago now, were they?”
For one moment, time stopped between the two of you. The next, the department also seemed to stop as the bet finally ended the clock hit 7 pm. Then, to your absolute horror (or right out of your favorite dreams), Sammy threw an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side.
“Attention, everyone!” he called out while you buried your face in your hands. “As you all know, mine and Detective L/n’s bet is officially over, which means that yours truly will be taking this one out on the date of her life!”
Your ears burned at the hoots and hollers that sounded out and echoed through the room.
“You didn’t even ask me out correctly,” you grumbled.
Sammy gasped loudly and placed his unoccupied hand over his chest. “The horror. How could I?”
To even further your embarrassment, Sammy rounded to your front and took both your hands. This time, you actually had to look him in the eyes while he spoke.
“Would you do me the honors of going out with me on a date this Friday, detective?”
You pursed your lips before nodding slightly. “Fine, Bryant.” You all but ripped your hands out of his and walked away. “But you better be on time!” you shouted over your shoulder. “And in the Camero!”
_______________________
Sammy had expected you to act like you hated every moment of the time spent with him on Friday evening. He expected you to stay in your work clothes, give him snippy conversation, and threaten him to never speak of the whole ordeal ever again after he dropped you off.
However, to his surprise, you walked out of your house in a dress that hugged your figure so well that Sammy had to shift his pants just a bit as you got closer. He was now thankful he’d chosen to change out of his work suit and throw on something that hadn’t been worn around a dead body or sweated in while chasing a suspect. Your makeup had even been done different; the eyeshadow was darker, your eyeliner pointier. During the job, he noticed you kept things on the more subtle side, but if this is how you showed up for a date that shouldn’t matter, he honestly never wanted you to go out with any guy other than him ever again.
He at least headed your warning and opened the passenger door for the Camero. Sammy tried to swallow his smirk when you grumbled a small thank you before slipping into the seat. The second the door shut, however, you tried your hardest not to sneer at him.
“Don’t get used to that, Bryant. I’m still pissed at you.”
“Used to what, sweetheart?”
“My endless gratitude, sweetheart.”
Sammy chuckled as he started the engine before pulling out onto your street road. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You let the purr of the car fill the silence that settled after he turned onto the main street. For the first time since the start of the bet, this was the first time the two of you had been alone without your coworkers to act as a buffer. It was just you and the man you’d been silently pining after while actively covering any whiff of emotion toward him with careless teasing and sharp biting. Somehow it was more nerve-wracking than chasing armed suspects.
To fill the quiet, you reached for the radio, only to have Sammy lightly smack the top of your hand. You pulled your hand back to your chest with a dropped jaw.
“Um, ow? What the fuck, Bryant?”
He didn’t even take his eyes off the road when he answered. “I know exactly what kind of music you like, and I cannot be hearing that shit right now.”
You crossed your arms, strategically pushing your chest together in attempts to distract him. “Oh, yeah? What kind of music do I listen to, asshole?”
“That sad-girl pop music that teen girls listen to whenever they’re going through their third breakup of the month.”
You scoffed loudly. “Be aware that you just insulted me and my entire future lineage.”
Sammy laughed loudly, the sound hitting you square in the chest. Because underneath it all, you were wishing that this could have been under normal circumstances, that he had asked you out without having to make a whole bet about it. Not wanting to let him in with a softness of your features, you turned toward the window and gazed at the passing blurred city lights.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” Sammy said after a moment.
Your eyes widened, but you didn’t make a motion to look back at him. “Careful, Bryant. I might start thinking that you actually mean what you say.”
Sammy huffed. “Would that be so bad?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird.”
Your head lolled along the headrest so that you could face him. “You just said that I look nice. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head on the way here?”
“I’m sure. Just thought you’d like the compliment, jeez.”
Without thinking, you let your eyes linger on his side profile and trail his sharpened jawline. Everyone noticed that he had dropped weight soon after the divorce. Whether it had been not enough time to actually cook meals after getting home or type of self-improvement one wants after a big chance, Sammy slimmed down to the point he didn’t look like an I’ll-make-sure-your-daughter-get-home-safely-sir man anymore and more of a your-daughter-calls-me-daddy-too stud. Where married Sammy was handsome and puffy, single Sammy was about to be eaten by badge bunnies.
You made yourself believe that was no room for you anywhere.
The car dived back into silence for a moment before both yours and Sammy’s phones rang loudly. You rolled your eyes as you answered.
“This is L/n.” You listened carefully before cursing loudly. “Shit. Fine. Fucking whatever.” You hung up and sighed. “Change of plans. Sal wants us on that Ramirez stakeout tonight.”
Sammy slammed a palm on the wheel before yanking it in the opposite direction of the restaurant. “Guess this just means you still owe me a date, L/n.”
“In your dreams, Bryant.”
Twenty minutes later, the two of you were parked half a block away from a run-down apartment building watching a suspected drug runner’s front entrance. The glamor of the evening had long been evaporated back into the atmosphere. Your pointer finger picked at one of the sequins on your hemline as you kept your eyes on the door. Thankfully, your heels had been kicked off the moment Sammy parked. Likewise, his jacket was now draped across the backseat.
When nothing happened for the next handful of minutes, you leaned back into the seat. “You know, as far as first dates have gone, this somehow isn’t the worst one I’ve been on.”
Sammy lowered his pair of binoculars to glance over at you. “Somehow I highly doubt that.”
“Believe me. Boys are stupid,” you muttered. “One time, one of them thought I was lying about being a detective, so I called in his name and apparently, he had a warrant out. I arrested him in the middle of dinner.”
“Seriously?” Sammy chuckled.
“Seriously,” you echoed warmly. “I don’t have the best luck with dates. I think this—on technicality—is my first date in almost a year.”
“Again, I highly doubt that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He took another glance at you before bringing the binoculars back up. “I mean, with the way you look, there must be a gaggle of guys trying to take you out.”
The sequin caught in your nail. “The way I look?”
You were totally egging him on, but for once since meeting Sammy, you wanted to press, wanted to get him to actually look at you without a look of distain on his face.
“I was being honest when I said you looked beautiful.”
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “You’re not supposed to hand out compliments to people you hate, Bryant. It gets oddly confusing.”
Sammy froze for a moment before fully turning toward you. “I don’t hate you.”
You scoffed. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“No?” Sammy’s confusion was clear as day on his face. “I don’t. If anything, I respect the hell out of you. Do you irritate me sometimes? Yes. But I have never once hated you, Y/n.”
It was your turn to freeze as you stared into his hazel eyes. “But—but every time I bring in a suspect or—or turn in paperwork, you look at me like I pissed in your cheerios!”
“That’s because it’s easier for me to pretend sometimes because the truth I want could never come true.”
You shook your head. “No, Bryant, you don’t get to spout off this proverb bullshit at me because—what?—you can’t just tell me the truth.”
He looked back toward the house. “I am not doing this here.”
A groan of frustration pulled from your chest. “Yes, you are doing this here. Don’t test me, Bryant, I will literally get out of this car and walk home because you can’t man up and—”
The sentence died instantly when Sammy’s lips pressed against yours. He dropped the binoculars in his lap to allow his big hands to carefully cup your cheeks and hold you steady. With nowhere else to go, you melted against him, lips finally moving against his in reciprocation. Your hands grasped at his sides, and if it wasn’t for the center consol, you would have swung a leg over his lap. When oxygen became too much, you pulled away from his lips, chest heaving in heavy pants to the point he could feel your hot air against his lips. The feeling made him want to pull you right back in.
Months of bickering, competing, teasing, and pretending to loathe each other more than Elphaba and Galinda in the first act of Wicked all melted away into something desperate, something that made your fingers itch to pull him against you.
Sammy pressed his forehead against yours. “Does that make you believe me now?”
You hummed in response. “This doesn’t mean that you’re on my good side, Sammy.”
He smirked once before leaning back in for a small peck. “I’ll get on your good side soon enough, sweetheart. Might even one day get my own color-coded section in your folder all to myself.”
this is so jack abbot at a work party, tells you to come to one of the empty rooms for some help, then locks the door, makes out with you hard, touches up and down your body with those big veiny hands, whispers how sexy you look and how he cant help but think of you and whats underneath that pretty floral dress and those panties that he can see thru everytime you sway your hips <3
Can’t stop thinking about Andrew who’ll get insanely hard randomly when he see’s your engagement ring on your finger🙂↕️ you’re not even doing anything sexual, maybe you’re pouring your coffee or just holding your phone but he’ll catch it from the corner of his eye and he gets so turned on cause he cant believe that you said yes to him. that you actually want to marry him, have him as your husband, be with him forver
