summary — after sammy’s inevitable divorce he lets himself indulge with his workplace crush - you. friends with benefits sounded so simple until that nagging desire for more hit both of you like a truck. so, when you get hurt on a call will it bring you together or only push you away?
genre — hurt/comfort + fluff
cw — patrol!sammy x fem!copreader, reader is hurt on the job, mentions of blood and other injuries, dewey . . . feel like that needed a warning, pre-established fwb relationship, fade to black smut/implied intimacy, reader is described as having long hair, reader drinks alcohol, probably very inaccurate police talk
author’s note — first fic guys!! super excited, pls let me know what you think and don’t forget to reblog and like <3 ( divider from @graphiclost )
Sammy could remember the exact moment he first laid eyes on you.
It was boot day in his first year back on patrol after Nate’s death. He and Sherman had got a good thing going, Ben teased him about needing to get laid and Sammy teased him about needing a life outside getting laid. Sure, it had been a while . . . well since way before his son was born to be exact. He was just rusty, that was all.
You’d been unluckily paired with Dewey for your probation period, the whole squad room singing their prayers for you the second it was announced.
After a gruelling first shift full of fuck ups and mildly sexist comments from your P.O, you headed out for a drink with the rest of the boots where you spotted him across from the bar. He sat uncomfortably on one of the bar stools, nursing a half-drank beer as Ben entertained a group of fawning women.
You couldn’t understand what they saw in Ben. Sure, he was cute in a brotherly way, but Sammy?
With the two margaritas sitting heavy in your stomach, you rounded up the courage to go talk to him. At first it was innocent as you spoke about your first day and the unfortunate truth that you were stuck with Dewey for the foreseeable future. Then, multiple drinks later and Ben having left with two of the girls from the bar, the tension grew.
“I’m going to head to the bathroom,” You told him, running your hand over his biceps.
Sammy nodded. “Okay, uh . . . do you want me to get you a cab or?”
“No,” You chuckled, “I don’t want a cab, Sammy.”
“Oh-kay? How ‘bout another dri—”
“Sammy,” You interrupted him sharply, “I’m heading to the bathroom and I want you to come with me.”
Totally oblivious, he furrowed his eyebrows before slowly catching on. “Ohhhh . . . oh.”
“Yeah,” You laughed, “You coming?”
“Shit,” He swore under his breath, “Y-Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”
Giggling as he fumbled to get off the small barstool, you led him by his hand over to the bathroom.
If only you knew that the ‘one time hook-up’ would lead to so much more.
“Sammy,” You groaned, pushing his face lightly away from your neck where he was littering lazy kisses. “I have to get ready.”
“Five,” Kiss. “More,” Kiss. “Minutes.” Kiss.
You laughed softly, using all your might to take control and roll you both over until you rested over his hips. Sammy adjusted himself so he could sit up against your plush headboard.
All of your hookups happened at your place, given Sammy’s apartment consisted of minimal furniture and heaps full of Nate’s toys. He liked that your place was warm. Photos on the walls of you and your school friends and family, little trinkets scattered everywhere and all the fun coloured furniture that you’d thrifted.
Including the red, plush bed frame he was currently watching you from.
“I can’t be late to roll call again,” You groaned, tearing yourself away from him, much to his dismay. “It just gives Dewey another reason to come up with some sexist joke that’ll last for months.”
“Sammy,” You sighed, standing in your en-suite door. “I don’t need you to stick up for me, no-one will ever take me seriously if you do. Plus, then everyone will know about . . .” You trailed off, waving your hands in the direction that you both threw last night’s clothes after he’d came over after work, “ . . . this.”
Abruptly, he stood up in only his boxers, and took the few steps to meet you in the doorway. Gently, he lifted your fallen chin with the tip of his finger to look up at him.
“Fine,” He sighed, “Dewey’s an ass, he always has been, you’ve only got another two months of probation and you’re free.”
You could feel the smile grow on your face at the idea of freedom.
Sammy burrowed his head in the crook of your neck, “There’s that smile.”
As soon as you felt him press two gentle kisses in that spot behind your ear he knew you adored so much, a groan let your parted lips.
“I know, I know,” Sammy laughed, beating you to it. “Go shower, I’ll make us something to eat.”
He turned to make his way towards the kitchen, leaving a kiss on your forehead. Before he could get too far, you pulled at the waistband of his boxers.
He smirked, facing you. “I like or.”
“You could join me in the shower? Kill two birds with one stone?” You questioned, running your hands over his soft abs.
“Baby, the day I say no to that question I want you to shoot me with my gun.”
Miraculously, you made it on time to work. Sammy had a bit more leeway with being late since he was a higher rank than you—something you were painfully aware of.
It wasn’t technically against policy ( believe me, you checked multiple times ) to date your superiors, however after subtly asking around, you got the impression it wasn’t exactly a smart thing to do. You had tried to break it off with Sammy a few times, but everytime you went over to his apartment to end things, you just happened to fall into bed with him swearing it’d be the last time.
You could convince yourself it was casual for a while, until the lines started to blend. You had a toothbrush at his place by a month in, your favourite shampoo and conditioner in his shower by 3 and a small pile of clothes forming by 5 that you refused to put in a drawer—that made it too official.
Now, you itched for more; meeting his son, going on dates, telling your friends. However you knew the moment people at work found out, you’d never be respected. A female cop dating a higher-ranking officer? Every award, every bit of praise and promotions would be second guessed your whole career. Still, despite it all, you still yearned for more with him.
You jumped slightly, turning to face your P.O. as he drove the streets of L.A. “Shit, sorry.”
Dewey scoffed, “Away in fairy land? Called your name six times.”
“Sorry, lost in thought,” You apologised reluctantly.
“There’s no place for that in the streets,” Dewey scoffed, “What if there was an urgent call you missed?”
“Well . . .” You started, “Was there?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, obviously. Hey, look at this sad sack!”
Dewey slowed down, pulling over next to a young boy walking along the sidewalk. Instantly you recognised him. His mother was a prostitute that used to be a C.I. of Dewey’s until she got locked up a few months ago for drug possession. You were 90% sure Dewey 100% planted the drugs on her after she gave him some bad intel and made him look stupid in front of the Chief Commander.
“Isaac, my man!” He yelled over you.
The boy stopped, sighing drastically when he saw who it was. “What do you want?”
You shifted uncomfortably. “Dewey, c’mon—”
“How’s your mom doing? Tell her I say hi next time she gives you a call from her cell,” Dewey teased, laughing manically. If he hadn’t gone on an hour long rant earlier about his sobriety, you’d be pretty damn sure he was drunk right now. “Man, I miss her.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “Sure you do.”
“No, really I do!” He exclaimed, “She had a nice pair on her—if you know what I mean.”
You shook your head as Dewey continued his torturous laugh even as you drove off down the street.
“Jesus, Dewey,” You scoffed, “You are an ass, you know that right?”
“Oh, come on! That was funny!” He exclaimed, taking his eyes off the wheel to look at you. When he saw your annoyed expression he scoffed, “What you gonna do about it? Go cry to Bryant?”
It was as if the blood drained from your body. There was no saving face, Dewey saw the change in your expression.
“Everyone knows you’re banging him,” He laughed, “What’s he promised you, huh? Half his pension? A good word with the chief?”
It took everything in you not to bite back.
“Six Adam 43, domestic dispute at 237 Eastwood Drive.”
You looked to Dewey. He nodded.
“Dispatch, A24 show us responding.”
You hit the sirens as Dewey pressed on the gas. Given the fact he was a reckless driver as it was, it was safe to say you both got to the address exceptionally fast. When you pulled up, the street spoke for itself. Bags of rubbish were piled up around the house you were about to head into with kids no older than 13 watching your every move, ready to pounce.
“Police!” Dewey yelled, pounding on the door. As per usual, you stood behind him as cover. After getting no response, he turned to you. “Maybe domestic turned into dead.”
“Shut up, Dewey,” You scolded him, pounding on the door. “Police!”
Dewey tried the door knob and with a soft click, the door pushed open. You both kept your hand on your gun as you entered the house. Tiny flecks of glass were everywhere as if someone had thrown it at a wall.
“Jesus!” Dewey exclaimed, hastily clearing the rest of the house in a quick sweep. Huddled in the corner was a young woman covered in swelling bruises and blood coating her face.
You knelt next to her, keeping a respectful amount of distance. “Ma’am, what happened?”
“H-He wouldn’t stop!” She cried, rocking herself back and forth. “He went out back!”
Dewey kicked the back of your boot lightly. “I’m gonna see if I can find him, call for an ambulance.”
“Got it,” You muttered, watching as he held his gun by his side and headed for the sliding back doors. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
The girl continued to cry, burying her head in her hands to muffle her wails.
Just as Dewey said, you reached for your radio to call for medical assistance when you realised you forgot it at the station. Shit. The scene was clear and the victim clearly wasn’t going no anywhere. You decided to head to the car to call for assistance from there. The kids had dispersed now, the streets seemingly empty. From outside you could hear the girl’s cries and although your instincts told you to wait near the car for the ambulance, the urge to comfort the victim was stronger.
Only when you re-entered the house, her cries had come to a stop.
“Ma’am the ambulance is—”
The corner where she once sat was empty. Instinctively, you reached for your holster and peered around the corner. She was now laid limp on the kitchen floor, mass amounts of blood pouring from her forehead as thought it’d been smashed against the floor.
Gun now in your hand, you turned. “Dewey!”
Only to be met with a man twice your size, hands drenched in blood and pupils dilated. PCP. You’d seen the effects the drug had on people before and if it was anything like you’d learnt about in the academy, your chances weren’t amazing right now.
“Hey!” You yelled, pointing the gun at his heaving chest. “Police! On your knees, hands above your head!”
Before you knew it, the man charged at you, knocking the gun out of your hand before you could even blink. He screamed as he punched you straight in the face, knocking you to the floor. Although your division began to blur, you tried your hardest to keep him off you, thrashing around on the cold tiles of the kitchen whilst he reached up onto the counter for something.
“Fuck!” You yelled, managing to get a punch in as he got ever so slightly distracted. The rage in his eyes doubled, smashing your head against the floor again and with his left hand grabbed a knife.
The ringing in your ears and pounding in your head only got worse, but you were not going to let this man kill you. As he swung the knife at you, your legs kicked his arms away enough to dodge each attempt to bring the blade down. The adrenaline stopped you from feeling most of the pain, but you were still aware he’d managed to slash you a few times. Using every last ounce of energy, you used the training the academy had taught you and wrapped your legs around his head and pulled him down until you had power over him.
There was blood falling over his face—his or yours, you didn’t know—when he pulled you off him and threw you until your back hit a kitchen cabinet at full force. Like something by from a movie, he stood to his feet and let out an inhumane scream. Just as he made his first step to loom over you, a familiar voice finally came to the rescue.
“Police! Show me your hands!” Dewey yelled, pointing his taser at his back.
The man turned slowly to face Dewey, ready to attack him when Dewey tased him. For a man his size, the electric volts running through his body only brought him to his knees. Wasting no time, he was cuffed, although you weren’t sure how long they’d last before he regained some strength.
“Dispatch, this is A24 send additional units and medical assistance to our location, now! Officer down, I repeat, Officer down!”
“ . . . any additional units to assist A24 at 237 Eastwood Drive. Officer down.”
Sherman looked to Sammy. “Isn’t that Dewey?”
Sammy’s heart dropped. It was a 50/50 chance it was you that was down and even those odds sent a rush of panic through to his bones. Without a second thought, he responded to the call before Sherman could say anything.
“Hit the lights,” Sammy ordered, already running a red to get to the location.
“We’re not close, man. There’ll be another unit that’s—”
He complied, watching as Sammy ran every red and broke every speed limit. Sherman wasn’t an idiot, he knew that he wasn’t this worked up over Dewey of all people. Along with everyone else in the division, they’d notice that you two seemed to be rather close considering you weren’t partners.
In record speed, Sammy pulled up to the house. Two ambulances were parked erratically, one with a young girl on a stretcher. From where they were stood, her face was hidden but her tangled locks braided with blood fell over the sides of the gurney. Sherman had to ask the question.
“No,” Sammy said, shortly. “Her hairs not as warm as—”
He whipped his head around at the sound of your voice. There you were, sat holding an ice pack to the back of your head whilst the paramedic checked your injuries. Your uniform had been discarded, blood and holes where the knife had cut you ruining it beyond saving, leaving you in your white tank top. Small, shallow cuts were spaced over your arms—majority of them being defensive.
“Jesus,” He sighed, stopping right in front of you, “I was so worried when i heard the call, I—”
“Sammy, Dewey needs help restraining the guy,” Ben said from behind him. Briefly, he turned to you. “You good?”
You nodded slowly, wincing.
Sammy didn’t move, just staring at the state you were in. A black eye, bloody nose, cut lip alongside all those cuts along your arms and ribs.
“Go, Sammy,” You said. “I’m okay. They’re taking me to the hospital now anyways.”
Reluctantly, he nodded and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. “O-Okay. Call me later, alright? I mean it.”
He hated that you could smile through the pain. And worse, he hated that he had to leave you in pain.
The agony began to subside now.
The hospital discharged you after a few hours of observation that concluded you got off lucky and somehow, by the grace of God, didn’t have a concussion. The cuts were all minor, only one needing stitches across your ribs. No broken nose—just heavily bruised.
Your shift had been over thirty minutes, but you were still stuck sat on a bench in the women’s locker room. You had only came back to collect your things before taking a mandatory paid week’s recovery.
But once you sat down, it’s like the world stopped.
The events of the day came crashing down on you. How’d you go from utter bliss waking up cuddled next to Sammy to being beaten blue and bloody just a mere few hours later?
A knock interrupted your spiral.
You turned to see Sammy stood in the doorway. He’d changed out of his uniform into a pair of jeans and a plain tee you’d bought him last month after seeing it and thinking how much he’d like it.
“There’s no-one else here.”
With approval, he came to sit next to you on the bench. Sammy was petrified of hurting you any further. He could see the tears welling along your eye-line and how hard you tried to blink them away.
“Dewey told me you don’t have a concussion,” He stated, “That’s good, right?”
You paused a moment. “Yeah . . . yeah, that’s good I guess.”
Sammy watched as you twiddled your thumbs, tugging at the long sleeve henley you’d changed into.
“I knew this would be part of the job,” You sighed, wiping away a stray tear, “Getting punched during a domestic or shot during a chase . . . I don’t know why it’s hit me now.”
“Shock,” Sammy said plainly. Gently, he placed his hand over yours to stop you from anxiously picking at your skin ( a habit he knew you did when you were stressed ). “The first time I got shot in my vest I was a baby-faced, know it all boot. Humbled me real fast.”
You couldn’t help but crack a smile at that.
“You wanna stay at mine tonight?” He asked quietly, as if any louder it would be heard by the whole world. “I can make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”
He smiled, showing you his crooked teeth you adored so much. “Seriously though, stay the night.”
“Don’t you have Nate tonight?” You asked.
“Yeah,” Sammy trailed off, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “He wants to meet you.”
Sammy smiled, looking into your eyes. “Yeah, I talk about you all the time to him.”
You felt your heart skip a beat momentarily. “Won’t he be scared with me looking like I just fought off a werewolf?”
“No, are you kidding?” He laughed, “Tell him you fought a werewolf off and he’ll be over the moon. Plus, he’s met Sherman before and that’s much scarier to a two year old than this.”
“Don’t make me laugh! It hurts my ribs,” You said in between wincing and giggling.
He pressed a kiss to the back of your intertwined hand. “Sorry.”
You let a beat go by before mustering up the courage to reply. “Okay. Best not keep Nate waiting then.”
“C’mon,” Sammy said, helping you to your feet. “My car’s round back. I’ll come get yours in the morning.”
Hand-in-hand, you headed out of the locker room. Meeting his son wasn’t casual. You were aware of that. It didn’t need to be said. Casual was in the past.
“Oh, by the way, I think Sherman probably knows about us after today.”
You snorted, “Everyone already knows, Sammy.”
“What?” He asked, completely surprised, “We weren’t that obvious!”
You giggled. “Well, apparently Dewey said . . .”
tags : @amacphet @anamiad00msday @fauwnsoul @sydnastyyy @whimsy-lover @sammysbadgebunny
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
kianamaiart
romaincrisis
