#grayson sheriff

GRAYSON! SHERIFF × ENFORCER! READER.

notes: im baack! Just a little idea that was on my my mind the few last days

summary: It begins with you frustrated over braid takedown caused by helmet pressure, but Grayson lovingly steps in to help.

You're grumbling in the mirror, tugging at the edge of a braid as your helmet sits discarded on the counter like it betrayed you.

"I look like a balloon," you mutter, scowling at your puffed roots. Grayson leans in the doorway with a crooked smile, arms crossed. "You look like my wife," she says, walking over. "Big head or not, babe."

She comes up behind you, rests her chin on your shoulder, and watches your hands fumble with a stubborn braid. "Let me," she murmurs, taking over without waiting for your pride to speak.

Her fingers are slower than yours but gentler, easing through the strands. "Not your fault, dear. That damn helmet's got no mercy."

You sigh and huff every few seconds, muttering about tight corners, long shifts, and braid frizz. Grayson just keeps working her way down the back of your head, section by section.

By the time she finishes undoing the last braid, you're leaned back against her chest, exhaling like you've just clocked out for the week.

Grayson presses a kiss to your temple and strokes your scalp with her knuckles. "Alright, babe, done this step"

She parts your hair into neat sections while you sit between her legs on the couch, a towel over your shoulders. "These coils deserve their own rank," she says, running oil through your scalp. You hum, tired but grateful.

As she detangles, you flinch once-more from habit than pain and she immediately pauses. Her thumb smooths along the top of your head.

"shiit, im sorry dear" she murmurs, You nod, and she resumes, slow and tender like she's handling gold.

She puts the conditioner in like she's learned the steps by heart, smoothing each section down with patience that still surprises you. You lean into her thighs and close your eyes.

While the deep conditioner sets, she wraps your hair in a warm towel and brings you tea-your favorite mug, too. She sits on the edge of the tub, watching you sip. "The prettiest woman in the world." she says, brushing her thumb over your cheekbone.

When she rinses the conditioner out, she cups your forehead with one hand and runs the water down carefully with the other, keeping it from your eyes. Her brows furrow in concentration.

"Should've been a damn hairdresser," she mutters, earning a soft laugh from you.

That’s it. Good luck to understand my calligraphy if you want to read the tiny notes.

You’re absolutely adorable, Anon.💙💙💙

I do love their paws too, here’s a close up of my little one’s beans for you.

- 🐞

Hello there, Anon, thank you for the admiration!💙

Marcus is a… He’s a good man. ( insert here a throat cleaning sound )

But he has the habit of getting in the way of things he wasn’t even supposed to know about at first, makes my job harder if I have to honest, Anon. It doesn’t really help the fact that I’ve been hearing some unpleasant rumours about my own subordinate.

Still, he does a good job when rightly instructed and when he wants to.