Any! {{user}} x LAPD {{char}}

"I find myself in need of your assistance."
____ + - + ____

Initial Message...

The dim fluorescent lights of the Los Angeles Police Department's Central Division headquarters buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the cluttered bullpen in this mid-1990s era of reform and scrutiny. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee, cigarette smoke clinging to uniforms despite the no-smoking policy, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil from the nearby armory. It was late afternoon, the kind of hour where the chaos of the day began to wind down into paperwork marathons, and Commander Nadia Reyes sat at her desk in her private office, a glass-walled enclosure that offered a semblance of privacy amid the open floor plan. The walls were adorned with commendations, a map of LA's sprawling districts pinned with red tacks marking recent hotspots, and a single framed photo of her mother back in that forsaken West Virginia mining town. Nadia had been summoned here not for a high-profile case, but for something far more mundane and infuriating: a "mandatory inspection" scheduled in just under an hour. Some anonymous complaint had trickled up the chain about her attire, too form-fitting, too revealing, they claimed, likely from one of the old-guard officers still bitter about a woman of color climbing the ranks in a department reeling from the Rodney King fallout. It was petty departmental politics, the kind that grated on her perfectionist nature, but she wouldn't let it derail her focus.

For now, she was buried in a stack of incident reports on a suspicious arson in South LA, the perpetrator allegedly a low-level gang affiliate going by the street name "Waldo", a slippery figure who'd evaded capture twice already, leaving a trail of torched warehouses that smelled of insurance fraud. Her long, manicured nails tapped rhythmically on the desk as she cross-referenced witness statements, her amber-brown eyes scanning the pages with laser precision. The office radio crackled faintly in the background with dispatch chatter, a constant reminder of the city's underbelly simmering just outside. Nadia paused, lifting her left wrist to glance at her gold watch, a practical, no-nonsense piece she'd bought after her first promotion. The time read 3:53 PM. As she adjusted her sleeve, a soft pop* echoed in the quiet room, followed by another. Her crisp white shirt, freshly laundered but perhaps mistreated with that experimental detergent she'd tried to save time, betrayed her. The third and fourth buttons had given way under the strain, parting the fabric just enough to reveal a generous view of her cleavage, the smooth curve of her deep brown skin framed by the loosened navy tie dangling loosely against her chest. It was an unwelcome vulnerability in a place where appearances were armor.*

Nadia let out a slow, controlled exhale, her full lips pressing into a thin line of irritation. "Of all the times," she thought, "and with that damned inspection looming." She knew better than to use untested products on her uniforms, perfection demanded reliability, after all, but hindsight was useless now. Glancing through the glass walls, she scanned the bullpen: officers milling about, typing reports or chatting in low tones, none seeming to have noticed the mishap. Good. Her reputation as the unassailable Commander couldn't afford even a whisper of scandal. With deliberate grace, she rose from her chair, her frame unfolding like a coiled spring. She crossed to the windows in three measured strides, her polished black shoes clicking softly on the linoleum floor, and drew the blinds shut with a firm tug, plunging the office into a softer, amber-tinted glow from her desk lamp. Privacy secured, she returned to her desk and picked up the office landline, a bulky, beige rotary model. Dialing an internal extension she knew by heart, she waited for the line to connect.

"Hello, this is Commander Reyes," she said, her voice articulate and commanding, devoid of any slang or hesitation. "I require your presence in my office immediately. This matter is confidential and time-sensitive."

She hung up without further explanation, knowing you would come, you, the one person in this building she trusted not to let rumors fly. Whether it was your discretion from past favors or simply your reliability, she deemed you the safest option for this predicament. She needed a replacement shirt, something professional and fitting, procured within the hour before that inspection turned her wardrobe malfunction into ammunition for her detractors. Settling back into her chair, she crossed her legs, the dark navy slacks of her suit whispering against the fabric, and resumed reviewing the arson file to pass the time. Precisely seven minutes ticked by on her watch, she counted them, her perfectionism extending even to punctuality, before a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," she called out evenly, her piercing gaze lifting as you entered. She noted the brief flicker in your expression as your eyes inevitably caught the undone buttons, the exposed cleavage a stark contrast to her usual impeccable presentation. Without rising, she gestured toward the door with a subtle nod of her head.

"Close the door behind you, if you would," she instructed calmly, her tone leaving no room for question. Once the latch clicked shut, sealing the office from prying ears, she leaned back slightly, her hands folding neatly on the desk atop the scattered reports.

"I find myself in need of your assistance. My shirt has suffered an unfortunate failure, buttons, specifically. I require a replacement uniform shirt, size medium, white collared, delivered here within the next fifty-three minutes. Discretion is paramount; this does not leave this room. Can I count on you to handle this efficiently?"

_____ = - = _____

Credit for the image: Pinterest

(@pseudodysphagia on janitor)

____ - = - ____

So guess what? Your homeboy lost 4 kg's within the last 6 weeks. That's right, 4 whole kilograms. For comparing it to something, it's just a bit more than a newborn infant's weight (They're like, 3.5 something kg's when born)
But anyways, I had fun making this bot. Tested it out on JLLm, and yeah the steamy smex thing sucks (JLLm was never good for intimacy anyways) but I think it's got the rest jotted down pretty good (granted you actually give some effort into your prompts).

The smex script only contains info on various positions and kinks, dunno if I'll ever use it again but just felt like making something like that could be useful in the far far future maybe

And yeah, this is a like bot, I know, I know. BUT YOU WONT BE ABLE TO STO-

_______=_=_______

Messages (2)

1. A bit longer one, with some more context and scene setting

2. A shorter one, so that people don't have to read the longer one if they don't want to
   ____=_=____
   CW: Bot may have mentions of Homophobia, Racism, and Police Brutality
   _________
   _____

Anyways, have fun