Charlize Theron Characters x Male Reader - One Shots

Sugar Daddy - Emily Sanders

The engine hummed beneath us, a steady noise that filled the otherwise quiet interior of the car. Emily's hands gripped the wheel, knuckles faintly white, her jaw set in that determined way she always had when she was deep into something—too deep, if you asked me. The streets of El Paso blurred past in the golden hue of the late afternoon sun, but I couldn't focus on any of that. All my attention was on her.

Emily Sanders, my partner for the past year and a half, was something else. Fierce, brilliant, stubborn as hell—especially when she got a lead in her head. Like now.

"You know, Em, there are easier ways to spend your day off," I teased, leaning back in the passenger seat, my arm casually resting on the open window. "You could, I don't know, catch up on sleep? Maybe binge-watch some crappy TV show?"

She didn't respond. Didn't even look my way. Her gaze stayed locked on the road, face unreadable. She was doing that thing again—laser-focused, ignoring everything around her that wasn't related to the case.

I sighed, shaking my head. "I mean, I get it. The guy's son was murdered, but come on. No evidence, no leads—hell, this isn't even our case anymore. We've got better things to focus on."

"I told you," she finally muttered, her voice low, "there's something off about this."

"There's something off about every case, Em. Doesn't mean you gotta play Sherlock Holmes on every one of them. He's not gonna give you a badge for doing his job."

She shot me a side-eye, that familiar spark in her brown eyes that always meant I was getting under her skin. It was a game we played—a dance. Push, pull. Tease, provoke. It had been that way since day one.

"Are you gonna talk the whole ride, or can I get at least five minutes of peace?" she asked, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smirk she tried to hide.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll shut up in a second. But just tell me one thing," I said, leaning closer to her, my voice dropping conspiratorially. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing dangerously. "What? Are you nuts Y/n?"

I chuckled, enjoying the reaction. "The old guy. Is he your boyfriend? Or maybe your sugar daddy?" I tilted my head, grinning at the way her face turned pink, even as she rolled her eyes.

"Jesus, you're insufferable." She reached over and smacked me lightly on the shoulder, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary, her touch familiar.

"Come on, Em. Admit it. You're spending all your free time chasing after this guy's dead-end case, and for what? Maybe he's got a sweet pension you're hoping to cash in on?"

"Shut up," she said, but her voice wasn't as hard as it should've been. There was a smile there, hidden beneath her irritation. It was one of the things I loved about working with her—she could give it as well as she could take it.

"You've been obsessing over this for weeks," I continued, undeterred. "Hell, we barely wrapped our last case, and you're already glued to this one. It's like you've got some secret vendetta. You sure he didn't leave you out of his will?"

"Seriously, you need to learn when to quit Y/n" she said, her voice playful but firm. Her hand shot out again, tapping me harder this time, trying to shut me up.

But it didn't stop me. It never did.

"Em, you're doing all this work on your own time, digging through files, interviewing witnesses—most of whom, by the way, think you're crazy. I mean, who's that dedicated to an old man with no family, no friends? It's like you're—what's the word? Compensating." I shot her a wicked grin, waiting for the next jab.