#I’m not really going to tag Ortega since this person wasn’t aware that it was him

[pyroclaststan]

CW: body horror, gore, graphic depictions of injuries, Nanosurge event

The two of you had been running and you made it so far—you were going to get away, you were going to make it, but then Syrah started screaming.

She hit the ground flailing, howling, peeling apart. It was like her skin was disappearing from her limbs, and she kept yelling, pieces of her mouth starting to disappear, too.

There are no words you could ever use to describe the noise of someone gargling on blood and bile and those things as they ate through her lungs and chest and throat.

To describe the sight of your lifelong best friend sloughing apart and disappearing before your very eyes as she tries to scream and call out, only to be unmade.

In her final throws she reached out for you.

It hurt.

Now it feels like burning, and stinging, and itching all at once.

You cannot look away as the horror settles into you, freezing you in place. You watch as your left leg peeled, layer by layer, and eaten like the many before you—like the many around you.

It hurts, but you cannot scream, you cannot sob: you saw how they got into your best friend’s mouth that way. It ended quicker for her than the others but you do not want an end at all.

You kick the remnants of your leg in futility, as if to shake them off with sheer willpower as they eat their way closer. It’s all you can do. The swarm on you is multiplying; you see them like a hive of ants, now beginning to eat away at your fingers.

No one will be coming for you.

There is a chorus of screams a few yards away.

“NO!” a bloodcurdling howl of a voice echoes out.

It is the wretched, horrible scream of someone desperate out there, and your head whips around for the source despite your situation. Someone is close enough that they might see you—you might live.

Further across the field three—no, a body, just two—of the Rangers are gathered. One of them is actually not a Ranger at all but that vigilante you��ve seen, Sidestep, who is standing over the writhing form of Marshal Charge, hands out.

In the fields around you, you see the swarms of those creatures coalesce and gather, all stopping mid air before moving towards Sidestep, floating up and over their head like a rippling ball of shimmering black water. A river Styx of souless little creatures.

Looking down you realise that your leg is no longer being flayed by the microscopic monsters, flesh and bone gone like it was never there; your hands shake as you desperately peel off your shirt to tie around the stump, hoping through your panic it stems the bleeding as your adrenaline fades. You’ve never done anything like this before—your hands are shaking awfully. Blood loss and possible shock making you run cold.

In the few minutes more that follow the pause of those things, as you clutch what’s left of you, you hear more screams and the sounds of heavy footsteps: everyone left is being evacuated and before you know it Charge himself is beside you, scooping you into his arms before sprinting along with the crowds of survivors as if he weren’t screaming earlier. You were just close enough that he saw you; you clench his shoulders with your tremoring hands, unable to stop the tears that pour down your sweating skin. You’ve never known death this closely. You don’t know if your fear or relief is greater.

Surrounding the two of you are the desperate, the pleading, the injured, but you cannot tear your eyes away from their target to see all of them. Your hearing is muffled by a ringing of tinnitus, even as Charge hands you over to another person before running back to save others struggling out there. As all the heroes get to work while they have this new advantage.

You can’t stop watching Sidestep.

They stand there, alone, hands held to the sky as if to hold a barrier around the writhing mass of murderers. You think of the class last week: the Titan Atlas holding up the heavens. You see the way their arms and legs shake, muscles sure to be straining, their heavy breaths under their super-suit. There is no dramatic lighting or music to highlight their effort, this dire situation is all too real. They’re too close to those swarms but they don’t budge an inch, a hand coming to their head as they let out a bellow of pain.

The man holding you is trying to flee with you, but you can’t stop twisting in his arms—you need to see this: you need to witness what Sidestep is doing, what Sidestep has done. Someone needs to remember that they are alone amongst those… demons.

Others are watching too, crying, and after some time when Sidestep’s knee buckles and their hands fall to brace themself the entire crowd flinches as one. The swarm wavers looking like they might escape and spread again, but Sidestep’s hand quickly rises back up and they fall back into their synchronised swim. The terror is palpable, the air is thick, the smells of the dead nauseating in the breeze, but you all cannot stop watching. Even the reporters are keeping a silent vigil, unable to believe any of this.

A hero is saving you.

Time passes and you’ve all huddled together, taking care of each other, locating family, slipping out silent prayers. A nurse who was among the survivors has helped you with your leg so far: medical should be arriving soon, you won’t be saving that leg. You might have lost too much blood, or you will. She’s just waiting for the shock to set it now, holding your hand so you’re not alone through it.

But you don’t care because out there so many have lost more than you. Others are still fighting so you all don’t lose more, even now. And one is stemming the tide.

Charge is behind Sidestep as they keep on despite being brought to their knees and struggling, posted like a sentry but gripping his own arm, and you can almost make out the look of abject horror on his face as he watches the swarm hovering before them; small flickers of static arcs when the hive moves or breaks synchronisation.

Medical has arrived and you are being carted off to a rescue vehicle while containment is still on the way, but you still don’t look away—you can’t look away. It has been hours and they are shaking and they are struggling but they are holding. You burn that sight into the back of your head before the ambulance doors close. Your hero.

Your dream always ends there: you were gone before they’d collapsed. Before it was over.

———

Today is the anniversary of that awful day; the persistent nightmare that haunts even your days through all the scars. It’s hard to go outside most days, hard to watch the news and catch a glimpse of that silver woman that scares you so much. It’s hard to do much of anything that isn’t sitting locked in your workspace, building, tinkering, or fixing. But this day is an exception to all those great fears.

You stop by the florist with the modded hand: she remembers the day as well as you, sometimes the two of you talk about it while you work on her hand. She’s bundling up Syrah’s yearly bouquet, handpicking each flower by some meanings you’ve never gotten around to learning about them, stopping only to help a haggard looking man she also seems to know well with a bundle of white chrysanthemums. You can smell the alcohol on him from here, but that’s none of your business: today is a hard day for more people than you and Maritsa.

She tells you to give her love to your old friend; she never goes herself, no matter how much time passes. She lost too much to that nightmare—a wife, two kids, some family.

Your eyes linger on one of the few white chrysanthemums that man left behind, scratching the scar tissue buildup on your finger’s skin weave, something telling you to pick one of those up, too. Her garden hardy mums cost a lot but you know anything she grows in her greenhouse is well worth the price.

Heading out with your newspaper bouquet in hand, you fall into step with the Los Diablos crowds, easily able to pick out who in the crowd is headed the same way as you. You can see it in their heavy steps and weighted shoulders and you wonder if you show it, too.

The memorial isn’t a plot of headstones—too many were lost for that—but instead a large stone and steel wall, covered from one end to another with names and birthdays of victims. Flowers, candles, teddy bears, liquor, and photos rest on the ground here every year, and every year the crowd and offerings grow smaller. Everyone eager to forget.

You take your place in front of Syrah’s name, fingers sliding quietly against the stone that’s too cold for having sat in Diablos’ heat as long as it has. To your right you see Desiderio placing his usual marigolds—also from Maritsa’s—against the stone, then falling into prayers as he always does. The flowers in your hands begin to feel too heavy so you set them down, quietly sit in prayer with Desi, and hold each other once the tears that always come arrive.

It’s a small, distant family you’ve made out of this place and the only other people who could understand your loss; no matter how much time passes between gatherings you all know you have each other. But you cannot stay all day, lost in the memories: you have one more important stop to make.

At the gates of your destination a man in a grey hoodie and a larger man in a blue one passes you, and once again you are hit by a wave of booze. Looking after them, you notice the back of the smaller, hunched over one: it’s that man again, being escorted by someone you hope is his friend. A few moments more and you draw in a deep breathe, gathering resolve before heading in.

So here you are at yet another memorial. Not the memorial to that scarred, barren earth you pointedly avoid looking at but the memorial to the hero you’d lost, gone after another even that shook the city to its core before they ended it. The hero this entire city lost. The dark headstone that’s all that’s left of Sidestep.

The black and teal hoodie you’ve worn in over the years always feel likes the only thing appropriate to wear as you sit here, sitting before the looming stone in your usual spot, staring at the bundle of white flowers and the half-full beer can beside it. Chrysanthemums bundled up with Maritsa’s trademark twine. A smaller bunch of white lilies next to it, from somewhere else. That man’s modded friend maybe; you know the signs like you know the smell of the dead. All too well.

You scratch the phantom itch crawling along the former calf and thigh of your modded leg, unable to chase away the ghost of a life past. Unable to turn back the clock. Unable to say thank you.

You set your flowers down next to that man’s, hoping that he found peace in his visit here like you do. Hoping that someone’s there to help him through that event and its scars, too. You really hope that was a friend.

The picture of your masked hero is peeling from all the rain and heat, the flowers and offerings dwindling as folks try to forget those terrible events, but you remain. Year after year.

Living is the only thanks you can give them.

[depressed-sock]

Ambulance part 2

So I’ve been working on and off, on this for months and I’m just going to throw it out into the world so I stop messing with it.

This is a second part to ambulance

TW: Allusions to abuse, suicidal character, hospital room, ask to tag

SPOILERS BELOW

  You're barely awake when the screaming starts again. Kiyo's body thrashing against the bonds holding him down to the medical bed, his eyes open but clearly not awake.

  "Please, please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'll behave, I'll listen, I'll-" his pleading screams continue, turning into pleading choked sobs by the time they finally put him under again. 

  The dampeners hold back the horrors his mind is experiencing… re-experiencing… honestly, that realization is more than enough to twist the knife deeper. Each flinch that Kiyo's had towards your touch flashes behind your eyes like a reel of film slowly replaying every bit you'd noticed but never put a name to. Not until now, not until you realized there was more than just a meaning that'd been scratched out by his nails.

  He'd tried to hide it. Tried to play it off as nothing. You let him. Maybe for his sake but more likely for your own. You can feel the anger burning beneath your skin already. Cracking your own masks into pieces as you remember the ever persistent fear he'd had around you in those early years. The same fear that had come back with him from the grave.

  But it was worse than before. You could tell in the way he moves, in the way he holds himself. Always ready to defend from an unexpected hit or at worse curl up in a ball to protect anything vital. Flinching at anything that got to close, and tired haunted grey eyes that couldn't meet yours.

  Your hands lie uselessly in your lap, a forced relaxation even though you can feel the energy surging through your fingers. A feeling of static that numbs them into complacency. Afraid to touch, afraid to reach out. You can't soothe the horrors his mind is experiencing endlessly right now, you can't do anything to make up for your past failures. For not seeing the truth that's been right in front of you. 

  So you wait. Watching as people come and go. Wei stays for as long as he can, deep purple bags under his eyes as he sits beside you, arms crossed and jaw tightened. Probably going through a million different things in his head that all lead to a single clear point. If you tried you might be able to guess that exact point but right now Wei's exhaustion seeps and mixes with yours. 

  You're two tired old men waiting for the inevitable guillotine to finally cut you both down. 

  It's not long before duty calls him back to work. He pushes out of his chair, a step forward and suddenly he's leaning in front of you, face to face. A careful press of chapped lips against yours, a hesitancy in the breath that mingles with your own. For a second he lets himself break just a bit. Dark eyes brimming with unshed tears, lips you seize with yours to sing a song of desperation and words neither of you can speak. 

  Not yet. Not here at least and not until Kiyo wakes up. He pulls away a broken man that pieces himself together bit by bit. His hand hovering over Kiyo's before he gives it a hesitant squeeze. You watch him walk out the door, Wei Chen firmly pushed down and Marshal Steel slipped back into place like that's who he's always been. 

  He leaves you with the silence of empty hallways and a room buzzing with noise. The sounds of beeps and machines that tell you Kiyo is alive. But they can't tell you for how long.

  How long before someone comes looking for him. How long can you try to protect him from them. How long can you protect him from himself? 

  He'd yell at you for even thinking that. 

   "I'm sorry," it's your voice this time. Soft and broken and begging for forgiveness from someone who could never give it to you, "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm sorry if I made it feel impossible for you to tell me the truth, I'm sorry that it's ended up like...this." 

  You rub a hand against your face, wiping away the tears building in your eyes, "As long as I've known you, you've felt like someone so much stronger than me. So much more… real than anyone I've ever known." 

  Someone that treated you like you were still human despite your mods, despite your leash. Someone you didn’t want to disappoint with the truths of who you really are. Hidden beneath layers upon layers so that if he ever got through one there would be another one lying in wait for him. 

  Too many layers between you both on each side. Hiding things from each other until all that’s built is a relationship held together by lies and secrets and two people terrified of the other’s rejection. 

  You feel a laugh build in your chest and you listen as it comes out with a hint of desperation. How does Wei deal with either of you? You’re both such a mess.  

  "And then you died,” your voice feels hollow as you continue on, “…. And I fell apart, I guess I’m still falling apart in a few ways… Finding you again… I thought maybe I was finally starting to crack. But it really was you and I began thinking that maybe it was a sign of a second chance instead. A chance to make up for everything I never said, or at least be there for you now… for all those times I wasn’t.”

  Try to fix everything you’d broken. Trying to help him piece himself back together. Because that’s what you do. Try to fix the hurt so that you can feel like your fixing your own. 

  You find yourself staring out the window, the night sky dimly lit by the city below, "I thought I could help you, thought I was following all the clues to something that terrified me. So when you gave me an out and whether you did it knowingly or unknowingly… I guess it doesn't matter which since I wanted to accept it as the whole truth with no other options."

  You didn’t want to think about what you’d have to do if he became dangerous.

  You catch his reflection in the window, chest steadily rising up and down. No signs of any distress suddenly returning. No signs of waking anytime soon. You start to rub your eyes, trying to erase the tiredness… ignoring the tears building behind them as you remember the terror he looked at you with. 

  Kiyo. Sidestep… Heartbreak. You wonder if he chose that name as a shout for help. Telling you exactly who he was, what he's still suffering from. Crying out for help in a way he thought you'd see. 

  But you didn't see. You didn’t want to see, “It was too late for my help, anyway, wasn’t it? Too late to help, too late to fucking save you from… them… from any more pain. Only there to find the broken pieces you had to glue back together by yourself and all I can fucking think to say is I’m sorry.”

    “God, do you ever stop fucking talking?” 

  You startle turning to find half lidded grey eyes looking at you exhausted and tired. No screaming, no panic. Just the sight of an irritated Kiyo that causes a sudden crushing relief that you have to choke back the relieved sob that follows. “You’re awake.”

  “I’m not really confident in that statement,” he looks away, trying to scan the room but failing as he eyelids haphazardly fall shut. He sighs, turning back to you blinking slowly. "Why are you here?"

  “What?” your face immediately scrunches in confusion, unsure exactly what he’s asking.

  "Don't give me that bullshit... don't look at me like that," his hands ball into fists but he doesn’t try to move more than that. Like he's keenly aware he wouldn't be able to move them anyway.

  He stares at you, grey eyes more akin to ice than you ever remember them being. Cold, hard, hiding everything behind a lock and key.

  And it’s more revealing than he knows. 

  "... You know what fine. No bullshit," you're tired, he's tired. It's time for you to stop being afraid of pushing him away, "I'm here for you. I’m here because the person I lo- the person I care about decided the best way to handle this was to become a fucking Villain."

  His laugh is bitter and loud, “Who said I was handling anything?” He sighs looking up at the ceiling, “I haven’t been handling shit...I don’t get why you’re still here.” 

  “Kiyo-”

  “No, Ortega. You know as well as I do that you shouldn’t be here,” his voice is steady, face already becoming a mask you’re so familiar with. “You’ve seen the truth.”

   “I know exactly what I've seen and it changes nothing. It doesn't change that what you've been put through was wrong, it doesn't change the person you are… it doesn't change how I feel about you."

  "It should." Voice still so cold but you can see the cracks in his mask. The way his lip quivers just a hint as his eyes begin to turn watery. 

  "Well too bad for you you're stuck with me."

  He laughs, bitter and broken in response, "You’re an idiot."

  “Yep.”

  “I'm an idiot too."

  "I'm definitely not disagreeing with that."

  His next laugh is brighter and honest. And you watch as he crumbles bit by bit. Loud sobs mixed with laughter as he finally lets himself break in front of you. 

  And you can't help but join him. A crashing wave of relief made worse by the tiredness that's seeped into your bones. You should call Wei. Tell him that Kiyo's finally awake and aware. 

  But for right now you let yourself have this moment.

...

  "Also, I kicked Hollowground in the face for you.”

  "Wait.....What?!"

  "Well that and because he's such a fucking asshole."

  "Again, What!?"

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Partners with Benefits, Part 3

A/N: Part 3 of 4 for the below anon request. This was originally supposed to be 3 parts, but I didn’t want to make a gigantic Part 3, so anticipate Part 4 in the next week or so. Thanks for reading!

Anon Request: Pt 1. May I request Rosa Diaz x fem reader, R is a new skilled detective, mid 20s and incredibly intelligent like Sherlock. However, she is closed off and smaller so she is underestimated often more so since she is younger then the rest. Rosa feels drawn to her and can’t help but try to get close to her. Which works since R feels the same.

Pt 2 Unfortunately Rosa gets framed like in season 4 and might have to go to prison if proven guilty. R takes it upon herself to prove Rosa is innocent while trying to hide her attraction for her. And maybe in the end the admit their feelings for each other and start to date. With fluff and nsfw if possible? (This might be multiple parts)

Pairing: Rosa Diaz x female reader

Word Count: 3425

Warnings: NSFW (Partial Smut), 18+ only

B99 Tags: @kazosa 

@taking-out-the-trash-fam 

@53v3nn4t10n4rmy 

@courtneychicken 

@bisexualdolphinthings

@through-thesilver-lining​

@idontfuckingknowgurl

Everything Tags: 

@sorenmarie87 

@docharleythegeekqueen 

@lefthologramdeer 

@becs-bunker

Part 1 | Part 2

“Rosa! Wait!” you called after her as she walked briskly down the sidewalk towards her bike. “Just wait a minute!” you jogged the last twenty yards as not to miss her going.

“What?” she barked and whirled around. “What do you want?”

“I want you to talk to me. What else did I.A. say? How could they have any evidence that proves… I mean, if they have pictures, they were clearly Photoshopped. Can’t they figure that out?”

Rosa snorted a frustrated laugh. “You’d think. But, no. They say they are on the level and that I’m a dirty cop.”

“That’s the last thing you could ever be.”

“Yeah, how are you so sure? You barely know me.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you said with an inaudible sigh. “I want to help you, Rosa, but you have to let me. Let’s go somewhere, talk, hash out all these details. Try and figure—”

“Right now, I just wanna get super drunk. Alone.”

“Rosa, that’s—”

“Super. Drunk. Alone.”

You raised your hands in relent and watched her put on her helmet and jump start her bike. Through the dark tint of the visor, you could still see her eyes flash in your direction and while it wasn’t completely clear, you thought there was a tinge of regret in her expression.

Rosa took off down the alley and disappeared onto the streets of Brooklyn.

“Don’t take it too personally,” a voice chimed up from behind you. “I told you, Diaz can get dark.”

Jake was standing there, hands on hips as he, too, watched Rosa take off and vanish out of view.

“I’m supposed to be her partner. If I had been there—“

“(Y/L/N) if you had been there, you’d be under investigation too. At least this way, you can help her fight this. We all can and will. Come on, we’re gonna head to Shaw’s Bar for lunch and try to figure out a way to smoke out whoever is doing this to Rosa.”

  Peralta and Santiago brought a round of drinks to the table, set them down and passed them out.

“A bit early, isn’t it?” you asked, gladly taking the drink and relishing in the bitter taste of the cold beer as it passed your lips.

“I think today its necessary,” Jake replied with a tick of his head. “We have to figure out a way to get Rosa out of this. We know there’s no way she’d take a bribe of any kind. I can’t even bribe her to get me an orange soda out of the machine when she’s literally standing next to it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, mostly because he was completely accurate. Rosa was a great cop, one of the best detectives not only in the 99, but in all of Brooklyn. Whoever was targeting her had no idea who they were messing with.

“I knew when I saw that man taking a picture of her car, something was up. I should have called out… pursued him. Something…” you said and turned to Boyle. “Nothing came back on those yet?”

“No, they weren’t clear enough to get any hits on the facial recognition software. Don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. Its hard to know what the right call was in that situation.”

You offered a wan smile and raised your bottle to him. “Thanks, Boyle, but I still feel guilty.”

Jake and Amy passed a curious glance. From the corner of your eye, you could see him mouthing something to her, but she shook her head no quickly with minimal movement. He mouthed it again but stopped when she flashed him a tight-lipped, wide-eyed “shut-up-Jake” expression.

“You two have something to share with the class?” you asked.

Jake grinned and chuckled, then sighed playfully and paused again before he spoke. “We were wondering…” he nearly sang, while checking each person’s expression before continuing, “what was up between you and Diaz. Not that we noticed anything. But, maybe we kinda did… Rosa isn’t exactly chatty, soooo…”

You raised a brow at him and glanced over at Amy. She wore a curious, but slightly concerned expression that would have made you laugh had the overlaying situation not been so stressful.

“She’s my partner…” you said and sipped your beer. “And, maybe, someone I’d like to know better.”

Jake, Amy, and Charles all repressed an excited sigh, and simply nodded in understanding. Somehow, even just saying that out loud made you suddenly miss Rosa. There was an overwhelming need to see her, but she made it clear that she wanted to be alone. Not to mention that she had been right earlier, you really didn’t know her all that well. So far it was purely a physical attraction, but you felt it could be something special. Rosa matched you in many ways, and the idea of there being more between you than a few stolen kisses drove you even harder to figure out how to clear her name.

“Look, it’s not relevant, ok? It doesn’t matter what I think of her, or how I think of her. What matters is figuring out why she’s being targeted and who that guy was taking pictures. I think if we can track him down, we’ll have a much better chance.”

“Y/N is right,” Amy said, standing from her stool. “I say we get a warrant for the surrounding businesses security footage. Let’s see if we can get a better shot of him coming or going.”

“Great idea, Amy!” Charles said excitedly, also hoping off his stool. “I’ll go with you. I know the lead baker at the Polish deli on the corner where Y/N said she saw the guy. He knows all and sees all.”

“Both are great leads. I am going to go back over the case files Rosa had. There was a reason she targeted that building. Some intel she got recently, I think… Jake, why don’t you and I start there and see where it leads.”

  Hours went by as you and Jake poured over the files and notes concerning the Flores crime family. It was getting late, and you didn’t know how much longer your eyes could focus on everything spread out before you. Jake was standing at the board, trying to tie together your enhanced cell phone pictures, to one of the many known associates of the Flores crime family.

“Anything?” you asked, exhausted and desperate.

“No. Nothing.”

Jake groaned and fell into the chair across from you. “There’s gotta be something. Rosa is a good cop. Her files are toight, no way she doesn’t have the answer buried in here somewhere.”

“Who was the last perp questioned?” you asked more to yourself than to Jake. He furrowed his brow and shuffled the files around before handing you one.

“Ortega. He was in the other day and Rosa had him in interrogation for a solid four hours before his lawyer got him out. Same smarmy jag that got Caso out of here too,” Jake said bitterly.

“Ortega, Ortega, Ort—ah, ok, here we go,” you mumbled and started speed reading her notes of the transcribed interrogation. “Here! Look…”

You pushed the open file back to Jake and pointed to the middle of the paper. “Ortego tells her specifically that there is activity at that warehouse. Tells her the time and date of the next supposed shipment coming into Flores’ possession. That’s when she was surveying the warehouse.”

“So, you think Ortega set her up?”

“Absolutely I do. We saw Marco Flores meet with the lawyer. Also, he knew his lawyer was on the way. Why would he give her anything in the interrogation, unless he wanted her to know it. She was the only one in here, right?”

Jake nodded.

“They are all aware that Diaz is working the case and its no secret she’s a pit bull with this stuff. They are really bad dudes. I mean just from the dealings I had with this family in my old precinct… they are known for turning good cops bad. If they think she’s on to them in the slightest, they will do whatever they have too to eliminate her. Making her look like a dirty cop is the cleanest way for them to do it, too.”

“This is solid. I think we can run with this. We just have to connect the photographer to the Flores family and we can prove, without a doubt, that she was set up.”

Jake had an eager gleam in his eyes. “I’m going to call Amy and Boyle, see where they are with the security footage.”

Peralta grabbed a few of the files and left the briefing room in a big hurry. You noticed it was nearly eight and felt your stomach rumble. You grabbed your jacket and headed out of the precinct with the intention of grabbing some takeout from the diner up the street, but you couldn’t get Rosa off your mind. Instead, you hopped in your unmarked and headed over to see Diaz.

  It took a few knocks before she came to the door. She had been drinking but wasn’t nearly as drunk as you thought she would be. Rosa’s expression was impenetrable, and you honestly couldn’t tell if she was happy to see you or not.  

“Hey,” you said, hoping she would invite you in. She didn’t.

“Hey.”

“Can I, uh, can I come in?”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you, tell you what we found…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rosa sighed, but moved so you could enter.

“Rosa, we’ve been working this all day. Jake is checking in with Santiago and Boyle now. I think, well, I hope, we may have a lead on who was taking pictures. That could easily—”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Rosa moved to her couch and fell back on it, slouching down in a huff. You sat on the edge of a cushion and watched her as she wallowed her way to the bottom of the glass on the table beside her.

“I see you finally opened that bottle, huh?”

“Yup. Was tired of waiting for you,” she said roughly, wincing as the burn of the booze trickled down her throat. “Want some?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

Rosa nodded once and passed you the bottle. You were about to get up and rifle her cabinets for a glass and reconsidered. Bringing the bottle to your lips, you took a long swig before handing it back to her. When your gaze met hers, you saw she was smiling. It was only a hint, but it was there. She was amused, and it hit you in that moment that this woman had very quickly become much more than a partner to you.

“Rosa, I—”

“Y/N,” she said softly, sitting up and leaning towards you. “I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then what do you want?” you asked, though, from the way she was gazing at you, you thought you could tell exactly what she wanted.

“You.”

Rosa’s dark brown eyes shone with a mix of lust and pain. You could feel her radiating the need to just forget, to put the horrible day behind her. However, you could not deny what you felt for her too and frankly were tired of waiting.

Without another moment of hesitation, you kissed her. Rosa’s lips were soft and still tasted like liquor. Soft didn’t mean gentle, as her tongue pushed through into your mouth, lavishing yours with a rush of want. You leaned further into her, felt her arm wrap around your waist and pull you onto her, straddling her lap.

She backed away for a moment, only to pull your shirt up and off over your head. Her hands on your skin felt like little bursts of electricity, as she ran them up your arms to your shoulders. She slowly moved your bra straps, so they fell down your shoulders, and leaned her face into the swell of your breasts.

Your bra was loose, exposing more of them for her. Rosa starting trailing soft little pecks across your flesh, intensifying the heat building between your legs.

“Rosa…” her name was barely a breath from your mouth, “I didn’t come here for this.”

She said nothing but wrapped both arms around the small of your back, letting her hands explore your ass, grabbing it harder. Rosa lifted her head and gazed up at you. “Want me to stop?”

“No, not even a little.”

“Good, then shut up and let’s get this thing off,” she purred, gripping you tighter.

You reached around and released the hooks, letting the garment fall and exposing yourself to her completely. Rosa wasted no time, burying her face between your breasts, allowing her mouth and tongue to explore them greedily. When she ran her tongue up between them, was when you couldn’t stand the teasing anymore.

Tangling your hand up into her hair, you yanked her head back and kissed her deeply, while your other hand took on the task of unbuttoning her shirt. She wore a lacy black bra that did little to cover her full breasts. Tracing the line of lace with your finger, you found her nipple through the silk and played with it gently causing the normally dominant and hard-nosed detective to moan and close her eyes.

In one fell swoop, Rosa flipped you on your back, so you were now lying on her couch. She ripped your boots off and you clumsily undid the button and zipper of your jeans. You helped her to shimmy them off before she tore at her own shirt and pants. Within seconds you were completely nude on her couch, and she hovered over you with the look of a very hungry woman.

Rosa pressed her body against yours and slipped her hand down between your folds that were aching for her touch. She smiled and licked at her bottom lip when she felt how ready you already were. “Tell me again how you didn’t come here for this,” she dared with a rise of one brow. “Tell me.”

“Fine, I want you, ok? I thought that was fairly evident,” you said. Your attempt to be flippant failed, as she could see right through you. She clamped down on your neck while sliding her fingers through your sex. She grazed your clit, sending a gasp to rise up through you. Pleased with your reaction, Rosa continued to flick and tease it with her fingers while leaving her marks across your neck.

You felt her tongue against your ear; her breath was warm and maddening. “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw first say you,” she purred, nipping at the lobe of your ear.

You couldn’t speak, she had you too far gone already to form any semblance of words. She moved down the length of your body, positioning herself between your legs. You pushed up on your elbows and saw the pleasure on her face before she buried it in your pussy. One lick of her tongue had you flat on your back again, eyes closed and completely unable to do anything but grab the woman’s head and hold on for the ride.

Not a minute later, there was a heavy knock at her door. Both of you trying to ignore it, they slammed their fist against it again. Rosa growled and lifted her head, offering you an empathetic gaze.

“What?” she yelled towards the door, not moving from between your thighs.

“Rosa Diaz! NYPD—open up!”

You looked at each other and both scrambled up off the couch. Quickly gathering your clothes, you sped off down the hallway to the safety of the bathroom, while Rosa put her shirt and jeans back on. There was more shouting from the other side of the door, and you could hear Rosa muttering something back.

Your heart was still pounding hard enough to feel throughout your body; your hands shaking. Part of it was adrenaline from the unexpected visitors, part of it was because of what just happened with Rosa.

The door opened, and there was immediate commotion. The second you got the button fixed on your jeans, you threw open the door and ran down the hallway, just in time to see Rosa being put in handcuffs. Several uniformed officers were surrounding her, obscuring your view so you couldn’t see the expression on her face.

“Rosa!” you called frantically. “Rosa, what’s happening?!”

You saw her head turn towards you and thought she would say something, but she said nothing as they led her off out of the apartment. The detective that remained turned and blocked you from following them out.

“You do know she’s a detective with the Nine-Nine, right?”

“Yes ma’am, but that won’t help her now. She’s being held on suspicion of assault down at the Eight-Six. If you want to help her, I suggest you let us do our job, and you can come down in the morning to post bail. If she’s granted bail.”

“Assault?? Assault on whom??” you asked, but he just turned and left without a response.

He was gone in a flash, leaving behind the stench of something fishy. Your head was still swirling from all that had happened in the span of twenty-four hours. Starting off the day, working the case, then your partner getting suspended by I.A. Pouring over case files, nearly having sex with Rosa, then her getting arrested… it was too much.

You fell onto her couch and hung your head in your hands in a state of disbelief. Drawing in a deep breath, you refused to let yourself cry, despite the enormous weight that hung over you. Instead, you decided that you would throw yourself further into the case, but you were going to need some help. You grabbed your stuff and headed out to your car, locking up Rosa’s apartment behind you. If you were going to get any answers, you would need the entire squad’s help.

  It was nearly midnight by the time the rest of the squad arrived at Shaw’s bar. Despite the hour, Boyle, Peralta, and Santiago were wide awake and ready to spring into action to save Rosa. Even Gina, who you knew didn’t even remember your name, was there and ready to do what she could to help out her friend.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, finally putting down her phone. “Are we really going to let Rosa spend the night in a jail cell?”

“Rosa’s alright,” Sargent Jeffords chimed in as he approached the table. Shrugging off his jacket, he motioned to the bartender for a drink and turned to address the table. “She’s being questioned right now by a few detectives I know over at the Eight-Six. She’s comfortable and hasn’t tried to stab anyone yet, so we have a little time.”

“She’s tough. A night in a holding cell is child’s play for her,” Amy mused with a smile, but the look in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. “I just hate that this is happening to her.”

“It’s going to be fine. No way Rosa goes down for TWO things she didn’t do,” Jake said, putting an arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Sarg, did they give you anything more on the person she allegedly assaulted?”

“No, they won’t release anything to me.”

“Of course they won’t, because it didn’t happen. They know it, and they know we know it. They are in on this… they must be the dirty ones and in on Flores’ payroll,” you said more to yourself than to the rest of the squad. But as the idea formed in your head, and you started to run with it, they were all ears and ready to hear your speculative assessment.

“Alright, how do we flush them out then? Expose them as the dirty cops and clear Rosa?” Amy asked.

“I think I have an idea. It might be risky, but it could work…”

The squad leaned in closer as you laid out your plan. It wasn’t perfect, it required a lot of dependence on questionable intel you read about within Rosa’s files on the Flores family and even more on plain dumb luck. But, they all agreed if it played out just right, there was a good chance that Rosa would be free and out from under the false charges within the next forty-eight hours.

At least, that’s what you desperately hoped for.