hey pookiebear. i am FUCKING OBSESSED with your. with your brooklyn 99 fics and your pacing and everything. they play out audibly like a b99 episode in my head.
may i request..... may i request a grumpy!rosa diaz x sunshine!reader......... you get free rein with everything... everything and anything..... pleak i love you i heart you thank you
plus one | rosa diaz x reader
a/n: for my angels @blastzachilles and @jordiemeow! hope you enjoy!
warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, grumpy x sunshine trope, not proofread
Rosa doesn't ask for favors. She issues commands, makes demands, disappears before anyone can say yes or no.
So when she knocks on your door at half past ten on a Wednesday nightâleather jacket zipped, helmet in hand, jaw tighter than usualâyou already know somethingâs off.
You open the door with a smile already in place. âWow. You look like a noir detective and a thunderstorm had a baby. Come in, Iâll make tea.â
She doesnât sit. Just stands there in the middle of your kitchen like she's thinking of running back out. You watch her watch the tiles.
"I need a plus-one," she says, finally.
You blink. âTo what? A stakeout wedding?â
Her mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Almost.
âJocelynâs getting married,â she says, voice flat, like it's just another case file.
Your breath hitches. Not from surpriseâeveryone at the precinctâs known for weeks. But Rosa? Sheâs been a fortress. Locked down, eyes sharp, jokes sharp enough to cut.
You step closer, just enough for the kitchen light to catch the warmth in your eyes. âAnd you want me to go with you.â
It isnât really a question. She nods anyway.
âWhy me?â you ask, gentle.
Rosa shrugs, and itâs so unlike her. âYouâre the only one who wonât make it weird.â
Your lips curve. âThatâs the nicest thing youâve ever said to me.â
She glares, but you catch the flush under her cheekbones. âDonât make me regret this.â
âWouldnât dream of it.â
She doesnât stay long. You donât ask what Jocelynâs fiancĂŠ looks like or if it still stings. You just watch her leave, headlights disappearing into the quiet night.
You donât know it yet, but somewhere deep in Rosaâs chest, something fragile and furious is already unraveling.
âYouâre taking her?â Jake says, eyes wide like youâve just told him Rosaâs adopting a kitten. âYou sure thatâs not a tactical misstep, Diaz?â
Rosa sharpens her glare like a blade. âSay one more word and Iâll crash your next date night.â
âYou wouldnât dare.â
âTerryâs still trying to fix the drywall from last time.â
Terry walks in mid-conversation, arms full of yogurt. âWhat did I hear about drywall?â
âNothing,â Rosa says.
âSheâs taking Y/N to Jocelynâs wedding,â Jake stage-whispers.
Terry blinks. âBold move. But good choice. Y/Nâs like... emotional Kevlar.â
Amy leans over her desk, beaming. âOh my god, do you two have outfits planned? Are you color coordinating? Do you need me to layout a color scheme?!â
Rosa grunts. âItâs not a real date.â
âBut everyone there is gonna think it is,â Jake says, grinning like a child whoâs been handed popcorn and front row seats to drama.
You walk into the bullpen, coffee in hand. âWhat are we all smiling about?â
The room turns toward you like youâve just walked onstage.
âNothing,â Rosa says too fast.
âRosaâs definitely not taking you to her exâs wedding where everyone will think youâre together,â Jake says helpfully.
Your brows lift. âOh? Thatâs news to me," you grin, sarcasm shining bright through your smile.
Rosa looks like she wants to teleport into the floor.
You just smile, gentle and kind, and tuck a loose strand of hair behind Rosaâs ear without thinking. âGuess we better make it convincing, huh?â
Rosa blinks. Once. Twice.
The day of the wedding arrives like a storm Rosaâs been trying to outrun. And now sheâs in your apartment, pacing the floor while you finish your makeup.
You step out of the bedroom in your robe and stop short.
Itâs blackâof course itâs blackâbut the cut is soft where you expected sharp, hugging her waist and flaring just enough at her hips. Sleeveless, high-necked, sleek but quietly devastating. Her hair is swept up, a few strands loose and rebelliously soft around her face.
âYouâre staring,â she mutters.
âOnly because Iâve never seen you like this,â you say, and it comes out breathier than you mean. âYou lookâŚâ You search for the right word. Settle on, âBeautiful. Youâre setting an unfair standard for wedding guests. Itâs rude, honestly.â
Rosa scoffs, looking away. âIt was Amyâs idea.â
You smile. âAmy has good taste.â
She doesnât respond. Just folds her arms and waits as you slip into your dress, turning your back to her.
âCan you help me zip this?â
Thereâs a beat. Then the brush of her fingers.
Sheâs slower than usualâsheâs good with zippers, youâve seen her pick locks in secondsâbut this is different.
The sound is soft. Teeth of the zipper catching fabric, inching upward. Her knuckles graze your spine. You donât move.
âYou okay?â you ask, voice quiet.
She exhales, long and low. âYeah.â
You turn, catching her eyes before she can look away. âYou clean up nice.â
âSo do you,â she says, like the words were dragged out of her throat.
You reach for your shoes. She watches you like youâre some puzzle sheâll never solve.
Outside, the carâs waiting. But neither of you reach for the door just yet.
Because for a moment, the silence isnât awkwardâitâs charged. Unspoken. Heavy with something youâre both too scared to name.
The venue is already buzzing by the time you arrive.
Twinkle lights dangle from the rafters, soft music filtering through the air like a sigh. Everything smells like champagne and roses, and thereâs a faint chill that clings to your skin despite the layers.
You walk in side by side. Rosaâs arm brushes yours once. Then again.
Then she takes your hand.
She does it like itâs nothing. Like it doesnât mean anything at all. But her palm is warm, her grip just a little too tight, and when a few heads turn to look, she doesnât let go.
People smile. Nod. Whisper.
You hear someone murmur, âThey make such a beautiful couple.â
Rosa doesnât react. But her jaw ticks.
âYou okay?â you ask under your breath.
âPeachy,â she says. Itâs not convincing.
You give her hand a soft squeeze. âJust breathe. Youâre not alone in this.â
She doesnât say anything, but she doesnât let go either.
And when Jocelyn walks in across the roomâradiant, glowing, hand in hand with her new partnerâRosaâs breath catches. You feel it more than hear it.
You curl your arm through hers. âWe can find a seat, yeah?â
You guide her gently toward the chairs, the hush of the crowd beginning to settle like mist as the ceremony edges closer. People are still trickling in, finding their places, dabbing at eyes already brimming with sentimentality. You both slide into your row near the back.
Beneath the black dress and the sharp eyes and the donât-mess-with-me stanceâRosa Diaz is quietly breaking.
After the ceremony, the reception is already in full swing.
Thereâs a hum of champagne laughter, clinking glasses, the scent of buttercream and slow roses in bloom. You stand beside Rosa near the bar, watching her watch the crowd like sheâs waiting for someone to pounce.
She hasnât spoken in a while.
You nudge her gently with your elbow. âSo⌠are we dancing? Or are we continuing our commitment to brooding in formalwear?â
She huffs. âPretty sure I look too hot to brood.â
âYou do,â you agree, and sip your drink. âBut you also look like youâre about to flee the country.â
Before Rosa can respond, someone approaches. Blonde. Tall. The sharp smile gives her away before you even hear the name.
âRosa,â Jocelyn says, voice like sugar and venom. âYou made it.â
Rosa stiffens. Her grip on your hand tightens like a vice.
âAnd you brought someone,â Jocelyn adds, turning her gaze to you with the kind of condescending curiosity that makes your skin prickle. âYou must be the emotional support girlfriend.â
You smile. Soft. Sweet. âHi, Iâm Y/N. And you must be the bride. Congratulations.â
Something in Jocelynâs eyes flickers. Youâre not defensive. Youâre not biting. Youâre just⌠disarming.
Rosa doesnât say a word. You donât need her to.
You keep your gaze steady. âItâs a beautiful wedding.â
Jocelyn blinks. âThank you.â Then to Rosa, âIâm glad you came. Really.â
She walks away before either of you can call her bluff.
Rosa exhales like sheâs been holding her breath since the ceremony.
You glance up at her. âYou good?â
âStill peachy,â she mutters, but thereâs a flicker of amusement under it now.
You hand her your drink. âHold this. Iâm dragging you to the dance floor next.â
She gives you a look. âI donât dance.â
At first, itâs awkward. Rosa stands stiffly, like sheâs expecting to be judged, or maybe just resisting the urge to bolt. The music is soft, jazzyâsomething old enough to sway to. You loop your arms around her neck with a kind of easy intimacy she doesnât know how to handle.
She keeps her hands at your waist, tense and unsure.
âYouâre allowed to relax,â you murmur.
âNot in public,â she says. But the corner of her mouth twitches.
You press your cheek to hers, soft and warm. âThen fake it with me.â
And she tries. She lets you guide the rhythm, your bodies finding the sway together. Your fingers trail lazily along the back of her neck. Her hands slide a little lower, more sure.
You laugh quietly when she finally exhales.
âSee?â you whisper. âYouâre not terrible at this.â
She growls under her breath, but thereâs no heat behind it. âYouâre impossible.â
And youâstill smiling, still softâwhisper, âBut you like me anyway.â
Her eyes flash, sharp and dark, and something flickers between you.
Too many things left unsaid.
âWe need air,â she mutters.
You donât question it. You follow her past the tables, past the lights and the clinking glasses, through a side door and down a quiet hallway lined with coat hooks and flower petals someone forgot to sweep.
She stops only when the music is a heartbeat behind the wall.
And she kisses you like sheâs trying to erase every moment that came before it.
Itâs messy. Her hands are in your hair, at your waist, tugging you impossibly close. But thereâs nothing soft about itâjust heat and tension and months of things unsaid pressing into your skin.
You kiss her back, of course you do. But when you partâbarely, breathlessâyou look at her. Really look at her.
âDonât,â she cuts in, voice rough.
You blink. âDonât what?â
âDonât ruin it by talking.â
You pause. âI wasnât going to ruin it. I justââ
She kisses you again, harder this time, like sheâs trying to keep your words at bay.
But itâs there. That ache. That need to understand.
You pull back gently. âI need to know this means something to you. That Iâm not just a placeholder in a pretty dress tonight.â
Rosaâs jaw tightens. She looks away.
âI didnât ask you because I needed a placeholder,â she says eventually, voice quiet but not kind.
You nod, stepping back just an inch. Enough to give her space, even if it hurts.
âI donât need a confession,â you say softly. âBut Iâm not good at pretending, Rosa.â
Then, finally, her fingers find yours again.
âThen donât pretend,â she murmurs. âJust... stay.â
She glances down the hallwayâthen grabs your hand and pulls you through the nearest door. A bathroom, dimly lit and thankfully empty. The music is muffled, the walls tiled, the air thick with the kind of privacy that begs for crossed lines.
She pushes you gently against the counter, lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw to the hollow of your throat like sheâs starving. Thereâs no finesseâjust want. Just Rosa unspooling.
You tangle your fingers in her hair, tilt your head back to let her in, let her take.
She mutters your name like a curse. Like a prayer.
Her hands roam. Down your sides, over your hips, bunching your dress up higher, higherâuntil her fingers brush skin and she exhales like sheâs been holding that breath all night.
You gasp when her thigh slips between yours, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. To her.
âYouâre shaking,â she murmurs against your skin.
Thereâs a pause. Just long enough for both of you to realize how far this has gone. How far itâs going.
Then you pull her in again.
Thereâs no going slow. Not here. Not tonight.
Itâs a slow, aching buildâhands ghosting over ribs and thighs, mouths grazing instead of devouring. Her kiss turns languid, heated, a silent question that you answer by curling your fingers into the front of her dress and tugging her closer.
Rosaâs hands find your thighs, parting them with a reverence that betrays her usual sharpness. Her knee slips between yours again, but this time itâs purposeful. Her lips drag across your collarbone, and she exhales like the sound costs her something.
When her hand dips beneath the hem of your dress, itâs with shaking fingers. Not clumsy, but careful. Like sheâs memorizing. Like this might be the only time she gets to touch you this way.
And when her mouth finds your earâsoft breath, quiet groanâyou think you might burn alive.
She murmurs something unintelligible, something dark and dizzying, and the sound alone makes your knees weaken.
Rosa moans low in your ear and you swear it lights every nerve in your body on fire.
You guide her hand lower. She doesnât hesitate. Not anymore.
And when she finally touches you, itâs not gentle. Itâs not tentative.
Itâs deep, deliberateâher fingers slipping beneath silk, parting you with a quiet gasp as she finds just how wet you are for her. Her breath stutters at the discovery. She kisses you harder, hand braced at your hip while her other slips in slow, dragging strokes through your folds, drawing a broken sound from your throat.
âFuck,â she mutters. âYouâre soaked.â
Her thumb finds your clit, circling softly. You whimper, legs parting wider without thought. She groans into your neck like she canât believe how responsive you areâhow undone sheâs already made you.
âRosaâplease,â you breathe.
Thatâs all she needs. She sinks two fingers inside you, slow but firm, curling just right, watching the way your mouth falls open. She starts a rhythmâsteady, relentlessâand you bite your lip to keep from crying out.
The sound of slick, the wet heat of your body swallowing her knuckles, the way her name leaves your lips again and againâitâs all too much and still not enough.
Her lips graze your ear. âYou feel so good. So tight around me.â
You choke out a moan as she thrusts deeper, faster, your hips chasing every motion. She moves like sheâs been waiting for this. Like sheâs thought about it too many times not to know exactly how to wreck you.
Your dress is bunched around your waist, panties long forgotten somewhere near your ankle, one heel kicked off, the other dangling by a strap. She presses her palm against your pelvis, grounding you, controlling you. Owning you.
âLet go for me,â she growls.
You come apart around her hand, thighs shaking, head thrown back against the mirror, mouth open in a silent scream. It crashes over youâhot, shattering, blindingâand she doesnât stop. Not until you're trembling and gasping, tugging at her wrist.
She pulls out slowly, deliberately, then lifts her fingers to her lips and sucks them clean, dark eyes locked on yours.
She steps close again, presses her forehead to yours.
But in that breathless, burning silence, you both know.
And sheâs already yours.
The next morning at the precinct is as ordinary as it gets.
The coffee machine is sputtering, Jake is already annoying Amy with half-baked theories, and Terryâs buried in protein bar wrappers and paperwork. But the second you walk inâwith Rosa trailing just a few steps behind youâsomething shifts.
Not outwardly. Not exactly.
But Jake pauses. Amy glances up. Even Holt raises a single, knowing eyebrow as he passes.
Rosa says nothing. Neither do you.
You go to your desk like itâs any other day. Boot up your computer. Sip your coffee.
But Rosa stops at your chair.
She pauses by your desk just long enough for her fingers to brush the edge of your coffee cup.
"You good?" you murmur, not looking up.
"Iâm fine," she says, but itâs softer than usual.
You glance up, and the way she looks at youâitâs different. Not guarded. Not sharp. Just⌠quiet. Familiar.
She sets a bracelet down on your desk. "You forgot this yesterday."
"It fell off in the bathroom," she adds, and her eyes hold yours for a moment too long.
Jake strolls by then, perfectly oblivious. "Morning, lovebirds. Waitâare you guys smiling? Are you broken?"
Rosa doesnât miss a beat. "Keep walking, Peralta."
And then she does too, her shoulders relaxed, something close to content curling in the air she leaves behind.
Jake appears beside you a moment later, staring after her. âOkay. Iâm just gonna say itâwhat the hell is going on with you two?â
You beam, clearly glowing. âJust a little workplace joy, Jake. Nothing to report.â
tagging: @blastzachilles @jordiemeow @larasreality @glenussy