i know that now isn't a good time to start a whole new story, but seriously i started reading peraltiago on ao3 and after ten minutes of imagination and feels i had finished the plot for this story and concluded i was in way too deep. this was inspired by everyone on tumblr, twitter, ao3 and of course, my fam on fanfiction! enjoy, loves :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Brooklyn Nine Nine, but manipulating Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago is terribly amusing and endearing.

CRIME:
« (/krīm/) an action or omission that constitutes an offense that may be prosecuted by the state and is punishable by law. »

Amy woke up with a searing headache.

Opening her eyes, her vision suddenly met skull-splitting light filtering through a window. She closed her eyes again, cursing softly, while her head pounded. She contemplated going back to sleep, which was a good choice, but she figured she probably reeked, judging from the smell of the hair in her face and the feeling of sweat in the covers. Fantastic way to start a morning.

She tried to think. The date yesterday; she recalled it being… Tuesday? That meant today was Wednesday, which meant she had a little more time to get ready than she would normally been. Her head pounded she she tried to remember her schedule for the day. God, she would be so late to work…

Late to work. The thought registered in her mind, as well as a stern looking image of Captain Holt looking down at her as she meekly tried to explain herself.

The sudden notion sent Amy into a panicky daze, and she sat up as fast as she could, while her spine screamed in protest. Her hair was almost glued to her face and mouth, and a rush of cold air floated through her covers. She groaned as another wave over pain washed over her senses. Opening her eyes slowly, she felt around her nearest table for her phone to check the time. One problem: her phone was not on her table.

Another problem: that was not her table.

"Oh my god," Amy mumbled drowsily, fear starting to sharpen her eyesight and her searing pain in her cranium. Where was she?

Calm down, she told herself (frantically), you could just be in Gina's apartment.

She looked around, but her eyesight was still blurry. She tried to feel around her spot on the bed, threading her fingers through the covers in a desperate attempt for any recognition of Gina's blanket texture.

Suddenly, she felt the soft, warm flesh of a person.

She yelped, and suddenly the person shifted beside her. His back was facing her and his breathing was soft. From her blurred vision she saw a brunet, shirtless and sleeping soundly.

Shit, shit, shit.

No wonder she'd been so cold.

With a sudden bout of realization (and nausea), Amy collapsed back onto the bed, her head dizzy with shame.

She slept with someone last night.

Amy stared down at her thighs, which were covered with hickeys. She cringed and squeezed her eyes shut. Good lord. What had she been up to last night?

A voice inside her head told her that she probably didn't want to know.

Suddenly, there was a break in the person's breathing. Amy froze and closed her eyes even tighter, trying to convince herself it was a bad dream. Although, if it were a dream, why did everything hurt so much?

The guy rubbed his eyes, and groaned a little. Amy wanted more than anything to shrink back into her covers and hide.

She heard him mumble a couple "fuck"s and "shit"s as he turned a little onto his back. Amy winced and swallowed a scream.

His voice was so annoying familiar though. Why was that?

All of a sudden, he completely turned onto his other side, the side facing Amy, and all she wanted to do was run away, far away, but she forced herself to look at him.

His eyes were still closed. His hair was a mess of short brown curls, and he had a strong jawline. He was also partially naked, scratch that, completely naked, assuming he was wearing nothing under those covers. His face was also familiar, and the more Amy tried to recognize him, the more her brain hurt.

The pieces fell together eventually though. And it pieced together onto a horrific picture.

It was Jake Peralta.

She gasped as quietly as she could, stifling a shriek, and tried to scoot away noiselessly. Unfortunately, she was a little louder than intended, and it roused him. He opened his eyes sleepily.

I am in deep shit, Amy thought through her garbled thoughts.

She watched as he mumbled to himself, almost like in a trance, and rubbed his face. The sight of his chest made Amy kind of lightheaded as she was reminded again of the mess she got into.

After an eternity, Jake's eyes focus, yet were still bleary from sleep. He winced suddenly, and Amy took this as a sign to run. She jumped out of bed, grabbed as many clothes as she could from the ground, and fled the room.