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snarkwriteswrasslin · 3 years

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24.12, mistletoe, mjf

Title: Mistletoe Theme: Mistletoe Fandom / Character(s): MJF x OFC/Reader female Warnings: Alcohol tw. Also, probably hella fluffy. Teasing reader. Word Count: my guesstimate is roughly around 1.7k

So tonight is the finale. The final night for @champbucks 12 days of Christmas challenge. If you guys are reading this, Happy holidays. I chose to go with MJF tonight, because well... I love 1 goober with horrible fashion sense and a whiny fuckin voice upon occasion.

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“Oh c’mon, it’s tradition. You have to kiss the person standing under the mistletoe.” Jake Hager was staring me down, practically smirking because he assumed that it was a done deal. That I’d just cave in and kiss him. Just the thought of his mouth… anywhere near mine… It was enough to make bile rise to my throat. I stepped up a little, toying with the collar of his polo shirt. Playing into things, toying with him a little because I just couldn’t resist having some fun with his ego. Especially not after my own had been bruised not even an hour ago. After a second or two of toying with him, I gave a soft laugh and shook my head no as I told him calmly, “Never in a thousand lifetimes, Hager.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved right past him, laughing to myself as I heard him calling out to me. I turned back only long enough to call out to him, “I’d kiss literally anyone but you under the mistletoe, you disgusting shitbag. Try again with some random because tonight is not that night and I am not that girl.”

I slid onto a barstool and pounded the top of the bar. “Hit me. Tequila.”

Britt’s gaze shifted to me and she sipped her own martini as she mused aloud, “Rough night?”

“Just go ahead and say it, Baker. I know you’re dying to say you told me so. Lesson learned. No more Tinder for me. Nope.”

“Were you really calling me from the bathroom of the restaurant?” Britt laughed and I flipped her off wordlessly, shotgunning the tequila as soon as it got sat down in front of me. Britt eyed the bottle and then shifted her gaze to me in warning. “Easy. You keep that up, you’re liable to wake up in bed with some random.”

“It’d be better than the fucking guy I just left. Do you know what he asked me, Britt?” I whined as I continued to drink. The tequila was burning it’s way down my throat and I could feel myself getting to that blissful warm and fuzzy beginning stage of a good buzz. I knew I needed to slow down, to pace myself, but at the same time, it had been one hell of a night.

“No, what?”

“ If I charged by the hour.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Then he proceeds to go on a five minute rant about how nobody finds their soulmate on Tinder and I’m sitting there like… But you… messaged me… On Tinder…” I tried to give the guy a fighting chance because he had like five wine glasses lining the space between us and I assumed he was nervous or whatever, but I couldn’t last more than twenty minutes. But he just kept talking. I had to lie and get up, go to the bathroom, then sneak out of there.”

Britt gave a quiet laugh and I stood just as one of my favorite songs started to play.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“The night is young. Gotta circulate.” I answered, turning back to grab my bottle of tequila and then walking away, shoving through a thick crowd, making a beeline for the dance floor, dancing my way out into the middle of it.

About halfway into the song playing, I felt a tap to my shoulder. Warm breath against my ear as Maxwell chuckled quietly, “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying to Hager on your way in, princess.”

I whirled around to face him, biting my lip when our eyes met. “And?”

“And, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re standing right under mistletoe. Right now.” Maxwell tilted his head, glancing up at the disco ball suspended by a chain from the ceiling. And on that chain?

More mistletoe.

I gave a soft giggle and shrugged. “Depends on who’s asking. But Maxwell?” I stepped away from him, smirking as I did so, my fingers tangling in my hair. I stared him down intently, waiting to see if he’d take the bait and play my little game.

“Yeah, princess?” Maxwell was stepping closer all over again. I stepped back a little more, putting space between us. Apparently, this didn’t suit him, because no sooner had I done that than he was stepping close all over again, a hand at my hip this time.

Like he thought that might stop me if I decided to just walk away.

The thought had me giving a soft laugh as it crossed my mind. I almost did it, just to see if he’d actually follow me around. I doubted he would, but still, drunken curiosity is one hell of a drug.

I decided against doing it because I’d already had my fill of disappointment for one night. I tilted my head slightly, locking eyes with him again. A teasing grin played at my lips as I tapped my foot impatiently.

“Do it. I dare you.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. A brow raised and he asked, “This is a joke, right?”

I shrugged and with a smirk, I answered, “I double dare you, Maxwell..”. He took a few steps closer, closing the distance between us again. My back met the wall with a soft smack and I sucked in a sharp breath, raising to my tiptoe, grabbing hold of his tie as I whispered into his ear, “I triple dare you.”

I lowered myself back down and stepped away, turning my back to him. I was about to walk away, figuring that he wasn’t going to do anything, and just as I did, he caught up to me, spinning me around and practically catapulting me against him in the process.

“So you’re just gonna walk away? Not give me time to make my move? Now that’s not playing fair, princess.” Maxwell pouted.

“Either you’re going to kiss me or you’re not, Max.”

“It’s Maxwell.”

“It’s whatever I feel like calling you.” I quipped, smirking a little. Stepping just a little closer. Staring up at him with my head tilted slightly. I saw the exact second that his eyes left mine and settled on my mouth. He stepped closer, pulling me completely against him.

Wait a minute, is my heart pounding a little right now?

I barely had time to process that because he was lifting me off my feet slightly, thick fingertips digging into my body as he slid me up into his arms. If I thought my heart was pounding before, it was definitely pounding now.

He pulled his face away and chuckled. “The look on your face right now.”

“Is what?” I asked, licking my lips. My eyes darted away from his, settling on his lips. When he leaned his face in closer to mine again and his mouth brushed my lips when he muttered quietly, “Priceless. I haven’t ever actually seen you caught off guard. Until now.”

“Yeah, well.. Don’t get used to it, either.” I mumbled against his mouth, daring to nip at his lower lip, tug it just a little. His grip on me tightened and I squeezed his hips with my thighs to keep myself up.

“Merry Christmas to me, huh?” he chuckled quietly, his mouth brushing against mine just barely. Enough to send a shiver racing through my body and have my fingertips digging into his shoulder, squeezing. He groaned quietly, especially when my fingers left his shoulders and dragged through his hair, tugging a little as I inched my lips so that they rested right against his and mumbled with a bold giggle, “I guess if I want something, I’m going to have to take it.”

“Take it, huh? I like it.” Maxwell muttered, his tone dazed as his eyes locked on me. I trailed my tongue over the outline of his lips and when they parted, I slipped my tongue past, tangling with his tongue, battling for control of the kiss. His fingertips dug into my body, squeezing and he laughed into the kiss, especially when he took total control and I whimpered, melting against him just a little. The kiss broke and he rested his forehead against mine.

“I could get used to this. I’ve always kinda liked challenges.” he muttered into my mouth, pulling me into another deep and slow kiss….

#12 days of christmas #mjf fanfiction #mjf fanfic #mjf oneshot #mjf imagine #mjf imagines #my writing; mjf #my fics; mjf #my oneshots; mjf #12daysofchristmas

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

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we’re the fortunate ones

season five: enough of this terror, we deserve to know light. ♥️

Jake’s hand trails slowly up and down Amy’s back as they stand and talk to Terry, his movements ranging from palm-sized sweeps to finger tipped circles as the conversation wears on. One of his most favourite things in life is to listen to Amy flip into Nerd Mode, and right now her voice is bright and full of passion as she explains the origin of Auld Lang Syne to her audience.

“So really, it’s about acknowledging days gone by and raising a glass to all the moments - good and bad - that have passed,” she concludes, glancing at Jake out of the corner of her eye as she raises her own glass in example. Moving his free hand back up towards the base of her neck Jake takes the cue, finishing his own drink and resisting the urge to curl a strand of Amy’s hair around his fingers as Terry bids farewell a moment later, leading Sharon over to the bar for refills.

Once they are alone Amy shifts her weight to her right, leaning into Jake’s touch as his hand moves to her shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to her temple. Emptying her glass and abandoning it on the table next to Jake’s, Amy glances around quickly before looking up at him with those gorgeous brown eyes that never fail to pull him in deep. “If you keep touching my back like that, Peralta, there is no way we’re making it to midnight.”

Jake laughs, dropping his hand to just the right spot on Amy’s lower back and pulling her closer. “We didn’t make it to midnight, Ames. If I’m remembering correctly, we didn’t even make it to eight.” Her responding blush makes him grin, and he throws her a wink knowing full well that Amy’s reliving the same memory.

They’d both arrived home from work late (it’s almost as though the criminals of New York have no respect for their plans), and in an attempt to save time Amy had squeezed herself in on Jake’s shower. And perhaps they’ve both been a little loved up lately - and maybe Amy just looked a little too sexy all soaped up like that - because showering quickly turned into other stuff and it hadn’t been long before Jake was being dragged out of the bathroom and into their bedroom (the rule was no sex in the shower after The Incident last June: fair, when he remembered the bruises they’d had in .. places). What happened next had been as awesome as ever, and if there hadn’t been a party they’d already said yes to, Jake would have found it far easier to convince Amy to stay right there in their bedroom for the rest of the evening.

“You’re still not off the hook for that one, babe.” Amy mumbles, reaching up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt and bringing his attention back to the present. “We were so late to the party, and I’m totally blaming that on you.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve, Ames. As long as we’re here before midnight, it’s totally fine.” He smiles at her, dropping his hand an inch lower as he rests his forehead briefly against hers. “And I think you’re forgetting who initiated what before, thank you very much.”

“Can a girl help it if her fiancée was particularly sweet at work today and she wanted to show her appreciation?” Tipping her head upwards, she bridges the gap between them with a kiss. “And besides, it was round two that made us late, and that one’s definitely on you.”

Jake’s heart skips a beat at the sound of fiancée, part of his mind still in disbelief that such a title could belong to him - even if he was the one on bended knee in the first place. Grinning, he shrugs in surrender, gliding his palm over her lower back again. “Right right, fair call ... I guess the sight of my fiancée in that setup you’ve got going on under there was just too much for me.” Amy laughs, her cheeks turning that soft pink that he loves to see, and he leans back in for another chaste kiss.

“Oh god, we’re totally that couple at the party that are all over each other, aren’t we?” she mumbles, tucking her head into Jake’s shoulder in faux shame. His smile is bright in response, sighing happily when Amy’s arms circle around his waist, telling him with her gentle grip that she has no intention of moving anytime soon.

“We so are babe. But you know what? I am totally okay with it.”

As Amy hums her assent, Jake’s eyes flicker around the room, taking in the black and gold decorations that covered a very good portion of the venue Boyle had rented for the night. He and Genevieve had gone all out this year, and once everyone learned to avoid the truly strange options on the menu, it was turning out to be a genuinely enjoyable evening.

He finds Rosa in one corner, the grip on her glass of whiskey tight as she stands listening to Gina, who is undoubtedly discussing the other party guests. Her stance is comfortable, and about as relaxed as Rosa gets, but still Jake waits until their eyes meet from across the room before he can be sure that she’s okay.

Their casual nights of drinking in silence had increased since they’d gotten out of prison, only now they weren’t so silent. Memories of the darker moments behind bars would often stay collectively pooled at the bottom of their glasses, jumbling into a heap along the edge of their table before disappearing with the barman. As the weeks and months passed by there were little reminders that would strike unexpected, stinging like a starving animal gnawing at unhealed wounds. Other times they simmered slowly below the surface, waiting for the perfectly inopportune moment to strike. The scars were fading, but they were there, and her family's reaction to her coming out had not helped things at all. Surviving this year had brought them closer together, and with everyone around them happily celebrating the year that was, Jake wouldn’t have blamed Rosa for a second if she’d had the sudden urge to be Anywhere But Here.

Gina turns her head to see where Rosa’s half smile is directed, and she gives Jake her best I got this face when his eyes flicker over to her. The bright pink 2018 crown that she had worked into her hairstyle was doing it’s very best to attract just enough attention, glitter catching the light as the redhead gives he and Amy a once-over, shaking her head in mock disgust. He brushes off his oldest friend’s glare, rolling his eyes in a completely mature response before returning his attention to Amy, tightening his grip around her in defiance. Gina didn’t understand what this evening meant to them, and in all honesty he didn’t need her to.

It had only been a few months ago that Jake had genuinely begun to believe that a life with Amy was only ever going to be a dream. The thing about prison was that it worked relentlessly at making sure that all inmates were aware that they’d become just another number - that the cement blocks that now made up your world would not acknowledge or mourn your disappearance when or if it occurred. Unsurprisingly, the nights had turned out to be the hardest, and his overactive mind would spiral around him as his deepest fears began to infiltrate - all with one undeniable theme: you’re never going to make it out of here.

But by the grace of all that is good - and a perhaps not-so-legal acquisition of information - Hawkins’ reign of terror had been brought crashing down, and both Jake and Rosa’s sentences had been overturned. Now; the air felt fresher, the sun looked brighter, and after a (slightly) hitch-less Halloween Heist, there was a sparkling diamond on Amy’s ring finger. This was going to be their only New Year’s Eve as an engaged couple, and wild horses couldn’t drag them away from each other tonight.

Amy’s hands sweep along his waist as though she can sense what he’s thinking about (let’s face it: she probably can), and she raises up slightly, dropping a feather-light kiss to Jake’s neck before whispering “We should probably go and at least pretend to socialise with the other guests, right?”

Shaking his head, Jake uses his free hand to curl the edges of her hair around his finger, the other maintaining it’s steady grip along her back, comfortable in the familiarity of her curves. She had been so much thinner when he’d gotten back from prison, his arms wrapping around her more than they’d used to. HIs observation of such on their first night back together had been shrugged off, added with the quiet admittance that their phone calls had fed her more than food, and it had cut him to the quick. He’d counted far too many hours in scratchy orange jumpsuits, desperate in his need to clear his name from this wrongful persecution, but through it all his fight for a future with Amy had been paramount. To see the physical proof that all of this had affected her as well somehow hurt greater than anything else he’d had to endure.

From that night on, their healing had been slow - but it was always together.

Mimicking Jake’s shake of his head with her own, Amy rests her chin against his chest, looking up at Jake with such an abundance of love that he truly wonders what good deeds he’s done in his life to be rewarded with her heart. Amy Santiago was undoubtedly the love of his life - he’d known it long before he’d ever felt confident enough to say it out loud - and next year they were going to be make it official.

“You know what?” Jake asked, cocking his head to the side slightly, grinning when Amy raises her eyebrows in a silent question. “In just 135 days, I’m gonna marry your butt so hard.”

“Oh yeah?” He nods his head enthusiastically, and Amy’s eyes begin to crinkle as she mirrors his grin. “That’s good to know, because in 136 days, I’ve got some pretty serious honeymoon sex planned for us. It would have been a shame for that to go to waste.”

“Not gonna lie, that sounds kinda amazing.”

“The binder I’m making is going to blow. your. mind. babe.”

Leaning down to kiss her, Jake whispers, “God I can’t wait to be your husband.”

It was true. Their wedding was going to be amazing (he’s been secretly compiling a list of Jock Jams to surprise Amy with, and its only halfway done yet already awesome), but truly Jake was beyond ready to be married. To wear a band on his finger that told the whole world that he loves one person above all others, and that person was Amy Santiago. To be able to refer to her as his wife, and to smile proudly when she called him her husband. They were the tiniest of things, but when it all came together it was a life he couldn’t wait to start.

Amy smiles up at him, craning up on her toes to steal another kiss and Jake sighs happily against her mouth. Wiping off a smudge of lipstick from his lips as she pulls away, Amy shakes her head slowly. “You know, it really is ridiculous how corny we’re being tonight.”

Digging his teeth into his lower lip briefly, Jake glances around the room again before shrugging. “This is just our engage-moon period,” he states, and when Amy stares blankly he continues. “I mean … there’s always a honeymoon period after you get married, right? Then … by that logic there should be an engage-moon period, when you’re freshly engaged and everything just seems freakin’ awesome.”

Amy’s mouth turns down slightly as she studies him, that cute concentration face taking over her features, and if he didn’t love her enough already he might just love her a little bit more as she nods in agreement. “You know what, you’re absolutely right.”

“And besides,” Jake continues, unable to contain his smile, “this year is going to be amazing. We’re going to get married, you’re going to become a sergeant -”

“We don’t know that, Jake …”

“You’re going to be a sergeant,” giving her a pointed look he carries on - “the nine-nine will continue to kick crime to the curb and you and I are going to have super-hot married sex in every single room in our apartment.”

Her laughter is loud, the carefree giggles bouncing onto Jake’s chest as her body shakes, and Jake can’t help but join in. This is what he wanted - all day, every day, for as long as they both shall live.

A steady voice breaks through their little bubble, interrupting their laughter with the statement - “If you two are about done with the lovey-dovey stuff, we can start counting down to the new year.”

Pulling away slightly, Amy wraps her right arm around Jake’s waist and clears her throat. “Oh, hey Gina.” With a smile, she accepts the glass of champagne that Rosa offers, taking a sip to distract herself from the embarrassment Jake can tell she’s feeling.

Reaching for the glass that Gina is holding out for him, Jake once again ignores her judgemental stare, choosing instead to secure his left arm around Amy’s shoulder in both comfort and solidarity. Let the world cringe at how ridiculously sappy they were being. If there was anything that the past year had taught him, it was that time was never guaranteed. And now that a happy future was finally in their grasp, he wasn’t going to give it up for anything.

The passing minutes are filled with casual conversation, ranging from stories about Gina’s newborn to the group comparing horror stories over what they’d discovered on the buffet, and as the hosts come over to join them, they begin to countdown to the end of 2017.

When he looks back on photos from the evening, Jake can tell there was a cacophony of party poppers, blowers and calls of celebration, adding to the showers of confetti surrounding them all as the countdown falls to zero, but in all honesty the only thing that he can remember from that moment is Amy. Her hand, curled around a glass of champagne and pressed to his chest as he pulls her in for a kiss that he definitely intended to be sweet but suddenly turned into so much more. The feel of her lips, soft and bewitching as their tongues begin to tangle; her feet pressed in up against his own and her free hand touching his cheek, thumb stroking softly in the way that has always, always made his heart pound like crazy.

They weren’t often ones for such public displays of affection. But the past few years had tested them more than either could have expected, and it felt so good to show that FINALLY, love was going to win.

Jake’s smile is wider than he can help by the time they pull away, and when Amy chases his lips for another quick press, he’s only too happy to oblige.

“Happy New Year, Jake.” Her voice is soft, and her eyes are so bright and full of elation that Jake can’t help but lean in for another kiss.

“Happy New Year, Ames.”

Still holding the champagne, Amy wraps her arms carefully around Jake’s neck and grins. “We’re getting married this year!”

“It’s gonna be the best year ever.”

The roll of Gina’s eyes is almost audible. “You guys are so gross. But you also look really happy, so I’m just going to let it slide for tonight.” With a shake of her head, she tips her glass upside down, shaking the last few drops into her mouth. “Damn, being a mother really changes a gal.”

Rosa chimes in, her tone as factual as ever as she nods her head in Charles’ direction “Also, you should probably know Boyle just took like twenty photos of the two of you kissing.”

“They’re for my scrapbook!”

“Dammit, Boyle!”

#my fic #b99 2020 vision challenge #okay so this was probably a little sappy #but ehhhh #they're engaged and in love #so lets just go with it #title from Joanna Newsom #because SHE #peraltiago fic #jake x amy fanfic #b99 fanfic #b99 fandom events #my writing

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vernonfielding · 4 years

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Strip us of our crowns

Story No. 16 of my Season 7 Countdown Project. Thank you to @exploding-snapple for the prompt!

Summary: “Look, prison is awful. I hate it here. I'm lonely, I'm scared. I just want to be back home.”

We know how prison treated Jake, but what about Rosa? Takes place during The Big House (1&2). (Read on AO3.)

Rosa starts a riot her first day.

They’ve put her in gen-pop even though everyone hates cops, and thank God she hasn’t personally put away anyone here. She’s not the only cop at Edwards, but she’s the newest, and the rest of them are in for stuff like violent assaults and murders and police brutality that make bank robbery look like child’s play. The only way she can stay safe is to earn their respect, and the only way to do that is to lose her shit a little.

So at lunch, Rosa smashes her tray, turkey sandwich and all, into the face of one of the dirty cops, then throat punches her and puts her in a chokehold. Four guards have to drag her off, kicking and screaming.

Five hours after getting to prison, Rosa is in solitary.

+++

Rosa studied meditation for a while in college. She never reached the deep inner silence and spiritual awakening of transcendental meditation, but she found it pretty damn useful for clearing her head anyway.

Her cell in solitary is so small that she can touch both walls at the same time if she stretches her arms. There’s a dented shelf at the far end with a single bar of soap stuck to it, and beneath it a stained sink and beside that a toilet. The bed is a cot, the mattress thinner than her yoga pad. Rosa gives herself about an hour to freak out in there, to tear the mattress and the threadbare blanket off the bedframe and beat them against the dingy walls, to alternate between screaming and cackling, a sound that makes her scared of and for herself.

She exhausts herself, and then she just stands there in the center of the cell, breathing hard, sweat cooling on her face and neck. She swipes her hair up into a messy bun, pulls it into a knot, and then sits in lotus pose in the middle of the floor and takes a deep breath through her nose. The space smells old and stale, of blood and sweat and piss and, horribly, mashed potatoes.

Rosa closes her eyes and breathes.

+++

She spends more time in solitary than not over the first couple of weeks. Usually it’s in 48-hour stints – two days in, one day out. But by the time Holt and Terry visit she’s been out for a few days straight. The other inmates still hate her, they still stare when she walks by, she can feel their dark gazes burning into the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. But they keep their distance.

Lonely is alive, at least.

Her cellmate is in for aggravated assault. She says she beat up her own pimp, that the guy had it coming, and Rosa believes her but also figures there’s more to the story. She talks in her sleep, in Spanish, calling for a girl named Esme. Rosa curls up on her side, knees pulled up toward her belly, back to the wall.

The stress of this place is like a poison. She can taste it, can feel it in her blood, thinks about it settling into the marrow of her bones and becoming part of her. She thinks about Jake and how when she sees him again, they’ll both be so different. She knows that he’s harder than he looks. Stronger. But he’s being poisoned too, after all. Even if they get out tomorrow, or the day after or next week – already something’s changed. She’s already lost something but she doesn’t know what.

+++

Rosa love-hates that Terry and Holt visit. She can’t help it: She’s so ashamed, sitting on the other side of the greasy glass barrier, in her faded gray uniform and her lace-less shoes and her recycled underwear. But everything about them exudes comfort and safety and she’s so fucking glad they came. Even Hitchcock is a welcome presence.

They insist on doing her favors. And she gets it and she’s even grateful, but it’s annoying. She hates coddling under any circumstances, hates the pity and hates giving up even an ounce of independence. In here, she already feels so vulnerable, everything in her life out of her own control.

Still, she comes up with a list of chores for them. It keeps her occupied an entire afternoon, which isn’t so bad.

She sits in the reading room with a pad of yellow legal-sized paper and a pencil and bullet points her requests, each more absurd than the previous. She likes the feel of the pencil scratching across the paper, likes watching the letters form in her own familiar print. For the first time she understands, a little, why Amy likes nice pens and pretty stationery – she would kill (not literally – but maybe she’d stab) for a rollerball pen in blue ink, for crisp white paper.

Writing letters to Adrian is hard, at first. She’s never been to Argentina, never even seen pictures of his ranch, has trouble imagining him in this space she doesn’t know. She never even found out for sure what he did with the scorpions.

She starts by telling him that prison sucks and she misses him. It’s blunt and too personal and she hates it, hates herself, so then she tells him how she wants to gnaw on the tendons in his neck and lick his teeth and the roof of his mouth. From there things get deliciously nasty and she writes until her hand is cramping and she has to stop after every half-page to shake it out.

Around halfway through the legal pad she goes horribly, shamefully confessional again and she can’t help it, doesn’t even try to fight it. She tells him she misses him she needs him she can’t do this she can’t she can’t-

+++

“Diaz,” Holt says. He’s with Amy this time. It’s the first time Amy’s visited, and her face is so kind and pretty and familiar that an ache settles in Rosa’s stomach.

“You have a plan.” Rosa can read it all over them. Amy is practically vibrating, and Holt’s eyebrows are slightly raised.

Rosa hates the plan. And she respects the plan. And even though she’d told Amy that imagining herself strangling the life out of Hawkins wouldn’t be good enough, Rosa does it anyway, all that afternoon and that night after making her request for a visit.

Anger, at least, feels a lot better than fear or despair or shame or a thousand other dumb emotions. Anger is familiar. Anger makes her feel a little like her old self.

She picks a fight with one of the dirty cops after Hawkins leaves. The ex-cop is in for a string of beatings and bribes and threatening witnesses. Rosa bumps her shoulder and the woman tells her to go to hell and Rosa takes her out at the knees and punches her in the kidney and presses her face into the cracked pavement. It feels great, even when the guards lift her up and carry-drag her away.

When she leaves solitary two days later, she doesn’t even stop at her cell to gather her things. She’s going back to her old life. She’s going home. She already has everything she needs.

End Notes:

Title is from Focus on the Game (Bash Brothers).

This was a tough one to write – not so much in that it was hard to find the words, it just felt very dark (I mean, obviously).I hadn’t really thought much about how Rosa handled prison, and now I think it was probably both easier and harder for her than for Jake. Easier in that I’m guessing there was somewhat less threat of immediate violence/death. Plus, I think Rosa’s just generally got her emotional shit together better than Jake. But harder in that I think she’d feel more anger/shame/frustration? Also, I think Jake was helped a lot by knowing he had Amy waiting for him on the other side. Rosa was with Pimento at the time, but that relationship wouldn’t have provided nearly the same level of comfort and support. Man. Poor Rosa.

#b99 fic #b99 season 7 countdown project #missing scene #the big house #rosa diaz

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