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refinedbuffoonery · 3 years

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Mr. & Mrs. Claus

You should know that I wrote this whole thing just for the bad pick-up line Mac uses. And then I got hit with major baby fever while writing the end and....you’ll see. Merry Christmas, y’all! ❤

Established MacRiley AU

*****

Riley’s only warning to Mac’s arrival was the slam of the front door before he yelled, “I’ve got the rings!” His boots clunked on the hardwood floor as he walked down the hall to their bedroom. “Let me get dressed and then we can go—”

Riley met Mac’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. He stood in the doorway, slack-jawed, taking in the full effect of her costume. Smiling to herself, Riley finished applying her mascara, arching her back and sticking her ass out for his benefit.

Mac cleared his throat. “Wow. You look incredible.”

She twirled to give him the full effect. The stretchy, ribbed material of her off-white sweater dress clung to her body, stopping just below her knees and leaving nothing to the imagination. Her favorite black, high-heeled boots gave the outfit just a bit of edge. But the real showstopper was her coat—crimson velvet trimmed with fake fur, swirling gold and silver embroidery, elegant bell sleeves. It even had pockets.

“This is my favorite part.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Riley swayed back and forth, watching the bottom of the knee-length coat swish like a bell.

“It’s stunning,” Mac said, still a little stunned himself. He finally closed the gap between them. “You’re the hottest Mrs. Claus in LA.”

“Literally,” Riley joked. “This outfit is toasty, and in case you didn’t realize, it’s definitely not cold outside.” According to her phone, the high was supposed to be 74 degrees.

Mac rubbed her arms. “In all seriousness though, you look beautiful.”

Even after all this time, Riley still blushed. “Thank you,” she murmured against his lips as she pulled him down for a quick kiss.

She sat on the bed, unashamedly checking her boyfriend out while he changed into his own Santa costume to match hers. He fished around in the pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out a pair of rings. “Matty said we, and I quote, have to return these to the Phoenix tomorrow, so no using them to build a homing beacon or something.”

“Got it,” Riley said dryly. “No homing beacon.” She reached for her ring, but Mac seemed to have other ideas. He handed her his ring instead—a white gold band with a thin, but ornate border.

Mac spoke in a deep, announcer-like voice. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Mrs. Claus, you may go first.”

Riley held his left hand in hers, playing along. “Do you, Santa Claus, take me to be your wife?” She tried to be serious, but her lips curled into a smile without her consent.

“I do.” Riley slid the ring on. Mac continued, “Do you, Mrs. Claus, take me to be your husband?”

Riley made a show of thinking it over first. “I do.” He slid the ring—an engagement ring and wedding band fused together—onto her finger. She’d worn it before. Like Mac’s, it was white gold, but the tiny diamonds set into the bands made it glitter in the light. The engagement ring part had a princess cut diamond surrounded by more tiny diamonds, making the whole thing walk the fine line between opulent and gaudy.

She looked up, and Mac’s soft smile made her want to melt in a puddle. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he announced, lacing their fingers together.

“Okay.” Riley wrapped her arms around his neck. “You do that.”

*****

They drove Riley’s Jeep to the hospital, since someone forgot to go to the gas station on his way home, and they were already late. They’d gotten a little distracted after their fake wedding.

Mac rested his hand on Riley’s thigh while she drove. She leaned away from him, resting her left elbow on the door and holding the top of the steering wheel with her right. When Mac didn’t take the hint and started caressing her thigh instead, Riley batted his hand away.

“Oh no,” she scolded. “We are not doing this right now.” Mac pouted in the passenger seat.

They arrived at the hospital, hauling two massive bags of presents with them. The hospital administrator met them in the lobby to escort Riley and Mac to the children’s wing, thanking them and the think tank profusely for the entire duration of the walk. She and Mac exchanged the same sly look they always did when someone referred to the Phoenix as a think tank.

Meeting the kids went by in a blur. Altogether too many young, bright faces swarmed the waiting room, clamoring to meet Santa and Mrs. Claus. With each kid she met, Riley was in awe of how they were all so positive and happy and full of laughter, even though many of them were so sick and would be spending Christmas in the hospital.

The kids gravitated to Mac like moths to a flame. He sat and talked to each one, asking how they were doing and what they wanted for Christmas. They asked him ridiculous questions, like what snacks the elves like best and who his favorite reindeer was. In a classic Mac moment, he explained to a wide-eyed group of ten-year-olds that male reindeer lose their antlers every winter, so his reindeer are actually all females.

Every time Mac walked past—which Riley suspected was far more times than necessary—he squeezed her arm or grazed a hand down her back, and Riley couldn’t help the smile curling her lips each time he did it.

After a while, Riley gathered the kids and read a picture book version of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. Pausing to show her young, captivated audience the pictures, she flicked her gaze to Mac. He stood in the back of the room with his arms crossed in a very un-Santa-like manner, chatting softly with one of the pediatricians. The rainbow lights of the Christmas tree behind him cast him in a warm, pink glow.

The kid closest to her tugged on her coat, and Riley turned her attention to the girl. She was probably ten or so, with intense, dark eyes that probably never missed a thing. Including Riley’s wandering attention, apparently. “Are you checking out Santa?” she questioned.

Caught. Riley cleared her throat. “Um—” Giggles erupted throughout her audience. “So what if I am? He’s very handsome.”

The girl scrunched up her face. “Gross!” Riley joined in on the second wave of giggles before returning to the story.

Later, after the chaos of opening presents, the adults rounded up all the kids and settled in to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The hospital administrator set it up so the movie projected on an empty wall. Mac pulled up a pair of chairs behind the projector and motioned for Riley to sit. Lacing their fingers together, Mac leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for doing this with me.” His expression was raw and unguarded.

Riley squeezed his hand twice in response. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

They’d barely made it ten minutes into the movie when the shyest kid—a six-year-old boy wearing Spider-Man pajama pants who looked like a tiny version of Bozer—crawled into Riley’s lap. The boy didn’t say a word; he simply nuzzled his face into Riley’s shoulder and wrapped his tiny arms around her waist. Riley let go of Mac’s hand to pull the boy into her chest, where he fell asleep for the remainder of the movie.

Afterward, Riley carried the boy back to his room while Mac started to say goodbye to the other kids. They’d been there more than half the day, and for many of the kids, it was time for blood tests or scans or chemo. Or maybe just a nap.

Riley hugged the last kid goodbye with a bittersweet smile on her face. The little boy in her arms was so young, four or five at the most. Behind him, his mom mouthed, Thank you.

When the boy finally let go, Riley looked him square in the eye. "You be good, okay?" He giggled, nodding furiously before returning to his mom.

The boy and his mom walked away, leaving Riley and Mac alone in the waiting room. Riley stared after them. That had to be so hard, watching your kid have seizure after seizure and then spending days in the hospital, waiting for answers the doctors didn't have.

"Riles." Mac's low voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "You okay?"

She blinked. "Yeah, I was just thinking about that kid."

"I know," Mac sighed, rubbing his face. "He asked me if I could stop his seizures for Christmas."

Riley's heart clenched. "What did you say?"

"I told him I'd try my best."

Riley swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. Without thinking, she drifted into Mac's embrace, hands finding purchase on his chest and resting her cheek on his shoulder. His arms circled her, pulling her tightly against him.

She couldn't string the right words together to describe how she was feeling. Sorrow, for the kid whose childhood was now destined to be filled with doctors and hospital trips. Empathy, for the single mom trying her best to remain positive for her kid's sake. Admiration, for the way Mac smiled reassuringly at the little boy despite the tears welling in his eyes. Riley settled for, "I love you." She kissed Mac's cheek.

Pressing his lips to the crown of her head, he said, "I love you too."

They stayed like that for a long time, only parting when Riley said, "Let's clean up and go home."

Remnants of wrapping paper and plastic packaging littered the floor—all that was left from the bag of presents they'd brought. Well, that and the glitter. The ungodly amount of glitter that was, to Riley's horror, everywhere.

She picked up a wad of half-crumpled wrapping paper, sending a flurry of gold glitter airborne. Most of it landed on her clothes. Great. She'd be finding those damn gold flecks for months.

Mac chuckled behind her. She whirled on him. "It's not funny!" she said with mock offence, sticking her tongue out at him.

But he wasn't looking at her face. His eyes tracked her every movement, lingering on the places where her off-white sweater dress hugged her curves beneath her long, red coat.

Riley made a show of brushing the glitter off her dress, starting from her knees and working upward, drawing Mac’s attention with her movement. When Mac's gaze finally reached her eyes, she winked before resuming not-so-innocently picking up wrapping paper. Riley kept her back to him, waiting for Mac to make the next move.

Hands locked on her waist. Mac tugged her closer, his lips grazing her ear as he spoke. "I'd put myself on the naughty list for you."

Smirking, she replied, "Oh really." Riley glanced over her shoulder and had barely even realized Mac's face was still right there when his lips landed on hers, and he spun her to face him fully. The pile of wrapping paper she was holding fell to the ground at their feet, covering their boots in more glitter.

The kiss wasn't very good. Riley couldn't stop smiling, no matter how hard she tried to pull herself together enough to kiss him back instead of bursting out laughing. I'd put myself on the naughty list for you. He said that as if he were on the nice list in the first place. They broke way too many laws on a weekly basis for that to be true. Not to mention, Mac's non-consensual cell phone breaking alone was enough to put him on the naughty list for life.

"Are you just going to keep grinning like an idiot, or are you actually going to kiss me back?" he teased.

It took all of her concentration to pull off even the most chaste kiss. A little too eagerly for being in a hospital waiting room, Mac sucked on her lower lip and slid his tongue into her mouth, his hands sliding under her coat and caressing her sides.

Riley had just gotten it together enough to slip her own tongue in without getting a mouthful of teeth or fake beard when she heard a faint giggle. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw the cutest little girl peeking around a Christmas tree.

“Santa, we have an audience,” she warned.

Mac pulled away, blushing faintly, but his hands lingered on Riley’s stomach for an extra second. He gestured for the little girl to come closer. Sheepishly, she rolled out from behind the tree. Tinsel covered every available inch of her wheelchair, and the wheels lit up when she rolled in a way that reminded Riley of the light-up sneakers that were popular when she was a teenager. Not that she'd actually owned a pair, of course.

Mac squatted in front of the girl, whose wild blonde curls were equally unruly as Riley's own hair. "Were you spying on us?"

"Maybe," she said with a shrug.

Mac twisted to look at Riley. I like her. "What do you think, Mrs. Claus?" he asked. "Do spies get put on the naughty list?"

Yes. She winked. "I think this one can stay on the nice list. She managed to sneak up on Santa, after all. Very impressive."

The kid beamed. She had no idea.

"Yes," Mac said slowly, "very impressive." He turned back to the girl. "So, what do you want for Christmas?"

The girl listed a whole bunch of presents, claiming she wanted to give Santa options. Mac listened intently, nodding at all the right points.

Something warm bloomed in Riley's chest as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her. To say Mac was good with kids would be an understatement. When a kid spoke to him, he always gave them his full, undivided attention and took every word very seriously. When a kid was being serious, Mac was serious, and when a kid was acting silly, Mac would be twice as silly. And as a result, he could crack even the shyest and grumpiest of kids, and, more importantly, they would trust him.

A thought popped into Riley's head. I want to have his babies. As if her body was reiterating what it already knew and her brain had just figured out, her hands unconsciously drifted to her abdomen.

The same spot Mac's hands hands had lingered a minute ago, she realized with a start. Did...did he want kids with her too?

Riley wanted kids—she wanted kids with Mac—but she also knew that neither of them were ready to give up their job. They couldn’t keep doing what they did with a kid in the world. After growing up with absentee parents, they’d never risk leaving their kid to grow up without one or both parents.

But when the time finally comes, when she and Mac are ready to trade in getting shot at and making stuff explode for stability and mundane normalcy, she won’t be able to wait any longer to start a family with him.

She waited until they were in the Jeep before broaching the subject of kids. Tentatively, she began, "What were you thinking about back there when you put your hands on my stomach?" The look on his face then said he was definitely thinking about something, but Riley didn't want to assume what.

Mac dodged her question. "Sorry, I didn't realize I did it."

Riley knew that was a white lie, but she didn't call him on it. He'd answer honestly in his own time. Since it was too big a subject to outright ask him, Riley took a more subtle route instead. “Do you see yourself having kids?”

His eyes widened in response. “You know I want kids.”

That wasn’t what she meant. Wanting them and actively reshaping your life in order to have them were completely different things. “Yeah, but do you see yourself settling down, getting a safe, normal job, and raising kids?” They’d vaguely talked about this before, long ago, but Riley suddenly needed to ask him again.

Mac was silent for a long time, staring out the front window. “Yeah, I do,” he finally said. “With the right person.” He glanced over at her, eyes softening.

Me too, Riley wanted to say, but she choked on the words. It took her a couple tries, and the words came out strangled, but she was pretty sure Mac understood. Neither of them needed to say it directly in order for the other to understand: I want to have kids with you.

Riley spent the rest of the drive fantasizing about the kid-filled Christmases in her future. She glanced down at the ring on her finger. First step, she thought. Get a real ring.

#beth writes #macgyver #macriley #christmas fic #established macriley au #macgyver fanfiction

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

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hellowkatey · 3 years

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Febuwhump Day 23

Prompt: “Don’t look”

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence/slave torture

Read on AO3

Oya Manda

While the tally marks on Rex's armor are for his kills, the ones he now marks on the side of his boot are for the days that have passed since he and General Kenobi were taken to Kadavo. Crossing the other four marks with a shaky diagonal line to signify the end of the fifth day isn't as satisfying as another enemy out of the way. He sighs as he sets down the little piece of graphite, letting his head hit the back of the bunk heavily like he's too exhausted to hold it up himself.

Kadavo is a new type of hell. He thought cadet training was hard work but this... this is torture. The older troopers like to whisper about their "slavery to the Republic", but those cushy Captains and Commanders haven't been here. The clones might as well be house pets of the Republic compared to the horrors he's seen at the Zygerrian market.

There is a heavy sigh in the bunk below him, and the clunk of a body falling onto the hard surface all at once. General Kenobi. Rex hasn't seen him all day, so he peers over the side at his Jedi General.

To say General Kenobi looks worse for wear would be a compliment. The man's robes have been all but shredded by the number of whips and beatings he's taken. They're basically red at this point too, caked into his skin by the dried blood. Though Rex hasn't exactly had it easy either, he certainly hasn't gotten the treatment of a Jedi in slave captivity. Slowly, painfully, General Kenobi rolls over, his eyes meeting Rex's in the dim light.

"Hello, Rex," he says softly. He half-expects him to ask him how he's doing, but then again, the general hasn't asked that in two days. It only prompts the same question in return, which he suspects Kenobi doesn't want to answer either.

"General. Where'd they have you today?"

"Rocks," he shifts his body so he's lying on his back, arms folded behind his head as a pillow. "You?"

"Digging."

"Hm." His eyes are already fluttering closed. Manual labor for fourteen hours a day will do that to a person. The draw of sleep is also tugging at the clone captain. He takes one last look at Kenobi.

"Night, sir."

The general in return just hums something incoherent, and Rex lays back on his own bunk.

He's on digging again the next day. Separated from General Kenobi once again. They lead him with a group of Togrutas to their site, and by the crack of a whip slicing through the air, they begin their day. Rex has learned the drill by now: stay quiet, keep working, and keep your head down. He hasn't had a bad beating since the second day with this tactic, and he'd like to stay in as few pieces as possible if he's going to be in fighting shape when they're rescued.

If we ever get rescued.

He pauses, the negative thought settling in and sending a chill down his spine. No, we will get rescued. They will come for us.

Rex knows this. Their mission is to save the Togrutas, and by association, him and the general. But he can see the five tally marks on his boot from where he stands, and he can't deny that it's been a long time since they were taken.

"Back to work!" a Zygerrian guard growls, and Rex raises his eyes to see if he's talking to him-- he is, but as Rex shoves his shovel into the gravel ground, a young girl catches his eye. The Togruta is also assigned to digging duty, but she hardly looks older than the commander! In fact, she looks quite like the commander, her montrals also blue and white, though a darker blue, and her white facial markings make up the majority of her face. What really gets him is when she looks up, obviously feeling someone's eyes on her, and stares at him with these big, round blue eyes. She just... reminds him so much of Tano it brings a knot to his stomach.

Seeing her in that getup at the market was... sickening enough. Through the war, Rex and the others have all but adopted the kid as their own, and to see her playing the part of the slave made his blood boil. Especially since he was playing the part of a slaver.

But to see an actual young Togruta that looks remarkably like their own Jedi... it's too much to take. All he can think about is if that were Tano, and it makes him eager to add more tally marks to his helmet.

"I said," a booming voice cuts through his remembrance of Ahsoka Tano, "back to work!" The crack of a whip snaps crisply in the air and Rex watches the girl flinch. He gets back to digging, but the anger builds in his belly. What is a kid doing out here in the first place?

By lunchtime, which of course, isn't actually lunch for the slaves but for the guards, Rex has ended up next to the Togruta girl as those between them were sent elsewhere. When Rex is confident the guards are too occupied with their food, he leans over slowly.

"Hey kid," he says softly. Even with his care to not startle her, she jumps at the sound of his voice. "You doing alright?"

She peers up at him with hesitant eyes but seeing he too is bound by a collar just as her she nods. "As good as I can."

"Tired?"

"My legs..." she winces. "Exhausted."

He nods, noticing the shake in her thin legs.

"Pick up less gravel in your shovel. I'll be sure to make up for it for you. Just concentrate on staying upright." he says, giving her a sympathetic nod. He isn't sure if she knows this yet, but the guards are not kind to those who collapse of exhaustion. They act as though flogging is a replacement for proper food and rest.

She looks at him uneasily, but nods. "Thank you. I will try."

They continue to work in silence. She does, indeed, pick up smaller loads, and Rex tries to move a little quicker and pick up a little more. He himself has been keeping a steady pace, and the mission of helping her is enough to bring his energy up again.

"What is your name?" he asks after a while. "Mine is Rex."

"Arshee."

"That's a pretty name. How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

She looks much younger, but it could be the sunken cheeks and thin frame.

Rex glances at the guards, who are dealing with someone on the other side of their workspace, and he leans in again. "We're going to get you out of here, Arshee. Help is coming."

"When?" she asks, as though being told help is on the way is something she hears on the daily.

"I-- I don't-- soon."

Arshee just nods, the points of her montrals sagging as she puts her head down to concentrate on digging. Rex sighs. He just wanted to give her hope, but it seems this is no place for that sort of thing.

Then two hours later, despite her best efforts, Arshee's body starts to shake, and she collapses to the ground. Her shovel has not yet toppled over when the guards have grabbed her by the biceps and hoisted her to her knees.

"No, please!" she bellows in terror. "I just fell!"

"You'll learn to rest on the job," one says, twirling around his whip as it powers up. It happens so fast, Rex hardly has time to react to what is happening. He stops working to stare at them in horror as the first lash from the electro-whip makes sickening contact with her back, wrapping around to jab into her ribs. The sight makes him queasy and immeasurably angry. Before he can think it through, he reverses his grip on the shovel, and when the slaver raises his arm to hit her again, Rex jumps between them, pointing his shovel at his face.

"Enough," he says. "She's a kid."

"She's our property."

"Well... so am I."

The Zygerrian's face goes from mild pleasure to a large, sinister smile ear-to-ear.

"Looks like we got ourselves a hero."

He hears a dull thud and the sound of crawling across gravel. Rex can see Arshee sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her torso out of his peripheral, her eyes wide with horror. Once again, he sees the commander in her place. Rex is ready to accept the fate of this if it means she will be spared.

The slave driver raises his whip, the string crackling with extra power, and Rex looks over his shoulder at the young Togruta girl.

"Don't look," he whispers, and then he feels the whip snap into his skin, sending searing, white-hot pain through every part of him. The electricity comes next, making every muscle in his body spasm and seize until they feel like they're melting off his bones entirely. There are only a couple seconds between each whip-- a few moments to recover before the progression repeats. His nerves are so strung out, he hardly realizes they have turned him around to work on slashing across his back.

In one of the lulls, he looks over where Arshee landed. Thankfully, she listened to him and is staring off in the opposite direction. He can see the tears dripping from her chin, her arms wrapped so tightly around her midsection it's like she's the only thing holding herself together.

She probably feels guilty that I've taken her beating... and maybe that is the case. But Rex would much rather her be upset with guilt than crying over the pain of torture. He will be sure to reassure her of this when he has the chance.

Rex grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, and he rides out continued assault.

Now Rex is the one that looks worse for wear. As he drags himself back to his bunk, his body still buzzing from the electric shocks, he finds Kenobi sitting on the edge of the bunks already, watching his slow approach. He has a new black eye today, still bright red in some places so it must be fairly recent.

"Rex..." the general says in concerned awe as he sits down next to him. He has no energy to hoist himself up into his own bunk yet. Even sitting, his body sways, and Kenobi puts a stabilizing hand on his back.

"You mind?" Rex asks, holding out the small piece of graphite and stiffly raising his food. General Kenobi eyes the graphite and then his boot before taking it from his hand.

"They'll come," Kenobi says quietly as he places a new tally next to his group of five.

But even the Jedi, ever optimistic, doesn't sound entirely convinced of his own words.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday23 #don't look #kadavo #zygerria #rex #obi-wan kenobi #im very shocked this is my first kadavo fic #but hey at least i gave obi a little bit of a break

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uchihacore · 4 years

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newton’s third law

PAIRING: keishin ukai x reader SUMMARY: every action has an equal and opposite reaction WARNINGS: nsfw, pegging, blowjobs

You frown at your reflection in the tiny rearview mirror, rubbing at the edge of a purple mark peeking out of your shirt collar. You hadn’t noticed it last night, but then again, you hadn’t really noticed much outside of Keishin calling you ‘Princess’ as he sat you in his lap and pressed a vibrator between your legs. And really, can you fault yourself for that?

Lucky for you (or rather for lucky for Keishin), you always carry a tube concealer in your purse, just for these types of situations. You pull out the tube and dab some concealer onto your tender neck, gently patting away the cream until it blends with the rest of your skin.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Keishin says from the passenger seat. You can see him from the corner of your eye, and he’s grinning like an idiot, which makes sense because he is an idiot.

“No, you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. You need to get him out of your car before he makes you late for work, or worse, a student sees you with him. You pack the tube away, pulling out your lipgloss as Keishin shrugs unapologetically.

“Nope, not even a little bit. But really,” he says, leaning in closer until you can feel his breath on your ear, “can you blame me? Seeing you all marked up, having to hide my hickeys at school, it’s so hot.”

“Nice to know you’re turning into a caveman, Keishin,” you say. And blush because the heater is on and not because of how close he is, the bruise on your neck tingling, “but not everyone gets the luxury of working for our mommy. Some of us have real jobs.”

(Which, admittedly, is a low blow. Especially considering he coaches the boys’ volleyball team for practically nothing, and gives Karasuno students discounts on like half his inventory.) You purse your lips together to rub in the lipgloss, fighting back an apology.

“And yet, here you are,” Keishin notes, seemingly unruffled. “Hiding my artful love-bites under a layer of makeup. Real job and all.”

“Get lost, Keishin,” you say, rolling your eyes. You toss your lipgloss into your makeup bag and turn to him. “I have classes to teach.”

“Of course you do. Have a good day at work, Princess.” he says, and the ballsy bastard actually kisses you before getting out of your car. You give him your best-unimpressed glare, and his smile widens when he turns and sees your expression before heading into the store.

And okay, yeah, maybe you a part of you is blushing and giggling on the inside like some idiot schoolgirl, but only because you’ve been treated like many things in your lifetime, from bitch to queen to child, but no one had ever made you feel like the Keishin does, like an actual, honest to God, princess.

But the other part is trying to figure out when he got so cocky, and how you’d allowed that to happen. Before you can contemplate further, a group of third-year students passes your car, and you put the car back into drive. Suddenly self-aware of how strange you must look mooning after the Sakanoshita Store guy, of all people.

You ponder it on the walk to your classroom, your sex life, or whatever it’s called, with Keishin Ukai is excellent, you’ll be the first to admit. He’s the first man ever to make your voice hoarse from moaning. But the last thing you want is for him to get a big head over it. He’s annoying enough as it is, thanks.

No, you need to get Keishin back down to Earth, somehow. He needs to be taught a lesson, taken down a peg.

And just like that, it hits you. Throwing a glance at your class, who are all too busy with morning pleasantries to notice, you pull out your phone and do a quick google search, you find the article you’re looking for and skim it. You’ll need to do some after-school shopping, but you’ll gladly sacrifice that cute skirt from H&M for this. You put your phone away and neatly write a line of notes about the kinematics on the chalkboard, drawing a smug little smiley face in the corner. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Your next 'meeting’ (because what the fuck else are you supposed to call it?) with Keishin is on Friday, and today is Tuesday. If you stop at the sex shop tonight and get the supplies, you’ll have two nights to figure them out. Which is essential because the last thing you want is to be unskilled in front of Keishin. He’d never shut up about it.

The school day passes by in a blur. You faintly remember scolding Nishinoya for using Tanaka as a springboard and a brief conversation with Hinata about the ‘epic highs and lows of high school volleyball’. Also, the concept of mitochondrial DNA had been clunking around your headspace for most of the day which was odd because you don’t even teach biology. Still, mostly you were just focused on the tantalizing idea of giving Keishin a taste of his own medicine.

You drive to the sex shop two towns over, as opposed to the one just off the highway, partly because it’s cleaner, but mostly because there’s less of a risk of seeing someone you know. You’d hate to have a student catching you buying a strap-on. Oh, the rumors.

The salesperson is a heavily tattooed girl with electric blue hair and a black heart stamped on each freckled cheekbone. She’s really helpful, though. She takes her time explaining just how all the buckles work, and which dildo to buy to fit into which harness, so do your best not to judge her too harshly. She also recommends buying silicone-based lube over water-based lube, because apparently it lasts longer and isn’t harmful in anal sex the way it is in vaginal sex.

So you give her a five-dollar tip for her troubles, to which she responds by giving you the toothiest smile you’ve seen in your entire life and telling you your boyfriend has no idea how lucky he is.

Which you give her another three dollars for because she’s completely right.

(About Keishin not knowing how lucky he is to have you. Not about him being your boyfriend, because he’s fucking not, okay?)

You bring your goodies home, feeling like you always feel after shopping: like you’ve just gotten a load of Christmas presents, and they’re waiting to be unwrapped. You have the presence of mind to hide the black and red bag in your oversized purse before entering your building. Just in case you happen to share the elevator with one of the old ladies on your floor.

Once you get into your apartment, you lock your door and layout your purchases on your dining room table, immediately picking up the dildo to test its weight. You’d picked a sparkly ribbed one, not because you particularly like it, but because you can’t wait to see Keishin’s face when he saw it. You’re pretty sure it’ll end up somewhere between shock, reproach, and begrudging amusement.

It’s the same abrasive yellow as Keishin’s bleached hair, average-sized, chosen more for entertainment value than anything else. You slot it into place then give the shaft an experimental tug to see just how well the metal ring in the harness holds it in place. Satisfied with the result, you examine the nubby, double-pronged vibrator on the opposite end of the harness. It’s supposed to go inside you when everything’s in place, so you get something out of it while you fuck Keishin senseless.

Though you’re reasonably sure that the very act itself of fucking Keishin senseless would have you curling your toes, you’re not about to deny yourself some extra stimulation.

You test the silicone lube between your fingertips. It feels weird, like the silicone-based face primer you’d used in high school, though this was less powdery and more expensive. You test on the skin above your knee, curious to see how long it takes to dry off.

While you wait, you take all of your clothes off, hanging up your blazer and throwing the rest in the hamper. You examine the harness, it’s an intimidating contraption of black nylon and silvery buckles, but that doesn’t deter you. You’re a high school science teacher, thank you very much. You explain physics to teenagers all day. This is nothing compared to that.

And actually, when you fit it onto your hips, it’s not too bad. A strap goes around each thigh, like a bikini, and one loops around your waist. You tighten the straps and peer down at the yellow, glittery penis now hanging heavily at the apex of your thighs. Huh. So this is what penises are like?

You grip the base and stroke up, grimacing at the sensation of your hand skidding over the rubber. Oh. Lube. Right. You squeeze some lube onto the dildo and start stroking again, much smoother this time. You hate how good the angle is; no wonder guys get so picky about handjobs. You fist it for a few minutes, feeling the vibrator bump against your clit. Which, considering its not even on, has no right to feel that good.

Once you get used to the way the dildo moves within its ring and how to compensate for the way the straps shift on your hips, you take the strap-on off and clean the dildo of lube. The stuff is way better than water-based lube, and you can’t wait to see it in action. You pack the strap-on and the lube back into the bag and leave it in your bedroom. Then you take a seat at your dining room table, pulling out a stack of ungraded papers instead. Time to spend some quality time with Marie Curie.

The next two days are validating, if nothing else. Keishin’s decided to go full little shit and keeps sexting you in the middle of your lectures like you’re supposed to just be able to explain oxygen theory of combustion after receiving a text detailing just how hard his cock is. You’d given him your best glare and sent a lengthy email telling him to fuck off, but to no avail. Plus, yesterday, he showed up at your office hours after practice, covered in sweat, and looking ridiculously hot, “just to say hi.” You won’t let it bother you, though. He’ll get what he deserves soon enough.

By Friday afternoon, you’re a mass of nerves and vindictive anticipation. Keishin’s been shooting you heated smirks all day. At lunch, he purposefully spills a packet soy sauce all over his hand just to seductively lick it off each of his fingers. You think it really speaks to your libido that, under the righteous indignation, you were actually pretty turned on by that. Stupid fucking Keishin, getting you hot and bothered with convenience store dumplings, of all things.

You’re practically vibrating when you open the door to your apartment at seven sharp, tamping down on your anxiety. You give Keishin your most relaxed, most expectant smile, and he responds by giving you that stupid(ly sexy) smirk and thrusting a bottle of cheap wine your way.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, bending down to peck you on the cheek. “How was your week?”

“Um,” you blink at him owlishly, thrown, “fine?”

“Really?” Keishin asks, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind himself. As soon as the lock clicks into place, he’s on you like a starfish, head tucked into your neck. “Because mine’s been torture. All I can think about is how gorgeous you look under me. Over me. Everywhere. God, you drive me nuts.”

You feel something heavy in your chest. You bring your hands up to card through his hair. “I know the feeling.” Because all jokes and exasperation aside, Keishin’s under your skin in a big way, pumping you full of something that tastes like burnt, thick sugar and smells like Valentine’s Day chocolates. You’re drowning in Keishin Ukai, and you fucking love it.

“Do you now?” Keishin stills, then his hands change directions on your back, one scooping down to you ass and the other up into your hair. “And how does it feel, Princess?”

Oh, and there’s the smarmy little imp that’s been harassing you in school. Your lips curl into a devilish smile, out of Keishin’s line of sight, and you lean your weight into his hold. “Oh, I’m not sure I can even explain it, Keishin,” you sigh woefully. “Maybe I should just show you instead.”

“I think I could get behind that,” he agrees, pulling back. “Maybe even literally.” He leers down at you, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Classy, Ukai.” You snort despite yourself. “Remind me why I ever agreed to have sex with you?”

“Is that a request or an invitation?” His hands fall to your hips, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into your hipbones, “I accept both.”

You purse your lips, whether to fight a grin or a scowl, you’re unsure. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” you suggest. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Keishin grins. “Lead the way.”

You set the wine bottle on the table and lead him by the hand to your room, hips swaying, nerves were forgotten. This is going to be so much fun. You open the door to your room, watching Keishin leap onto the bed. “Close your eyes and take off your clothes,” you order, unbuttoning your blouse. Keishin inhales sharply, eyes falling shut as he peels off his shirts and wiggles free from his pants. He’s already half-hard, boxers just beginning to tent.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Not yet, no,” you replied, opening the drawer and pulling out your bag of tricks. you slid the strap-on into place, tightening the buckles with confident, practiced accuracy. “I thought we’d try something different today. Just the thought of it has kept me wet all week.”

Keishin twitches in his boxers, fists clenching on the edge of the bed. “Now, I’ve got to know. ”

“Open your eyes.”

Keishin blinks them open, freezing when they land on the dildo. You stroke it slowly, delighting in the way a ruddy blush works up his toned chest.

“Oh,” he says, sounding faintly disappointed. “I thought….”

“You thought you could tease me all week at school and get away with it,” you supply, baring your teeth when he flinches. “Newsflash asshole, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So, what do you think of my cock, Keishin? I picked it out special, just for you.”

Keishin shudders, bowing his head in supplication. “Tell me what to do,” he says, voice gone hoarse.

“Answer the question.”

“It’s, uh,” Keishin stammers, glancing up at it, “it’s very… pretty?”

“Damn straight, it is,” you growl, striding toward the bed in long, slow steps. “What are you going to do with such a pretty cock, Keishin?” And wow, where is this coming from? You’re just supposed to fuck him and get it over with. This aggression is all-new, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. And, judging by how hard Keishin is, you assume the feeling is mutual.

“Can I suck it?” he asks meekly, eyes pointedly not meeting yours. A total display of submission. You approve. You move to stand in front of him, positioning the cock at his lips, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Keishin groans, reaching out to suck the head into his mouth. He bobs his head, working deeper down your shaft each time. You bite your lip, feeling a hot wave of arousal work down your spine. He’s beautiful like this, cheeks hollowed around the length of yellow, sparkly rubber. Your hand leaves the base to cup the back of his head, and his hand takes its place. He pulls back to suckle at the head, eyes looking up at you heatedly.

Fuck.

“So pretty,” you sigh, hand petting the dark hair on the nape of his neck. “I can see why guys like this so much.” Keishin’s eyes flutter shut, lashes long against his cheekbones. “What do you think, Keishin? Do you like sucking cock?”

Keishin moans, sucking as deep as he can go. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re desperate. His free hand moves to his own cock, pulling it out of the gape of his underwear.

You freeze, pulling his head back by the grip in his hair. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” Keishin shoots you a pleading look, but you’re already pulling out of his mouth, dildo shiny with spit. “Take them off, get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

He stumbles to do your bidding, cock dark red and angry-looking. You pick up the lube from where you’d placed it on the nightstand and kneel behind him. The lube opens with a wet click that makes Keishin jerk in surprise. You spread the lube liberally on your fingers, reaching out to trace one over his hole, teasing. Keishin mewls and pushes back, eagerly. You feel another gush of heat between your legs, pushing the finger in slowly. You work the finger in and out, curling it down to find his prostate. You find it on the fourth try, judging by the way he keens and clenches around you.

The second finger is met with a little resistance, and Keishin takes in a deep breath to relax his muscles. You kiss the small of his back in praise, scissoring the fingers once you’re able. This is a lot more intimate than you’d expected it to be, working Keishin open like this. It fills you with a strange sense of responsibility, you want to do this right, you want to make it good for him.

“Just relax, Keishin,” you whisper, as he whines and clenches around your third finger, “you can do this. We can stop anytime you want.”

Keishin heaves a great, shivering breath, but he relaxes. You work as slowly as you can, pushing against his rim more than thrusting in until he’s loose enough to take you. You squirt more lube onto your fingers, pushing them slowly into him until he takes them all the way to the knuckle. You make sure to graze his prostate every few thrusts, only content when he’s moving back to meet you thrust-for-thrust.

“M'ready,” he whispers, sounding wrecked. You pressed a kiss his hipbone in sympathy. “Want you.”

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling your lube-slick fingers out of him. You lube up your cock quickly, pressing the tip to his rim. “You sure?”

“Do it, Princess,” he says, wriggling his hips, “or I’ll start bringing bananas for lunch.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Idiot.” You hold the cock firmly in one hand, pressing it carefully into him. His breath hitches and stops, and he leans into the intrusion. You press a wet kiss to the back of his neck when the head slides in. “How’s that?” You ask, moving slowly until the base of the dildo is pressed against his ass.

“Gimme a minute,” he manages, shoulders locked with tension. You hold your position, rubbing soothingly over his back and down his flanks. After a minute, he moves, shoulders relaxing. “Go slow, okay?”

You murmur an “okay” and pull out an inch. You move back in, starting a rhythm of tiny thrusts. You only lengthen them when he grows impatient and flails a hand at you. You pull out almost all the way, then shove back in, gasping when the vibrator buzzes to life over your clit.

You begin moving in earnest, grinding into him to feel the vibrator flutter against your clit. God, it felt good. You shift to the right a little, and Keishin moans, all high and whimpery and divine. You move to hit that spot again, grinning when he chokes out another moan. You angle yourself so that all of your thrusts will meet that spot, draping yourself over his back to work a hand on his cock. He’s hard as a rock and dripping pre-cum as he twitches under your touch.

Keishin makes a broken sound and works his hips, thrusting back onto your fake cock and forward into your fist. You feel the world spin around you; this was by far the hottest thing you ever done with anyone.

And you think Keishin might agree because thirty seconds later he starts babbling:“ fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit, feel so perfect inside me, please, let me cum, tell me I can cum, please. I need you to say yes, please.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. He wants you to give him permission? Oh, fuck, yes. “Cum for me, Keishin, wanna see you cum around my cock,” you command, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. Keishin whimpers, and he’s cumming, hips spasming. You watch his hole clench around your cock and feel yet another gush of heat, this one dripping down your thighs. You continue to move inside him until he gasps and pulls away. You pull out slowly, groaning at the way his skin tugs around the length of you.

He flips onto his back as soon as he’s free, fingers racing to undo the buckles of your harness. “You didn’t come.” He huffs, tugging at the straps, “I wanna make you come. Please let me.”

You shove the strap-on away, throwing it half-way across the room. “How do you want me, Keishin?”

Keishin collapses, rubbery, on the bed. “Sit on my face, Princess.”

Fuck. You can do that. You move up until your knees bracket his head and hold yourself over his face. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers, kissing the dampness from your thighs, working up to your center.

He licks into you delicately, mopping up all of your juices. You’re hypersensitive already and gasp into his teasing touches. Keishin slides his tongue inside you, curling it upwards. You keen, grinding down onto his mouth before you can stop yourself. You move to pull off to apologize, but Keishin holds your hips down, face more blissful than you’ve ever seen it. You run your fingers through his hair, swiveling your hips over his mouth.

“Need you on my clit,” you gasp and Keishin hums (which, okay, wow) and sucks your clit between his lips, sliding two thick fingers into you. He licks and sucks at you, pushing you farther and farther closer to the edge, but it’s the gentle nibble that finally pushes you over it. You scream soundlessly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bed. His hands keep you from falling off his mouth as he licks you down from your orgasm. When you mewl in discomfort, he presses one last kiss to you clit before pulling away.

You collapse next to him, thighs sore and blissed out.

“Learn your lesson?” you asked him sleepily, eyes closing.

“No wonder none of the boys are failing physics. You’re quite the teacher,” Keishin nods, still panting slightly. “Though, I think you may have to go over it again sometime.”

You laugh and turn to look at him. He’s smiling back at you, eyes soft and happy. The heavy feeling in your chest returns, and you feel like you can’t breathe. You lean in and kiss him, ignoring the way he tastes like you. His own flavor was much sweeter. “I think we can manage that,” you whisper against his glistening lips.

He lazily tangles his hand in yours and brings it up to kiss you knuckles. “Good.”

When you wake the next morning with muscular forearms wrapped around you, you panic for a moment before remembering who it is and relax into Keishin’s embrace.

#keishin ukai x reader #keishin ukai imagines #keishin ukai scenarios

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Never Let Me Go: Part 1 of 2

Summary/Author's Notes: Confession time. I have been @stevieharrrr 's "Daily Carrillo Thirst Anon" for some time now. Y'all seemed to really want this! So, after some idea bouncing, friendly threatening, and overall caps-lock screaming at one another, this is my poker chip that I am raising Stevie in the Carrillo feels war. (This takes place in season 2... episode 4)

Pairing: Col. Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ -- SMUT, oral f!receiving, fingering, THICC CARRILLO ARMS/HANDS, language, violence, CHARACTER DEATH (I'm not kidding with this one y'all, I know it fucks me up when I read it in fic so you have been warned.) Cannon-divergence, this is a FIX IT FIC, if that makes you feel better. Gif by @el-cheung

And the questions I have for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean deliver me

MASTERLIST

Being married to Horacio had never been easy. You had lost count of the number of times you had moved, the number of houses you both had tried to make a home, and the number of times you had almost thrown in the towel. The key word being almost.

Colonel Horacio Carillo was a man's man. If anyone opened up a dictionary and looked up the word 'brave', a picture of your husband would be underneath. Along with the word reckless, cunning, ruthless, and a whole slew of other things that his superiors like to throw in his face when something didn't go according to plan. His strong resolve kept the underlying volcano of his rage carefully under wraps. And if you asked the man himself, he would attribute it entirely to you. According to him, the moment he put that ring on your finger was the moment he had a reason to not give in to his unbridled savagery, his desire to get the job done no matter what it cost. And so far, you were okay with that. You could play the dutiful wife on the sidelines, you could be his anchor, because as soon as his feet crossed the threshold of your home, he was no longer Bogetà's Atlas. He finally got to take all of Columbia off of his shoulders and fall into your waiting arms.

And that's the reason when you received the call that he would be working late for the third night in a row, you decided to do something about it. Hanging up the phone, you got dressed, pulling that small floral print dress that he loved so much over your head. You shimmied it down your ass and it just ghosted the middle of your thighs. The small pink and red flowers on top of the wispy white fabric made your skin look softer somehow, grabbable--at least that's what your husband had told you the first time you wore it out to the farmer's market. You picked up the phone again and called in his favorite take out from the small shop around the corner, balancing the receiver against your shoulder as you put on a touch of makeup and a bright pink lip stain.

By the time you arrived, the precinct was winding down for the night. A few of the regulars were standing around, and there was a general uneasiness in the air. Your high heels clicked against the laminate floor and it sounded way too loud, making you second guess your apparel.

"Mhm, what's that smell?"

Javier Peña turned from his pair of desks as you made your way across the office with the bag of takeout hanging over your forearm, your car keys jingling in your hand.

"Good evening, boys," you gave a small wave at the two DEA agents and continued on your path.

"Where's mine?" Steve Murphy, Javier's partner asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Sorry, Steve," you laughed softly, walking backwards a couple of steps. "Next time, okay?"

"Carrillo's a lucky son of a bitch!" Steve called after you and you shook your head feeling your cheeks blush. Javier mumbled something undoubtedly crude under his breath and Steve elbowed him in the ribs drawing a grunt from his partner before they both sat back to work.

Boys. That's what the two of them were and you weren't sure how Horacio put up with it all day. You raised a hand and tapped your knuckles against the glass bearing your own last name.

"Come in."

His voice made your shoulders relax. You let out a breath that you felt like you had been holding for the last three days, and walked into his office, closing the door behind you.

Colonel Carrillo looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and his eyes widened. Clearly expecting literally anyone but you to walk through his office door and it was humorous just how quickly his stoic persona melted in front of your eyes. He stood up abruptly, taking off his glasses and saying softly, "Mi amor?"

"Hey," you said, setting the to-go bag on a clear spot of his desk. "I thought you might be hungry."

"You didn't have to do this," he said, still looking surprised that you were actually standing in front of him. He stopped down as you offered your cheek to him and he gave it a small peck.

"I know."

"Ernesto's?" He raised an eyebrow and looked into the bag, inhaling deeply.

"Mhm," you nodded, reaching in and taking out the styrofoam boxes one at a time.

Carrillo rubbed his chin, looking you over slowly before shaking his head with a grin. "Thank you." He walked around the desk slowly, twisting the string on the blinds to his office window until they closed fully. You didn't look up from your task of setting out dinner until you heard the firm 'click' of the lock on the door.

"Horacio?" You asked over your shoulder as he rubbed his palms together and walked back over to you.

"So we won't be bothered," he said simply with a shrug and you nodded.

"When is the last time you ate?" You asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"I had coffee this morning." He admitted rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You knew you were the only one that ever got to see that flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, like he had somehow disappointed you. He didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of his actions, but your opinion was always held in his highest regard.

"Coffee is not a food group. How many times do I have to tell you that?" You said, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

"Of course it is. Because you know what I'm like without it." He chuckled.

"Oh, I absolutely do," you laughed. "A bear in a uniform--"

Your hands paused on the food as you felt his large arms slide around your waist, his tender lips finding their way to the base of your neck. Was he trying to distract you from your current annoyance at his poor excuse for nutrition? Maybe. Was it working? Also maybe.

"I haven't seen this dress in awhile," he mumbled against your skin, removing one of his arms to pull your hair to the side and out of his way. He kissed his way up your neck then back down to your shoulder, soft feather light touches that made your eyes close for a brief second.

"You haven't been home in awhile." It was meant as a joke, a harmless jest, but your smile fell as you felt him tense behind you. You turned in his arms slowly, putting both hands on his broad chest. "I didn't mean it like that." You whispered, fingers playing along the collar of his army green button up. Your fingers traced the path against the embroidered name badge over his heart and you wished you hadn't said anything. The moments you did get together lately were so brief that any that weren't dedicated to loving one another felt like time wasted.

He didn't want to be gone all of the time. He made sure you knew that. The war on Escobar wouldn't wait just because one man's wife was missing him. There were plenty of men who never returned home. Escobar had left many widows in the wake of his cocaine empire and every time the man in front of you walked through the door and into your arms you thanked your lucky stars. You didn't believe in much, but you thanked every deity that might have been listening for keeping him safe.

"I know," he said, trying to give you a smile but unable to keep the sadness off of the edges.

"Come on," you said, nodding to the food. "It's gonna get cold."

"Not yet."

He kept his arms firmly planted around your waist, his hands slipping lower to take two huge handfuls of your ass. The movement made the dress lift slightly, the material bunching in his grip. You gave him a surprised look and he bit his lip, playfully waggling his eyebrows at you. It made you giggle. God, how you missed him when he wasn't home. This playful, boyish side of him that made you walk on air. The side of him that made it seem like you both were young and in love and didn't live in a war torn country.

"I thought you were hungry?" You asked as he continued his way up your neck to the shell of your ear.

"I am." He worked his way back down, kissing the tops of your breasts as he walked you a step backwards against his desk. "But not for take out."

"Even Ernesto's?" You gave a mock gasp of shock and smiled, letting your fingers card through his hair as he pulled the scoop neck of your dress down and squeezed your breast in his large hand. "I thought it was your favorite!"

"There's something I like more," he said, looking up at you with dark brown eyes, refusing to lift his lips from the mound of your breasts. It made the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Here?" You asked and as a response he reached around you and shoved a stack of files off of his desk and to the ground with a loud clunk.

"Yes. Here." His words were firm and he shoved a few books off of the desk to join the papers on the floor. He gripped your waist and picked you up to sit you on the edge of his desk, nudging your thighs open with his knee and standing between them. "Think you can be quiet, dulzura?"

"You know the answer to that," you giggled again, cupping his face in both of your hands as he closed in on you. You were not a quiet lover and he often told you it was one of his favorite things. The way you said his name as he brought you through your orgasm was his most favorite song and he liked when it was turned up loud.

You reached for the front of his dark slacks, palming the bulge at the front of his pants and he gripped your wrist with a shake of his head. "Not yet," he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it before putting it back on the desk. He put his hands up the dress and gripped your underwear, sliding them over your hips and down your legs. The lace got tangled on the heel of your pump and you kicked them off with a shake of your foot.

"Kiss me again," you demanded with a shaky breath and he happily obliged.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as one arm held you tightly and his other hand went up your dress. His thick fingers pressed against your labia and you moaned into his mouth as he began to run them up and down, slowly spreading your wetness. He pressed your clit and you jolted, it was too much too quickly and you gripped his neck.

"Mi amor?" He asked and when you hummed in response he continued. "Lift your dress."

You did as you were told. With excited hands and a hammering heart, he helped you pull the soft material up over your thighs, letting it bunch around your waist as he went to his knees in front of you. Those dark, chocolate colored eyes that you loved with all of your heart never strayed from your own as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. He let out a small noise of content as you ran your fingers through his hair and the noise carried over as he pressed his mouth to your aching cunt. With a gasp and your head thrown back, your hair cascading down your back, your husband would have said that you looked like a vision--if his mouth wasn't already preoccupied.

Carrillo's hands slid around each of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh and keeping them wide open for his broad shoulders to sit comfortably in the middle. His tongue slipped through your wet pussy like it had a hundred times before, but it still made you moan his name softly to the empty office around you. Your husband may have been a man of few words, but he liked to say he used his mouth for much more precious things.

He sucked each of your folds separately, a soft pop sound coming each time he moved to the next spot. When he finally closed his mouth around your clit, you gasped sharply and grabbed his hand that was resting on top of your thigh and squeezed it.

"There?" He mumbled from between your legs and you nodded.

"There. Right there."

"Right there. Mhmm, I see," he teased your desperation but continued to oblige your request. He worked his jaw against you in such a way that you imagined he was coating his face with your juices like you were the most delicious of fruits. The wonderfully crude image made your cunt twitch and he groaned.

He kept a firm grip on your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he continued to suck your clit. You wanted so much more right now. You wanted his cock inside of you. You wanted his hand around your neck. You wanted him to flip you over and take your ass. Suddenly you wished more than anything that the two of you were home so you didn't have to pick what you wanted most, you just had to pick which one you wanted first.

"Horacio," you moaned his name, rocking your hips forward gently against his chin. You bit your lip and closed your eyes, the feeling of how well he knew your body started to overwhelm you. In the years you had been together he had taken so much time memorizing every spot that made you sigh, every place that made you break out in goosebumps, and every series of movements that had you falling apart in his arms.

He loved you fully, completely, and unconditionally.

The orgasm he brought you with his mouth took you from your thoughts as you clenched your thighs around his head suddenly. "I'm cuming!" You gasped desperately just before you felt the rush of heat flood your core down through your legs. It made you bend forward over him and open your eyes, moaning loudly as you saw him looking up at you, watching you orgasm in his hands as his mouth continued to ravage your aching cunt.

"Come on, baby," he squeezed your hand, feeling you clench again against his mouth and it was too much.

"Stop, stop," you said with a shaky voice to match your quivering legs. You grabbed two fistfuls of his button up and pulled, making him get to his feet and slam his mouth against yours.

He grunted against your lips as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, greedily tasting your own wetness on him. He cursed quietly in Spanish as you pulled his shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his pants. Your hands went to his belt and you slowed down, suddenly remembering you were in the precinct.

"Do--" you swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally as you spoke against his face. "Do you have time?"

"For you? Siempre," he slid his fingers in your hair at your temple and cradled the back of your head. "Siempre, mi amor."

Always.

You blushed a little, your fingers starting to unbutton his shirt as he kissed you gently and kept hold of your hair. With each button your heart raced faster, you smiled against his lips as he slipped his tongue back inside your mouth, expertly colliding it with your own. His kisses always felt like they were going to devour you from the inside out. He kissed with such an intensity that you knew from the first time he pressed his mouth to yours all those years ago you would willingly allow him to consume you.

You clenched your thighs around his waist and let your heels drop to the floor behind him. He ran his hand down the curve of your ass and hitched your leg further up on his hip, dipping you down to lay on his desk. He grinned down at you and started to open his mouth to say something but was stopped short by a hurried knock against the glass.

"Carrillo!" Javier called from the other side of the office door.

"Go away," he returned, throwing his voice in the direction of the door, leaning down to kiss your breasts.

"Messina needs us. We got a hit off of the wire taps--it could be Escobar." There was a pause as he tried the door but it was still locked. "We gotta go!"

Carrillo's shoulders fell slightly and ran a hand over his face before helping you sit up. "Coming!" He helped you pull your dress over your breasts and started buttoning his shirt back up. "Lo siento, mi amor." He said quietly and you shook your head.

"It's okay." You bit your lip as you watched him tuck his shirt back into his pants and he hissed softly. "Sorry about that," you nodded towards the bulge against his zipper as he did his belt.

He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek, bending over to pick up your thong and held it out to you in offering. "I'm not. It'll give me something to look forward to when this search comes up empty like all of the others."

You took your underwear from him and smiled as you slipped off of his desk and put them back on. "I take it I should put the food in the fridge?"

He nodded and put his hands on his hips as he watched you fondly finish redressing. "I'll be home late."

You cupped his face giving his cheek a gentle pat and a nod. "And I'll be asleep." You smiled as best you could but you knew he could see the twinge of sadness in the corners of your mouth. The number of times he crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning far outweighed the number of times the two of you got to go to bed at the same time.

Carrillo grabbed your hand before you could turn away and kissed your knuckles, squeezing your hand as tightly as he could without hurting you. As he walked to the door and unlocked it, he looked over his shoulder and said seriously, "I love you."

"I love you, too," you barely managed to get out before he unlocked the door and he and Javier walked briskly down the hall, leaving you to tidy up and head home.

When the knock at your front door came, you were already in bed and sound asleep. The oscillating fan of your bedroom was breathing a cool breeze across your body as you snuggled deeper into the comforter. The bed hugged you like it knew you better than anyone else in the world, and apart from your husband, it probably did. The knock came again and you groaned because it meant that you hadn't been dreaming about the first one.

You leaned up and pushed your hair to the side, looking at the side table that held your alarm clock and a lamp. "Fuck," you mumbled as bright red numbers told you it was almost three in the morning. Three AM? Where the hell was Horacio? You touched his side of the bed as if to confirm what your eyes were already telling you--he still hadn't come home.

The knock came again.

"Shit," you cursed again, turning on the lamp and opening the drawer to grab the hand gun that you knew was there.

The 9mm felt cool in the palm of your hand as you checked the magazine for ammo before slamming it into place and pulling the cartridge back to slide a single bullet down the chamber. You grabbed your robe and wrapped it around your shoulders, tying it tightly and hurrying across the bedroom barefoot. You saw the flashing red and blue lights outside the front room window as they ran along the walls of your home, chasing each other over and over, casting shadows on the entire room. The fact that there were no sirens paired with them made you feel uneasy--that was never a good sign.

The knock came again, this time it was apparent that whoever it was was pounding their fist against the wooden paneling of the door. Leaning up on your tip-toes you looked out the peephole and recognized the somber face of Javier Peña. You hurried and put the gun on the table in the mudroom before flinging open the front door and asking him accusingly.

"Javi?? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Your voice sounded foreign even to you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your eyes frantically searched the two police cars behind him for your husband.

"(Y/n)..." Javier said quietly as he leaned against your door frame, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket.

"What's wrong?" You said as he shifted uncomfortably on your doorstep. In the back of your mind you already knew what he was about to tell you, but you wanted him to say it. If he didn't say the words out loud then they would never become real. The news he was about to give you was a stone, and unless he threw it, it would never be allowed to shatter your entire existence.

"There's been an accident." He said flatly, forcing himself to look you in the eyes. You glanced over his shoulder and saw Steve leaning against the hood of the Jeep with his arms crossed, looking at the ground. The other officers in uniform wouldn't look at you either and you knew your next question was a foolish one.

"Is he hurt?" You asked in a meek voice. Hurt you could handle. Hurt you could work with. But you knew before you even opened the door tonight that hoping that he was only hurt was a faulicy that your brain entertained purely to keep you from fainting on the hardwood floor.

"(Y/n)," Javier tried again, moving his arms from the door frame as he started to put his hands on your shoulders.

"I need to see him," you blurted out as Javi's hands clasped your biceps. You tried to shove him off. If he touched you, it was over. If he held you it was all over. If Horacio Carrillo was alive then he would have already told you to get dressed and get in the car. No, comfort meant trying to diffuse the ticking time bomb that was a woman about to learn that she was a widow.

"I can't--" Javier tried and you jerked your arms out of his grasp.

"Take me to him, Javi. Let me see him!"

"I can't do that. There's nothing--"

"Shut up! Don't you dare--" you raised your hands and he was faster than you and grabbed both of your wrists, holding them to his chest. "Don't you fucking dare! Where is he? Where's my husband--"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as you finally gave in.

He kept his hands on your arms as your knees buckled out from under you and you slowly sank to the concrete stoop. Javi followed you down, pulling you against his leather jacket and letting you scream against his chest. You would have screamed all night if your vocal cords would have allowed it. But it wasn't long before the screaming turned to sobs and the sobbing turned to silent gasps as your body couldn't seem to figure out the appropriate noise to make to express your anguish.

You felt his voice against your hair as he spoke Spanish softly in your ear. Only catching half of it, you nodded helplessly as he told you it had been a quick death, that it was no secret around the office how deeply Horacio loved you, and other forms of condolence that didn't do a damn thing to stop the meticulous tearing of your heart within your chest.

He was gone. Not even twelve hours ago he had been in your hands, against your skin, warm and alive and looking at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. And now...nothing. You felt Javi's hand in your hair as you heard Steve's boots approaching the both of you quietly and respectfully. They were trying. They had been saddled with the task of telling you because they were friends of the Colonel. But as the tears started up again and you felt Javi's arms tighten around your shoulders, you desperately wished they belonged to someone else.

Permanent Tag List: @stevieharrrr @zeldasayer @cosmicbug379 @winters-buck @rae-gar-targaryen @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor Please let me know if you want to be added to my Permanent Tag list or of I tagged you by mistake. I have done a shit job of keeping track of the Permanent list and I am trying to fix that. ❤️

#narcos #Horacio Carrillo #colonel carrillo #Carrillo x reader #narcos fic #i promise its gonna be okay #Horacio Carrillo x reader

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

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Ensnared

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! Truth time, I haven’t been feeling very inspired. My little empathetic soul has really struggled with all the turmoil in the world and then my uncle passed away. So, it’s been a struggle to write anything, much less focus on the bigger works I’ve got in progress. So, forgive me my delayed posting, and enjoy this little One Hour drabble challenge my friend @sammy-jo1977 and I decided to goof off with! Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Reader (genderless)

Summary/ Prompt: @sammy-jo1977 and I pulled a prompt from Pinterest, “Imagine being unexpectedly cornered by your favorite character. They tilt your chin up to make you meet their intense gaze as they press forward against you, lean in so close you can feel their hot breath on your ear, and purr, “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” Warnings: Intensity, chase/ hunt vibes, implied smut

You were caught. You knew it and still you chafed against the idea. Giving in wasn’t really in your nature, surrender a foreign concept.

How long have you been on the run now? Days, weeks, months? It was a blur that was ending abruptly as you heard the heavy footfalls draw nearer to your hiding place.

No words were spoken. There was no need. He could almost smell the heady mixture of fear and exhilaration, tangy like overripe fruit, that rolled off of you. It was a scent he’d been following for too long. Now it was so close. Just behind the flotsam and jetsam of broken down boxes and discarded wood, huddled and hidden, you were crouched like an over tight spring.

Set to snap, dagger in hand, panting, you waited for the inevitable confrontation. Seconds dragged as you strained to hear your approaching hunter, each sound more important than the last as you judged the distance and direction of your hunter. Oh, to have his patience. It was a snap decision that brought you to this place, this transitional, untethered existence. If you hadn’t run who knew where you’d be? Rest assured it would not be in the dank smelling basement of this run down warehouse. He stopped, treads crunching against the dusty concrete, ears straining. Your breath was small little puffs of vapor, rhythmic and raw, and if he focused just right they would lead him right to you. Bending your knee, you adjusted your stance, sweaty palm tightening on the well worn handle of your blade. It was enough movement for him to swing his dark eyes your way, narrowing in on your location, outting yourself for the last time.

Instinct made you jump just as the flimsy barrier hiding you was ripped away. You swung, knife flashing in the low light, catching the soft skin of his bicep. His answering grip on your left hand, twisting it cruelly, was enough to make you cry out. Driving you hard into the brick wall behind you, his metal hand wrapped around your throat, you clawed at him, struggling to free yourself. Your eyes widened as he pressed the air from your windpipe, exerting control over you, relishing the way you fought against him. Dropping you to the floor, his leather clad hips pressed against your own, the Winter Soldier leaned close, sniffing at your sweat soaked skin. Crowded by him, his larger than life presence looming over you in the gloom, you sense his hot breath against your neck. A hand, his hand, ghosts over your ribs, the heat of his touch scorching you through the second skin of your shirt.

Hitching in your throat, your breath died as his fingers curled under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. Intense and focused, you watched as he smiled darkly, his gaze locked with your own. In that voice, the one that made your insides vibrate, Bucky husked into the shell of your ear, “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” You whimper. It’s over. He’s won. And you feel that surrendering feeling, the caving in, as his hand holds you still and his tongue tastes your lips. Whatever you were running from is forgotten as familiar palms lift your legs to straddle his pelvis, your arms curling behind his strong neck. Heavy and hard, The Winter Soldier claims you with his mouth, hungry and hot. With a clunk you hear your dagger drop, forgotten, as you melt into the man in front of you. How long had it been? Days, weeks, months? How had you lived without his touch? His taste? He felt the moment you gave in, relishing it. You were his. And he was never going to let you go again.

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My minxes: @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @thenatallie @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @nonsensicalobsessions @shxdowofdarkness @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @iamverity @lokislittlecorner @jamielea81 @capcapcapsicle @scrumptious-finicky-illusion

#one hour challenge #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier smut #marvel smut #marvel drabble #mcu smut #mcu drabble

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

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creacherkeeper · 4 years

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I've loved both of your spop fics so much holy shit. That's the good character angst. For a potential prompt: I'd like to see how Catra might feel about Scorpia now having the power of the black garnet. I just always think that red lightning looks awfully familiar...

absolutely god tier prompt, anon. legit screamed when i read it :*

(she ra s5 spoilers)

read on ao3

Catra kept her claws out and dug into her palms the whole time she crept through the wreckage of the Fright Zone with Scorpia at her side. She didn’t know why Adora and Perfuma had insisted the two of them teamed up to dredge the old base for—what, exactly? Tech, supplies—stars forbid, people? Catra thought it was better to raze the place to the ground and let Scorpia start her kingdom on fresh soil.

But she also thought that wasn’t the real reason they were here. Adora needed closure. Scorpia needed closure. And, according to Perfuma, she and Scorpia really needed to talk some things out.

That was true. They needed to. Did she want to? Absolutely not. Was she going to? Maybe. Eventually. Not here, now. She wasn’t … (ready? stable? brave?)

She’d apologized, briefly, in the warm glow of the aftermath. She knew, despite the forgiveness, that it wasn’t enough. There was so much left between them. Catra knew those words weren’t enough to make up for all she’d done.

“Well, gosh,” Scorpia was saying. Catra’s ears swiveled as she forced herself out of her own thoughts. “I don’t really remember what my kingdom was like before the Horde came in. I was raised in the Horde, you know? I don’t know how to rule a kingdom, much less build one from scratch.”

Catra hummed.

They continued to wander, absently picking through the rubble.

“All the other princesses have, like, their own thing, you know? I’m not really sure what my thing is.”

“An annoying overabundance of sincerity,” Catra grumbled.

Oh. That was mean, right? She was trying to do better, but being on this ‘mission’ with the other woman had a ball of anxiety humming sharply in her chest, desperate to crawl out as scathing remarks and sarcasm.

Yeah. That was mean. She needed to do better, at least for Scorpia’s sake.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but Scorpia cut her off.

“Hmm. I think that’s more Perfuma’s thing.” She blushed at the mention of the flower princess, seemingly no hard feelings about Catra’s comment. “Not that I find it annoying.”

The blush did something weird to Catra’s stomach. Which was—like, bad, right? It wasn’t- Okay she- She was maybe a little jealous. Which was totally bad and stupid. She’d had her chance with Scorpia, and she’d made a royal mess of that. It wasn’t fair at all that Scorpia being happy with someone else would make her feel like this. Plus, she was happy with Adora. Happier than she’d ever been. Adora was her soulmate, if such a thing existed.

Still.

The horrible, selfish little creature inside her was chanting mine mine mine mine and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

She looked away, ears twisting.

Scorpia’s boots clunked on the floor as they walked. Catra thought she should probably say something affirming about, she didn’t know, Scorpia or the future of her kingdom or her relationship with Perfuma. But her throat was tight with shame. There was so much she should say. She didn’t know where to start.

Were they still friends?

Catra didn’t know if they were even still friends.

(she wanted them to be. desperately, she did)

“Scorpia—”

The other woman looked at her, expectant.

Her claws dug in.

Her eyes dropped.

“Maybe we should head back.”

(she was such a fucking coward)

“Yeah,” Scorpia said, obvious disappointment tinting her voice. “Yeah, I don’t think there’s much left here.”

Catra sighed as they turned to walk back towards the entrance, where they said they’d meet back after their missions were done. The metallic, somewhat rotten smell of the Fright Zone was getting to her. She’d gotten used to the clean and perfumey smell of Bright Moon. The stale smell of their ship. The Fright Zone’s stench was just bringing up memories.

So focused on walking through the rubble, lost in her thoughts, she didn’t register the creak and the crack until it was too late.

“Watch out!”

Her tail puffed as she startled, only just taking in the piece of ceiling that had started to fall towards her as Scorpia’s shout reached her ears.

And then the flash. Red, scattered, jumping lightning. The sound of the electricity crackling through the air.

Her wide eyes froze on the red electric as it connected with the rubble and exploded it into dust. She covered her head as it rained down on her hair and shoulders.

Her body shook. Her heart pounded, loud and terrified, behind her ribs.

Her face was shocked still into a wide, wet-eyed stare.

Her legs trembled. She couldn’t breathe.

“Whoa, that was a close one! You okay?”

Hot, molten anger flooded her. She didn’t mean for it to. She didn’t want it. But it stopped the tears from flooding her eyes and let her breathe again.

“Watch where you’re aiming! You almost hit me!”

(she almost hit me she almost hit me again she almost shocked me she)

“Sorry!” Scorpia yelped. “It just- It was going to fall on you, and—”

“I could’ve dodged it! You didn’t have to shoot lightning at me!”

Scorpia stared at her as Catra’s form trembled, hands curled to fists and teeth bared in a snarl.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpia said, quiet.

Catra knew she was being ridiculous. But the part of her that wanted to calm down, that wanted to apologize for her outburst and explain herself, was being smothered under the waves of panicked fear that kept her anger flowing.

She hated that she kept talking. She hated it, truly.

“I bet you want to hit me, don’t you? You got a taste for it when you were under his influence—oh, yeah, if you don’t remember, you zapped me real good then, sent me flying about a thousand yards—and you’re still angry at me for everything. You’re still angry and you want to hit me. You missed the others, but you shocked me. Well? Say it!”

She was expecting Scorpia to be hurt, which is what the twisted little anger monster in her chest wanted. If Scorpia was hurt, then Catra wasn’t; she had the upper hand. It was all very logical and rational, you see, not fueled at all by the terrified child inside her. The terrified little child who’d never gotten to yell at Shadow Weaver and all that the Black Garnet’s power had done to her then.

But Scorpia didn’t look hurt. She looked … well, sad, a little. But more than that—calculating. Like she was trying to figure something out.

Her expression smoothed.

Slowly, she sat on the dusty metal floor, pincers raised by her head.

“What are you doing?” Catra asked, chest heaving. Her eyes darted between the raised pincers. “Y-Yell at me, fight back, do something!”

Scorpia was silent.

And in the silence, in the face of the calm, Catra unraveled.

“Stop,” she croaked, her anger snuffing and tears finally leaking from her eyes. Her ears flattened against her head. She sunk to the floor. “You’re not supposed to … You’re not supposed to do that.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Scorpia asked, quiet.

“I don’t know.” She pulled her knees to her chest, tail curling around herself. “Be mad at me.”

“Shock you?”

Catra’s shoulders trembled.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to remind you of—”

Catra’s face disappeared behind her knees.

She could hear Scorpia’s even, measured breaths.

“I wouldn’t do that to someone I care about. And I’m sorry it happened when I wasn’t in control.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What?”

“That you care about me.”

There was a pause.

“It’s true, though.”

Catra wheezed a hiss, digging her claws into her legs. “It shouldn’t be. Not after … Not after everything I did to you.”

“… Maybe,” Scorpia said after a moment. “You did some pretty bad shit.”

A self-deprecating laugh squeezed from her chest.

“But I don’t think I’m ever going to stop caring about you, wildcat.”

The laugh turned a little more desperate, something like a sob. It took a minute for the fight to leave her chest, for her to curl fully onto her knees and, for a moment, sit in the shame. She finally raised her head, wiping tears off her cheeks as she attempted to plaster some sort of smile on her face.

“I’m glad you have Perfuma now,” she said, genuine despite her racing heart and tear-clogged throat. “I was never good enough for you.”

A twitch of a smile pulled at Scorpia’s lips, but even that looked sad. “You never gave yourself the chance to be.”

They stared at each other for a moment, tears streaming down Catra’s face. Slowly, Scorpia’s pincers fell to resettle in her lap.

Catra looked down.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. That was … That was really shitty. I just wasn’t expecting it, and I got scared.”

“Thank you,” Scorpia said. “For my part, I didn’t think how that would look to you.”

Catra wiped at her cheek with the heel of her hand.

“How do you … do that?”

Scorpia’s brows drew as Catra glanced back up at her. “Do what?”

“Just be … I don’t know. So good about stuff. So nice. It’s so hard for me.”

“Practice, mostly.”

Now Catra’s eyebrows were drawing. “What do you mean?”

Scorpia shrugged, turning her gaze to look around the crumpling hallway. “I grew up in the Horde, too. Do you think it came easy to me? You think I got nice by accident?”

“I don’t know.” Catra unfurled a little, resting her chin on her knee. “I kind of assumed you’ve always been like this.”

Scorpia snorted, and Catra was surprised by the noise.

“Nah. Frankly, I used to be a bit of a dick.”

“That … really surprises me.”

“It surprises most people, for some reason.” She looked down to her lap, gently pinching the fabric of her pants. “A lot of people seem to mistake kindness for innocence, naivety. Being kind takes work, you know. It’s a skill, like anything else. You have to practice. You’ll get there in time, wildcat.”

Catra’s ears flicked and flattened.

“I’m not sure I will,” she muttered, glancing away. “Not like you. What, uh … What made you change?”

She sighed, shrugging a little. “I didn’t consider leaving the Horde for a long time. Not until …”

Not until me, Catra thought.

“But at some point I realized that, well … the Horde kind of sucked. But it was my home. My family. My—unfortunate—heritage. I’m loyal; it can be a character flaw. I didn’t want to leave. But I realized that while the Horde sucked, I didn’t have to. When I’d get all … snippy, if you’ll pardon it … it, well, hurt people. My pain was feeding into this whole system, this loop of unhappy people, who were hurt and upset, and just took it out on each other, passed it to the next person. It’s a circle. Self-fulfilling something or other.”

She paused, waiting until Catra caught her eye.

“At some point,” she said, “you have to be strong enough to stop it.”

Catra shrunk, looking away. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are, wildcat. I know you are.” She paused. Nerves skittered across Catra’s chest. “But you have a lot to learn. It’s hard to come to grips with, but kindness is hard. It takes strength and discipline. It takes vulnerability, which is scary. But choosing to be kind is one of the bravest things you can do. The day I chose to be different changed my life. And there’s been a lot of rocky moments, but I’m better for it, and I’m never looking back.”

“Scorpia …” Catra gripped her knees, taking a breath before she looked up at her. Scorpia looked back, patient. Catra swallowed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the person you needed me to be. I’m sorry I … that I was a part of the loop.”

Scorpia’s expression softened. “I appreciate that, wildcat.”

“I want to change,” she told her. “Both for the people around me, so I’m- so I’m not just a part of the circle, but also …” She sighed. “I can’t keep doing this. Living like this is going to kill me.”

“I think it’s been killing you for a while.” Catra’s eyes darted up, and Scorpia smiled at her, soft. “But it’s really brave of you to admit that.”

Catra felt her face flush. “Scorpia, I—” Her grip tightened. “I love you. And- And I’m sorry it wasn’t in the way you wanted, but- but I do, and I just had to say it. So. There.”

Scorpia’s smile went a little dopey, warm and pleased. “You too,” she said. “And it’s okay.”

Catra nodded quickly, looking away. Her face was still flushed; she was sure she was beet red. But her tail was curling and flicking slowly, unable to contain the pleased motion.

“I have a lot to make up for,” she mumbled. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world, wildcat. I’ll be here.”

She nodded again. “Should we- The others are probably meeting back up now.”

They rose, and as they walked, Scorpia let her arm rest over Catra’s shoulders. Against the larger woman, Catra felt warm and safe.

That little, possessive part of her told her to rub against the larger woman’s chest, to mark herself all over and say mine mine mine mine … But that wasn’t true. Scorpia wasn’t hers, and that was okay. She wasn’t Perfuma’s, either. Scorpia only belonged to herself, and that was part of what Catra admired so dearly.

She stamped down the urge and merely walked, her own arm around Scorpia’s waist. Her tail flicked behind them.

Scorpia wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t weak or naive. Her kindness was her strength, and the fact that she shared some of that with Catra, that she loved her, despite everything …

Barely audible, the rumble of her purr.

She squeezed closer.

#still taking prompts!!#she ra #she ra spoilers #spop #spop spoilers #catra #scorpia #she ra fic #spop fic #Anonymous

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years

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Something borrowed, Something blue... (Part 1 - Bakery!AU)

—-

She wasn’t sure what he would think when he saw it, but she hoped he wouldn’t be upset. It had just screamed at her the moment she stumbled across it, and she knew exactly where it should go. Starting just above her knee and winding its way around her thigh to her hip bone, the stencil marks looked thick and jagged compared to the fine lines and dots it would eventually form into.

“Man, this is goin’ to be a hell of a night for me isn’t it?” The grumbled whine from the other brought a smile on her lips as Jo looked over her shoulder at the other blond.

Rolling her eyes, Jo let out a small laugh as she watched Ash massage his hands with a scowl. “Oh yeah, because this is goin’ to be a walk in the park for me too.”

“Bitch, please, you know you love it when I stick it to you; clearly you’re goin’ to be having a blast.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to get the practice and images for your portfolio - seems like a good day for you too.”

“Only cause I get you all bare legged around me for the night, chickadee.” Ash’s smile twisted into a friendly leer at that, though both of them laughed in unison after a moment. Giving the meat of her thigh a friendly tap, the other reached across her leg to flick the switch on the machine on before he turned his gaze back to her leg, joking look gone and replaced with the serious look she knew was his focussed face. Ash had left the building and Dr Badass, #1 tattoo artist on the West Coast, was in.

Rolling back so she was in the right position as the man started to press the needle into her skin with the high pitched buzzing beginning to fill the air.

Jo lay her head back and almost dozed off as the man’s hands and needle worked over the next seven hours. Occasionally they would pause to allow either of them to stretch, go to the bathroom or get a drink as the hours stretched on.

It was almost midnight before the artist finally put down his gun and wiped over her bare skin with the cleaning pad. Jo’s thigh and hip was aching, and Ash made his own groans of pain as he cracked his knuckles.

“Hello?” The voice came calling from the adjoining bakery, and Jo quickly moved to cover her bare bottom half with the blanket she’d been using to stay warm throughout.

“In here, my man.” Ash called back, peeling off his gloves and starting the steps to pack away his machine and the various ink pots he’d used for the design that night. “Bloody pushy bitch made me do this thing in one freaking sitting.”

“This that secret tattoo I’ve heard nothing about?” The question came as the dark haired man made his way into the tattoo parlor. Moving his way across to the tattoo bed, Jo found herself grinning widely into the kiss he delivered along with the plastic bag of Chinese takeout for the pair.

Jo nodded as she ran her hand through his hair and shifted in her spot to stretch out her leg muscles.

“That’d be it, Joey just showed up one day with this little design and begged me to tag her with it-” Ash replied as he rolled across the few feet of space between the pair and his work station, spinning about and holding out a paper to the other man. “Pretty beautiful piece'a work to get to play with. Going to look mint on Instagram and my portfolio. Just make sure you angle your ass enough when I take the photo, aye darlin’?”

Jo shifted awkwardly as her boyfriend took the design from the other, before turning to give her childhood friend access to apply the necessary serum and then bandage to her hip and thigh.

“Where…where did you get this?” Jack’s voice shook slightly as he looked at the page, and Jo could see the tattoo artist freeze before spinning and sliding his way through the door into the bakery without a word. If she’d been able to see his face, she knew he would have been biting down on his knuckle to avoid speaking. “Jo? Did you-?”

“Find a real beautiful piece in one of your old folders and talked Ash into expanding from American traditional and Japanese to do some fine-line grey work? Yep, yes I did.”

Jo looked up through her hair at the other, not sure what the almost vacant and frozen look on his face meant. They’d been dating for two years, sure, but she hadn’t seen that look since the University mixer eight months ago when he’d frozen up at some question from some patron about when he was doing another exhibit or something. She did remember the silence and the cold responses she had gotten from him until they got home when she’d said he was doing her wall again at the patron’s insistence about where his next work was being displayed. Jo bit her lip hoping that she wouldn’t get the same cold response when he saw her leg.

“You found my sketches? And thought to get one..” Jack’s face was pulled into a closed off frown, brows creased only slightly and the rest of his face blank except for the swirl of colour from light to dark in his eyes she knew came from him focussing really hard on what to say next. “You got my artwork put on you without asking me?”

“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” She mumbled the words out, arms crossing under her chest as she looked away from him. Pushing to her feet and letting the blanket drop down, the blonde moved towards her folded pair of sweatpants and underwear to get dressed again now the bandages were in place without looking back at him. “I’ve always wanted a fine line styled one, and something about that just… Spoke to me. Said ‘Jo, I need to be on your body’ or something like that.”

Once she’d gotten her underwear back on, she jumped at the hand on her unbandaged hip as she span to look up at him. His eyes were dark blue - moody, pensive, aroused or quietly angry; but she couldn’t quite tell which one.

“Show me.” The growled words made her want to smirk but she fought it down - aroused or angry it was then - before she peeled the edge of her bandage off to display the design in its entirety, the band of her underwear pulled high over the very top of her hip bone.

Ash had done an amazing job, like always.

While her rib tattoos were highly saturated in their coloring with vibrant depths in the primary colours of the American Traditional style, and their thick borders and shading added contrast and depth that she’d loved and found her own artist appreciated regularly with his fingertips or lips, this design was the complete opposite.

Shades of grey, from inky black depths to almost nonexistent white highlights that accentuated the skin gaps of the petals, we’re all that made up the design. The thin but deliberate lines flowed together, dots and fading shading used in equal measure to add depths to the folds and turns of the design. The flowers spread and bloomed across her thigh and hip, her own skin filling in the petals like they were blooming from inside her rather than pressed upon her surface. It had been a simple sketch of a group of flowers, from the date in the bottom corner Jo figured sometime before whatever fame he had achieved in the art world from her Googling of him before they’d begun dating, but there had been a soul and life in them. And with Ash’s deft hand and skill, they seemed to grow even more organically from her skin than the paper as if they had always been there. Just below the surface.

His hand twitched towards her, and his finger hovered just above her raised skin as if he was following the lines of his own work like he remembered it, before he reached to smooth the bandage back into place at the clunking sound of the spinning chair drawing nearer to return.

“So, what do you think? Something I should expand more into?” The blond man asked as he span his way back into the parlor, three plates from the bakery and several utensils in his hand as he rolled into sight.

The dating pair nodded, Jo pulling her sweatpants on while Jack rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You did a great job, Ash, and I’ll make sure to wear my cutest thong when the swelling goes down for your photo.” The blonde quipped back, winking across at her friend.

“You are an angel of the highest order, mamacitta, I’ll see about getting you included when Inked is coming for that photoshoot next month.” Ash replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her cheek with a grin before he moved to start dishing out the Kung Pao Chicken and fried rice on his plate.

“Photoshoot?”

“Ash is gettin’ featured in some bigshot magazine again. They like to get examples of old work and new work of his for it to give a real, longterm work.” Jo replied, piling her and the other’s plate high with dinner and stuffing a prawn cracker in her mouth. Biting down and letting the cracker disolve on her tongue, she found herself smiling at the appreciative look from the other as he sat down on the tattoo bench beside her. “I already agreed to getting my sides photographed as part of his older work-”

“And now you get to be part of my new work too.” The mulleted artist smirked, slurping up one of the Singapore noodles straight from the container. “It’ll be on the 15th, so make sure you get someone in to fill that time for you.”

Jo nodded her head, not really thinking on it as she began to wolf down her own meal. Tattooing, especially for that long, always made her ravenous as Ash had a strict no-eating policy when he was working. Something about it distracting him from the ‘art’, but she thought it was more that he just got jealous she could stuff her face and he couldn’t without having to go through the sanitisation again.

Jack bumped her knee however, raising an eyebrow at her as he questioned quietly, “Don’t you have that tail for that week? About the wedding and the cake and the bakery?”

That got a groan from her as Jo tipped her head to the side, resting on Jack’s shoulder in exhaustion. “Oh god, that’s true… Ah well, they can just wait for an hour or two while we shoot or something.”

“That or they’ll include it, show off your body in two magazines, aye?” The eyebrow waggle from the tattooer got a tired sounding laugh from her, and she could feel the other’s shoulder shake from his own silent laughter. “Promise we’ll keep her covered up some, Jack.”

“That’s her choice,” The other responded, tucking into his own late-night dinner with them. Jo could see a splatter of paint on the back of his neck from where she was, clearly having spent the night on his own working on his own artwork. “Though I think Rolling Stone may actually appreciate getting a half-dressed show by tagging along too.”

“It’s not like it’s a cover story - that’s your sister, not me, hun.” Jo ribbed back, chewing thoughtfully over her chicken as Ash span away to get some beers from his fridge.

The second week of the next month was something she was dead nervous about. It wasn’t like it was the first article her bakery had been featured in, nor was it the first time she had been interviewed personally - but those had always been for small local or state publications. Or the odd collumn in the society pages when she’d accompanied her step-dad to a reunion special, or been caught on camera out with the brunette sister of Jack’s in the last two years.

But this time it was a large, international even magazine coming to speak with her. A reporter was planned to follow her about for the week to write a feature story as part of the ongoing coverage about the wedding in six months time. The wedding was due to be Kardashian Level Big according to Shada, whatever that meant, and Jo had somehow been sucked into the epicentre of it almost as much as the bride herself.

It had started with an innocent offer to bake the cake. Something Jo would have done for any of her friend’s upon hearing of their engagement - something Jo had done before when Dean’d been engaged to Lisa six years ago (not that it lasted) and when Sam told her that he and Jessica were finally getting married last year. So when Shada had bounced her way into the back of the bakery three months earlier to show off the glittering diamond on her hand, the words had come out with genuine intent and happiness for the other woman. An innocent and wellmeaning offer which was still well meant and innocent enough; but had somehow been the start of the whole cycle of crazy the blonde was now preparing for.

Two weeks after the engagement announcement, Jo had found herself being swept up into a hug and answering ‘yes’ to her boyfriend’s sister’s request for her to be one of her bridesmaids. Shada had said she would have wanted her for a maid-of-honour (though Jo wasn’t sure how to tell her that wasn’t the correct term) but given Jo was already helping “so much” with the wedding cake that the sweet girl did not want to add any extra duties on top of her. Jo wasn’t aware how much that was a blessing at the time, but she did now. Three weeks after that, the engagement party happened.

Since then, it had been non-stop for Jo. It was as if a paparazzi bomb had gone off in front of the bakery given how frequently the bride and her pose came by to speak with her, not to mention all of the other typical wedding activities she had been dragged along to. It had taken all of her willpower not to drop out of it after Shada had tearfully confessed one night while Jack was reading a bedtime story to Billy that if it weren’t for Jo, she would think the whole thing might just be a sham for the show’s publicity. A lot of wine bottles were finished that night while the two women talked, letting the younger one vent about how out of control it had gotten and how much she loved her fiance’s patience with it all. Jo had dragged the bride’s brother to the bedroom after Shada had left, and thanked him for his own patience until it was almost dawn.

It had been last month that she had received the call from some reporter - a Chuck something-or-other - about her being part of a six-month series following along those involved in the monstrostity that was coming of the event and an “inside view to the love story of the year” from the deadpanned description the reporter had given her over the phone. Jo had laughed so much at that that she’d found herself agreeing before she knew what was happening. Her month would be the second month of the series; however she had already been featured and introduced in the story that had been released that very week. Story one had been a shallow interview with each of the bridal party about the happy couple, and a feature on the gianormous ring. Month two would be following Jo around as a bridesmaid and the baker for the event. She had heard month four’s topic would be some monstrosity about the bridesmaids shopping and fittings which would start during her week follow-around and expanded on later with the rest of the bridesmaids that she was not looking forward to.

Jack’s laugh distracted her from her thoughts though as Jo accepted a longneck from Ash. “You’re my cover girl though, pretty sure they’ll decide to make you one too if they spot the tattoo shoot.” His fingers stroked through her hair as Jo plucked his egg roll from his plate with a smile. “I’m sure it will all be fine, Jo.”

“I’m sure you think it will be.” Mumbling around the stolen egg roll, the three slowly demolished the food and the topic moved on to Ash’s work and the upcoming University art display for the other’s senior classes. It was almost one thirty before the three finally packed up and headed their separate ways home. Thankfully it was a Sunday morning which meant the bakery would be closed and the tattoo shop would not open until midday.

As Jo and Jack reached his town house and got ready for bed, the blonde baker found herself turning back and forth in the mirror of the bathroom with a smile on her face. The bandage covered her most recent work, but she could visualise the soft and dark greys of the work underneath as she looked at it beside her other pieces. It was positioned below the American Traditional styled piece dedicated to her father branded across her ribs, the bright red and bold roses surrounding the chrome’d motorbike would tie-in with the roses blooming across her hip; while the grey tones would mesh with the silver of the bikes design nicely. She could tell the love her childhood friend had put into both pieces - the love of his work, the love of the art and skill, and the love for her - would would stare back at her every time she saw each piece for the rest of her life.

Turning the other way, Jo found herself stroking the bare skin of the other hip wonderingly as to how to find a piece to tie in with the roses and guitar on that side of her ribs - a dedication to her son - but also match the new grey work. Perhaps she could talk her artist into making her a custom piece this time, perhaps even featuring an anchor, eagle and globe for her son’s father. She shook her head at that thought. That would require talking to someone about him, and as she felt the telltale pricking at her eyes, she knew that was a conversation she was still not ready for.

Brushing her teeth quickly to divert her thoughts, the baker found herself cuddling into the small spoon position when she returned to the bed, Jack’s arms wrapping tightly across her waist. The last thing she thought as his warm breath brushed against the back of her neck and Jo found herself snuggling back into his warmth was that she was so lucky to have a second go around.

Over the next three weeks Jo found herself smiling every time she remembered the new design on her leg, be it when she’d catch a sight of it in the shower, or when Ash would make a joke about getting her undressed again, or when Jack’s lips would press against it once it was healed enough. She always loved getting new work done and Dean made a joke each time she got one done that she experienced some kind of natural high from them. Jo snarked back that he’d understand it if he wasn’t such a bitch that he was scared of a little needle.

As Monday rolled around, the baker found herself in the kitchen decorating a tray of mojito flavoured cupcakes with a lime infused buttercream and pearlescent green candy balls and candied lime peel when she was interrupted.

“Hey Jo, there’s some guy here for you.” Sam’s voice snapped her out of her routine of swirling the icing with a jolt. The taller man had the good decency to look apologetic as she set her piping bag down as he moved over to start taking over the decorating duties. Jo still wasn’t sure why he still worked for her. He had finished his law degree the previous year, but he’d yet to move into permanent employment in the field - taking over some of the work from Ash now that the parlor was up and running in the last eighteen months, but making no comment to Jo about when he’d be handing over his apron for a suit. She wasn’t sure what she would do when he finally did though. Probably cry at him until he changed his mind, but that was something for Future Jo to worry about. “Looks kind of sketchy but said something about trailing you?”

“That’d be the reporter, remember? That thing for Stone about Shada’s wedding.”

“That’s this week?”

Jo laughed at the apprehensive tone to the other’s voice and the way Sam’s hands dropped the piping bag to start straightening his denim apron and pat at his manbun self-conciously. “Yes, that’s this week so don’t forget to actually look cute for once in your life.”

“Hey! I am always cute,” Sam replied, tugging the name badge - the same Sam-I-Am written in faded ink over and over - to sit jauntily angled before he reached out to tweak her nose. Jo laughed nasally as he let go with a smile. “Where as you’ll have to remember to get your beauty rest and not just screw your boyfriend until sunrise every night.”

“Excuse me?” The unfamiliar voice interrupted the pair, both jerking in surprise and straightening up as if they were twelve and thirteen again and Ellen had overheard them discussing something they shouldn’t be. Jo blinked her eyes a few times as she finally located where the voice had come from - a man with dark hair, scruffy beard and a somewhat bemused smirk, slightly disheveled clothes and an average height with a messenger bag slung across his front and a dictaphone in one hand standing in the open door to the front of the bakery beside Ash - and found herself blushing at the fact that was the first recorded words to her week long interview. “Uh, I’m here for Rolling Stone?”

“Chuck Shurley, right? Yes, yes, nice to meet you - I’m Jo! Jo Harvelle.” The baker slipped quickly into her usual friendly greeting, brushing her hand off of the nervous sweat starting in her palm on her thigh as she rushed across the room to shake the other’s hand. Jerking her head behind her at the taller man as he turned his attention back to the cupcakes, Jo found herself glaring at her friend sharply. “And that’s Sam Winchester, and he’s going to shut the fuck up right now, aren’t you Sammy?”

“Sure thing, boss!” The cheery response made her want to growl but her eyes focussed on the silver recording device the only thing stopping her.

Directing the man back out into the main area of the bakery, Jo led the other over to one of the empty tables as Ash began warming up the coffee machine for the day and getting the bakery ready for customers in the next hour.

“So, uh… How is this, um, going to be going this week?” Jo asked stiltedly, her hands twitching awkwardly around eachother on the tabletop as the man across from her slung his messenger bag off and set the silver recording device down and pulled out a battered looking notebook. “I mean, I know that Thursday we’re doing some bridesmaid shopping or something, and I emailed you about the appointment for the parlor next door tomorrow - but other than that, what, uh, exactly are you intending to do this week?”

Chuck tumbed through his notebook without looking up at her until he got to whatever page he was intending to start on before he finally looked across at her. Jo felt a little like a deer in the headlights as the reporter pulled out a pen and stared across at her.

“Those are two specific outtings, yes, but for the most part I’ll just be trailing you about on a day-to-day basis, asking questions and possibly interviewing friends as well.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, and as if summoned by the awkwardness, Ash appeared with two glasses, a glass bottle of water and two coffees for the pair of them. Jo fought down the urge to kiss him as she began to almost inhale the caffienated liquid, not even reacting to the wink he shot her. Bloody psychic friends, knowing her inside and out. Chuck too drank from his own coffee before he jotted something down in his notepad she couldn’t see. “If you’ve got the chance to do a demonstration of the cake, or just one of the teirs of what is sure to be the monstrosity- I mean, extravagantly beautiful cake, then I know that’d be really important for the piece-”

“I can definitely bake up a teir or two of the amazing masterpiece for the wedding of the year-”

“With photos? Of the creative process required for such an… exciting event.”

“Yes, you can photograph the process.”

“Excellent.”

Both trailed off quietly, however the slight awkwardness had faded as both smirked a little. Jo found herself having to bite the inside of her cheek.

“Off record-”

“Okay, off the record.”

“-You’re not looking forward to covering this are you?” Jo asked politely, hiding her smile behind her mug.

The reporter appeared to pause for a moment, eyes darting away as if trying to decide the best, most diplomatic response, before he looked back at her with his own self-depricating smile. “That obvious huh?” Chuck let out a small chuckle. “Usually I’m touring with bands and such or doing some investigative articles, not.. a fake socialite turned celebrity’s wedding.”

“I read that article on ‘A week in the life of a YouTube something-or-other’ a few months ago actually.” Jo replied, smiling congenially across at the other. “And my boyfriend was a fan of your introspective into the decline of alternative music festivals.”

“Can we go back on the record?”

“Sure?”

“Brilliant. Let’s start with some basic questions, aye?” The awkwardness was fully gone as both relaxed back into their seats and the man looked down at his pages as if deciding where to start. “So, your name is Joanna Beth Harvelle-”

“But I go by Jo.”

“Jo, then.” He scribbled a note down. “Your mom and dad’s names?”

“Ellen and William Harvelle.”

“And you’ve got a step-father, right?”

“Yeah, Bobby Singer - you’ve probably got down to chat with him sometime anyways.” Jo replied almost boredly as they made their way through the basic questions.

“He’s the director on the bride’s TV show correct? Is that how you met the blushing bride?”

“Nah, she’s actually my boyfriend’s sister, so I knew her before she was cast. Not that that had anything to do with either-” Jo was quick to add, shifting to sit upright a bit more, rather than relaxing as she realised she needed to be careful to definitely paint her friend in the best light now they were back on record. “-I didn’t actually know Bobby was working on the project, or that Shada was an aspiring actress actually, until after they started filming.”

“Speaking of your boyfriend - he’s Jack Grey, correct?”

“Yes, he’s a lecturer at Cornish in the arts programs.”

The reporter nodded along with her words, jotting down something as he flicked a look up to her face that made Jo flush. “He was a big name in the art circuit a while back, wasn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t know really, not really my scene and I didn’t know him back then.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Just over two years now.” Jo smiled thinking back on how quickly the time had seemed to go, dipping her teaspoon and stirring her coffee absent mindedly as she fell into the easy responses to the easier question.

“And before that you were married, correct?”

The question caught he off guard, spoon clattering loudly against the side of the cup as her eyes widened. She could hear the sound of coughing from behind her somewhere and the hissing sound of the milk frother being turned to full without any milk jug underneath it. She could see the curious look from the reporter and the quick movement of his pen as he wrote down something as he stared back at her. She could feel the heat leaving her cheeks and her stomach twisting around on itself, and her throat catching as if suddenly parched of any moisture.

“Uh..what?”

“You were married before, making you the only married bridal party member. A, uh, William Mark Reynolds correct?” Chuck appeared to look quickly between her face and his notes, frowning slightly. “A captain in the marines, killed in action in Afghanistan five and a half years ago. Awarded a Medal of Honor for-”

“For disobeying orders to rescue civillians from an occupied ISIL facility, and for blocking the escaping civillians path from the combatants with his own body.” She replied almost mechanically, the words combing back to her from the visit by the Marine officer sent to break the news to her. Jo found her stomach twisting again tightly as it had then, however at that time it had hurt doubly from the pressure of their boy inside growing. Shaking her head, she blinked across at the other man with a tight smile. “My husband lost his life in the line of duty, and gave twenty-three people their’s back. That’s all I have to say on that.”

“Would you mind if, should it suit the article, we include the photo of your receiving the award on his behalf?” The photo in question was pushed across to her on the reporter’s phone, and Jo bit back an inappropriate laugh at how different she looked in it to now. Haunted and sallow, sunken eyes and limp hair, and the crisp black dress not hiding at all the protrouding stomach she had at the time of the ceremony. It was the time she had started baking, and within a year had the bakery up and running and a smile back on her face after months of the same blank look in the image.

Jo shook her head, pushing the phone back across the table to the other. “I’d prefer you don’t, and I’m sure you’ll have more interesting things to include than that too much.”

“That’s true, I’ll see what I can do to ensure not to spend too much time on it.” The genuine smile she received in return as well as the softness in his tone helped to smooth the tightness in her at the line of questioning, as Chuck clicked his phone screen back to black before turning his attention back to his notes. “Anyway, you have a son?”

“Billy - William Dean, but we call him Billy. He’s almost five.”

“And you’re the owner of this fantastic bakery, correct?”

“Yes, this is my other baby!” Jo laughed, the tightness disappearing in full as the topic turned back to easier topics.

From there, the questions moved through to how long she had been baking, when the bakery had opened and what had inspired her ‘unique’ choice in name. How she came to meet Shada and her fiance Ian - which Jo felt uniquely qualified to provide an indepth telling of the pairs first meeting in the very kitchen behind them. Chuck laughed at her retelling the story, and both agreed to take some photos of the space and possibly even re-create the “life changing coffee” as Jo dubbed it on the other woman’s behalf. How the bride had asked her to be part of the bridal party, how Jack would be participating in the wedding - “He��s going to be walking his sister down the aisle, and is the last of the groomsmen” - and how she had found the wedding arrangements thus far.

As the hour reached the time for the bakery to open for trading, the reporter simply shrugged his bag back upon his shoulder, tucked away his notepad and brought out a professional camera to begin taking candid photos of the bakery and it’s workers. Jo herself headed back into the kitchen to begin on a new load of pastries for the day as Sam returned to the front of house and Ash began to flit between the coffee machine and his parlor. The rest of the day passed relatively easily, with Chuck almost an invisible presence as the trio moved through their usual patterns of the day. Jo almost forgot to cut him a slice of the quiche lorraine they were having for lunch that day with how unobtrusive he was.

Occasionally, she’d be drawn into a line of questioning about the business and her personal life, as well as to reflect on the bride herself, but for the most part Chuck appeared content to follow her around quietly other than to ask where he could charge his phone and dictaphone. Ash would bring him in a coffee at the same times he would deliver Jo her own, and she heard them have a slight discussion at one point about her and his friendship. She was exceptionally happy to hear Ash never once mentioned the knife collection Jo’d begun collecting as a child, as she doubted that would run well.

So far as her work, the day had been an almost mindless blur of rushing about the kitchen space preparing to get ahead of herself for the hours off she would be taking the next day. Sam handled customers like the pro he was, sweet talking everyone and keeping a smooth transition of items from the back to front without any input from her; while she knew in the adjoining space, Ash would be drinking beer, spinning on his chair and smashing out the prep work for the week’s tattoos ahead of him and preparing for the photoshoot the next day - occasionally Jo could hear him stop to help with barista duties given the tattoo parlor was not open Monday’s or Tuesday’s typically; as well as the odd conversation between all three men working in the building alongside her.

Just before midday, Chuck and Sam had entered the kitchen and set up some kind of rig to capture her in motion with a slow exposure system for stills as well as a video camera for the video miniseries that would accompany the piece. Jo barely thought of it as she continued to work like a madwoman to pump out tray upon tray of brownies, ice racks full of different cupcakes and pile cakes high with fruit and garnishes. She was just glad she’d had the foresight not to agree to any weddings or functions that weekend. Brownies filled with hazelnuts, Nutella spread and drizzled with white chocolate slipped into the fridge beside raspberry cupcakes, poppy seed muffins, dark chocolate tortes, fruit pies and savory quiches and pies. So far as Jo was concerned, the day was like any other with the constant battle to bake ahead of her needs and the scent of chocolate, berries and baking bread filling her nose; cocoa and flour dusting her hair, brushing her cheeks and coating her hands as always.

It wasn’t until it hit four in the afternoon that Jo was reminded that the reporter was slinking about when she’d been greeted by her dark haired man with a wide grin and kiss as usual as he made his way into the back kitchen. She had her arms around his neck, one hand in his hair and the other tugging him into her by his scarf as he brushed her cheek clear of a white streak of flour when the sound of repeated camera shutters disturbed her from her usual greeting.

“Uh… Some privacy?” Jo pulled back from the other to look towards the reporter, camera still out and snapping candid movements as the pair didn’t step back from one another.

There was another few shutter sounds before the man lowered the camera back to the bench and pulled out his dictaphone instead. “Sorry Jo, privacy is for next week. Hi, Chuck Shurley, big big fan of your watercolor period.” The reporter made his way over, hand held out for the other to shake as he smiled in that same self-depricating way Jo had come to know as his bemused look over the last nine hours. “The sunflower segment was a phenomenal series.”

“Oh.. Oh, thanks. Yeah, uh, they definitely were, um, some of my work. Yep.” Jo looked on as the same cold, almost indifferent look swept over his boyfriend’s face as he shook hands with the other man, his other arm staying firmly wrapped around her waist. Jack’s eyes darted about and she could see his jaw muscle clench for a moment. “Nice to meet you, Chuck. I, uh, hope Jo hasn’t caused you too many problems so far today.”

“Hey!” She let out an outraged cry, hand tugging at his scarf playfully angry as she looked up at him. The sound of the camera clicking caught her off guard again as the pair had smiled and smirked at one another before the playful looks dropped from their faces at the sound. Jo coughed awkwardly before turning back to her cupcake work while Jack stepped back a few feet to pick up one of the brownies laid out on a tray ready to be moved out front or stored into the fridge for the next day.

“So, Jack Grey, you’re Shada’s older brother, right?”

“Yes, Shada’s my little sister.” Jack slumped back against the counter top as Jo turned her attention back to her current work. She wasn’t sure what the tone in his voice or the slightly cool attitude he was putting off was about, but figured the reporter would inevitably want to interview him now or in future and was taking advantage of the opportunity as it presented itself. “Our parents were Eleanor and Michael Grey, they have since passed away before you get to those questions.”

The lemon and honey infused cupcakes she was currently working on, a pale golden yellow batter that had come out of the oven right before they moved from a light gold to a warm brown color on the top, were testers for the wedding cake she’d be trialling later in the week itself. She had to decide over the next day to decide on the best icing for the mix - whether she went for the basil and lemon infused buttercream that she moved towards the mixer to whip up, or if she brought in the purple theme for the outer decoration by swirling blueberries or blackberries into the buttercream too.

“Thanks for confirming, uh.. So, were your parents creatives too? To have had both a prolific artist and a rising star actress in the family, it would beg the question.”

“Our mother was a dental assistant and our father was an accountant. So no. They weren’t particularly creative people.”

“In that case, as the first of the artists in the family - how do you think your sister is handling her rise to fame?” Chuck’s question sounded weird, and the tones of both men sounded off to her; however Jo simply spared a quick glance towards the pair over her shoulder as she moved to start working on the berry coulis. Neither seemed particularly odd, Jack seemed to be appreciating his brownie as much as always and the reporter was simply flipping through his notebook with the dictaphone beside them. “It’s so similar to your own rise to prominance too. Straight out of the last few years of study, picked up by a renowned name in the industry and flashed into the public sphere.”

“My sister is very mature for her age.” The words were practically growled out, and as Jo stirred about the berry mix in the saucepan over the hob, she chanced another look behind her. Jack’s arms were crossed firmly across his chest, and that cold look was back. Peculiar. “Shada also has the benefit of being surrounded by people who want the best for her, and have had their own experiences, as you say, with the problems of popularity and attention. People who will help keep her on the right path.”

“Ah. Yes. Not going to see her follow your footsteps then?”

That caught her attention, back straightening and ears pricked but made no move to look around to see what was happening. It was quiet for a moment before Jo found herself getting a kiss on the cheek and a pat on her hip before Jack mumbled something about ‘catching up with her later’ and leaving. Very, very peculiar.

Finishing off the coulis and moving back towards her station, setting the hot pan down on a cooling pad to be used once it had dropped down in temperature. The buttercream was almost finished whipping in the mixer as Jo switched that off as well. Spooning half the basil, lemon buttercream into a medium, petal nozzel piping bag; she began piping in a rose around the top of half the cupcakes as she waited for the berry mix to cool.

She could hear the man rustling about in his bag behind her, flipping pages back and forth, feet shuffling loudly on the concrete floor, and the click of the back of the dictaphone being slid open for more batteries again.

“What was that all about?” Jo found herself asking while the other’s recording device was not recording every word she said. “Off record, what was that all about?”

“Your boyfriend is a bit of an enigma in the art world, if you didn’t know. He was huge for a while there, people were saying he was going to be the next classics master, first one in generations.” Chuck replied, fitting the batteries back into his recorder, but not turning it back on yet as he moved over to watch what she was doing. A snap of his camera came as she added the last petal to the cupcake in her hand. “And then seemingly overnight, he just dropped off the radar after torching his studio. Burnt over a million dollars of artwork some have valued the loss at.”

Jo’s brow shot up, not having dug much further than just that he’d had an exhibit that went around the world some ten years earlier than her meeting him, as she looked across at the other. “Really?”

“He was set to be huge. But none of his work has been seen since then.”

“Huh, guess I shouldn’t have got him to keep painting over his work out front then, aye?” Jo laughed a little to herself, shaking her head as she picked up another cupcake.

The icing on that one was ruined however when she heard the clattering of the reporter’s notebook to the floor surprised her. Jerking around, she looked at the other in confusion.

“Wait..that…that mural out in the main room?” Chuck appeared to struggle to get the words out, staring at her wide eyed. “Is that a Jack Grey?”

Jo nodded her head with another laugh, quirking her lips up as she sat the piping bag and cupcake down on her work station. Brushing her hands off on her apron, she reached across to the top of the work bench for her phone. “Yeah, that’s I think the tenth one I’ve got him to do? I’ve got photos of some of the other’s on here somewhere too.”

For the next thirty minutes the pair stood together flicking through the somewhat unartful photos Jo had snapped of each of her murals over the last two years - from a wall full of flowers with secret faces in the centres, to a black-and-white labyrinth maze, to a stylised sketchy portrait of her and her son that was done to celebrate Billy’s birthday, to a wall full of swirling colours making designs and shapes within itself that was hard to define but had made Jo smile for two whole months - while the dictaphone remained off and Jo answered off record questions about the other’s work in the last two years. Both sides were surprised as they talked, one that the artist was still making art, the other that it was a surprise for him to be doing so.

Once the coulis was cooled down, Jo poured it in lines around the star nozzel piping bag before filling the centre with the remaining buttercream. The swirls were a mix of purple and white atop the other half of the cupcakes by the time Ash and Sam made their way into the kitchen after tidying down the store front and closing up.

“So, we’ll meet back here tomorrow for the… uh?” Chuck looked a little helplessly at the trio as he flicked back and forth through the notebook, now with extra sheets of paper stuck in at all kinds of angles, including napkins and baking paper when they couldn’t locate normal paper.

“Inked magazine shoot next door.” Ash supplied generously, thumbs stuck through his belt as he relaxed back next to Jo, staring hungrily at the rack of cupcakes for the next day. Moving quickly, Jo shoved the rack of her wedding-tester cupcakes into the fridge as Sam added the last two trays of brownies and a slab of cinnamon buns in after her. The fridge was more full than she normally allowed it to get; with premade elements such as the cupcakes and brownies, as well as trays of unbaked bread, buns and rolls ready to be thrown in the oven throughout the next day so there would be freshly baked items as well. The pout that graced the other’s face as he brushed a hand through his long back hair made Jo smirk. “Got this nightmare getting done sometime around lunch, but I’ll be needing her all day. You know, emotional support.”

“What a liar, Ash, you don’t have emotions!”

“Ugh, the pain, the hurt, you break my heart, girlie.” The mulleted tattooer held his hands up to his heart, clutching in fake pain as he stared back at her. Jo wiped a fake tear from her own eye in response, giving an exagerated sniff, before getting caught up in a hug by the other blond. Squealling as her feet left the ground, she wasn’t even surprised to hear the click of the camera at this point, nor the laughter from the other men watching. As Ash sat her back down on the ground, she elbowed him in the ribs gently. “Anyway, Jo’s going to be out of the kitchen all day with me and the guys from Inked, as well as Garth, Gordon, Creedy and Tamara - just so you know Jo and don’t yell at me-”

“Really? You’ve got Gordon coming?”

“Get over it Jo, it was three crappy dates and him texting that he was seeing someone else.” Jo was interrupted in her whining about the man coming and being a part of the shoot by Sam, shaking his hair out of his manbun now that the food was away and the day was over. He reached out a clapped a hand on her shoulder with a smile. “Don’t worry though, I’m going to make sure to burn all of his coffees and add a ton of sugar.”

“But he’s keto at the moment for the next comp-ooooh.” Jo grinned widely in response at the other, rolling her eyes at the mischief that Sam would inevitably get up to tomorrow. He and the other man had never gotten along well, and Jo was almost certain he’d been involved somehow in scaring the other away three years ago when Jo and Gordon had begun to strike up a flirtation when he’d been visiting a lot to discuss his next work with Ash. However it could have been Billy that scared the other off, and the blonde couldn’t help but smile thinking how much better off she was now than three or even four years earlier.

Finishing the last bit of tidying up and confirming the time for ten am the next day, Jo bid goodbye to the other’s before heading back to Jack’s townhouse to get started on dinner and hand over duties with her mom. The night went by quietly - Billy had behaved himself at childcare and for the two hours Ellen watched over him in the evening before Jo and Jack both made it home, Jack’s cold mood seemed to have disappeared completely if the flowers were any indication, and the trio spent a normal night playing games on the rug in front of the television before Jack took Billy for his bedtime story.

As the pair finally retired for bed after two episodes of Good Omens and half a bottle of red wine each, Jo found herself curling into her spot in the crook of the other’s neck and asking quietly, “Did you really torch a whole pile of your paintings?”

She could feel him stiffen for a moment before his arms wrapped around her again tightly. Jack’s voice was just as quiet, as if it was said softly enough it would remain a secret, just between the two of them. “Yeah, my manager was not happy but fuck him.” His fingers stroked through her hair gently as Jo snuggled in closer again. “He was the one that pushed me to pump out crap, he didn’t deserve a single cent of commision from it and I was… exhausted. Physically and creatively. The news said it was the whole studio, but really it was just a few canvases. I was done.”

She hummed in response, curling her fingers around his shoulders as she hugged into his chest, breathing deeply. It was intoxicating, the smell of oil paints, mens deoderant and that underlying scent she’d come to associate with home. Nodding her head against his chest, cheek pressed against the thin, soft sleep tshirt fabric, Jo could appreciate the other’s past as much as she hoped he would hers one day. Not today though, she’d thought on it enough already today, more than she had in over two years; and she didn’t want to go digging around in that box of memories again. “I’m glad you did it then, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Exactly, what’s a bit of arson to make everything right, huh.” The words rumbled in his chest and made her smile as they shared a few kisses before rolling about to get to sleep. She would have rolled on top of him, but Ash had made her promise not to get any hickeys and to get a good nights sleep before she’d left the bakery.

And a good nights sleep she got.

Jo rolled into the bakery the next morning, Billy’s hand held tightly in hers since she wouldn’t be in the kitchen unable to watch him that day, and quickly grabbed up the plate of cinnamon buns that Sam had already baked that morning from the kitchen before taking the young boy through to the tatto parlor where there were the starts of the shoot were getting underway. There were lighting rigs, and cameras everywhere. There were cords all over the floors, and Billy was very careful when stepping over them to her relief and pride as they made their way through to where Ash was nursing a beer already.

“Just starting, or didn’t you stop?” Jo asked quietly as she moved Billy to sit up on the tatto bench beside his favourite ‘uncle’. She tore one of the buns in half, handing one half to each of her blond men with a smile.

Ash shook his head as he bit down into the fluffy, cinnamon infused bun before looking at her in surprise at the hidden apple chunks. “Didn’t stop. Saw that beauty round on Elm Street, god Pamela is a goddess, you know?”

Jo raised a brow back at her friend, and almost snorted at the same look on her son’s face towards the tattoo artist though without the knowing leer she knew she was delivering alongside it.

“Uncle Ash, a person can’t be a god,” Billy’s voice cut over whatever Jo had thought to say, biting down on the laugh his words made her want to do.

“You’d be mostly right there, buddy, but when you’re older, you and I are going to have a chat about how all women are goddesses - its just us guys that don’t get any magic powers.” Ash smirked back at the kid, spinning around in his chair before tapping the boy’s nose with one finger. Billy scrunched up his face, looking disbelievingly at the other before dropping it and tucking into his own half of a bun.

The tattoo artist was called away after a few minutes of companionable silence between the trio while eating their belated breakfast buns. A moment after the tattooer left with his unfortunate mullet, the mother and son were joined by her shadow for the week.

“Morning Chuck, didn’t scare you off yesterday did I?”

“Very nearly.” The reporter replied, digging his dictaphone out again and clicking the power button as he’d done the day before. Jo barely acknowledged it now, used to it already. Chuck brushed his hands off, rubbing them together from the cold outside before he spotted the curious face looking at him from Jo’s other side. “Uh, hi there kiddo. I’m, um, Chuck. And you must be Billy.”

“Yep!” The chirpped response from the cinnamon covered boy came with a wide toothy smile, before he held out a sticky hand to the older man. Jack must have been teaching him the manners Jo never bothered to. “You’re the person doing the story on Aunty Shaday?”

“That he is, kiddo. He’s going to be following Mommy around for the rest of the week, so you’ll be on your best behavior wont you?”

“Yessum Mommy.”

“Good boy. Now, did you want to go see if Uncle Sammy would make you a hot cocoa?” Jo asked quietly, running a hand over her boy’s hair as he looked around the place as if he were bored. “And later, Sammy might even get you to help out with decorating some cupcakes if you ask him real nicely.” It wasn’t uncommon on non-baking days for Billy to come into the shop and spend an afternoon icing monstrosities of cakes and sugar cookies under the watchful eye of Sam or Jo. Today however, Sam had roped Jessica into coming in to help out under the guise of practice-parenting so Jo knew there was nothing to worry about with a real nurse on hand for once should anything go wrong.

The young boy disappeared with a squeal back into the bakery, and Jo could hear his excited rambling at the younger couple about cocoa and cupcakes over the din of the photo shoot starting up. The man beside her chuckled a little, flicking open his notebook again and jotting down a few notes.

“Oh, in case you wanted to know, those two works up there-” Jo jerked her head across to the two sketch arts that Jack had done before they’d started dating for Ash’s studio, smirk forming as she saw the clearly not-a-morning-person reporter look about blearily. “-Are two more of Jack’s. A tattoo-parlor-warming present for Ash.”

“Really?” Chuck appeared to squint at the artworks for a moment, before snapping photos with his camera and settling back down again, coffee in hand. Clearly Sam had already taken good care of him that morning. “Any more priceless pieces about this place that my friends in the art community would gag over?”

“I mean, when we get into the photos, you might find another.” Jo smirked wider still at the confused look on the other’s face before her happy demeanor dropped slightly at the arrival of the other ‘models’.

Tamara and Creedy were decent enough people, always tipped Sam for their drinks when they had been by, and Jo figured that Creedy would be getting used for an ‘in action’ tattoo shot from the choice of button up shirt that he usually never wore. Tamara on the other hand had a beautiful Japanese style koi across her shoulder and back that Jo figured was going to be her contribution to the photoshoot. The one Jo found herself rolling her eyes over was when she caught the eye of and shared a nod with Gordon Walker. She was fairly certain he was another Japanese style, a greyscale-styled dragon that from what she remembered and could see poking out from under his t-shirt sleeve wound around his entire sleeve and across his chest. That one would be a pleasure for the photographer to cover today.

“So, who’s got what? What is this whole thing about?” The reporter’s question brought her attention back from following the well-defined sleeve tattoo’s progress around the parlor as Jo blinked back at the other with a shrug. “As much as I’ve followed musicians to their sessions before, a, uh, photo shoot for tattoos hasn’t been on my list of articles so far.”

“And a wedding cake has?”

“Touche.”

Jo laughed a little in response, as she wiped her hands off on her jeans awkwardly. The other three models were getting dragged through the rigmarole of styling as first timers, and the baker knew she would be going through the same process soon enough but given hers would be the only one requiring practically no clothing, there was no point her moving towards the wardrobe discussion. Ash had made a joke about using a sheet when he’d suggested the idea to her first, but looking around Jo knew that perhaps it wasn’t quite as much of a joke as she had thought it was.

Shaking her head, Jo pointed towards the other three, giving a slight wave to Tamara when she noticed her. “So those three over there are the other models - Tamara the lady will be displaying her back piece and likely have a few different poses to try out for it. Gordon, the one smirking over here,” she found herself smiling back nicely but nothing more than a short nod in response to the subject of her conversations look, “will be getting his arm and chest photographed so usually they’ll go for a standing shot. Probably Ash next to him, maybe near the window or by the Insta-wall. And Creedy is the other one, but Ash’ll actually be tattooing him today while they photograph the process - ah yes, there goes his shirt.” As she was talking the older man stripped off his shirt and moved over to the tattoo artist to look at whatever piece they were demonstrating today.

“They use an A-shooter and B-shooter. For the most part, the B will be with Ash and Creedy doing the step by step to see about getting some in action shots; while the A team will be doing photos with Tamara, Gordon and myself.”

“And what are you getting photographed today?” Chuck was noting down as she spoke, however for the most part it appeared to be on a blank page at the back of his book while she’d been describing the process of the day, before he flicked back to the section she knew was about her article. She spotted the words ‘cute little kid, very smart, takes after father - investigate’ before he looked up at her and Jo pretended she hadn’t been looking at his work. He raised a brow, pen poised over the paper.

“I’ll be the American traditional and Ash’s new exploration into fine line greys.” Jo replied with a smile, and bit back a laugh at the blank look as the reporter jotted the words down without comprehension. “Uh, either side of my ribs are two old school styled tattoos to show his main bread-and-butter style, while Tamara and Gordon will be the Japanese section Ash’s been getting a name for. And then my thigh is the fine line style - all the rage right now, and one of the first one’s he’s done. Creedy’ll probably be getting a smaller one on his forearm for the B-shoot.”

“Ah, if the photos end up any good-”

“I’m sure you’ll need to speak with Inked, but they will probably allow use of some of their photos. Or possibly your own. Go have a chat with the art director over there.” Jo waved her hand in the direction towards the crowd of magazine workers milling about and smiled as Chuck gave a nod and disappeared.

Hopping up onto the spare tattoo bench, Jo kicked her feet in the air a little as she pulled out her phone to check over her emails while she waited to be told where she’d next be needed. She could go check up on Jessica and Billy, but she didn’t want to come off as hovering and figured the other woman would appreciate being given the chance to really give motherhood a trial. Maybe she shouldn’t have given Billy a sugary bun for breakfast, but that was all part of the fun of babysitters. Flicking through the emails, she saw some were work related about orders and shipments of ingredients, some where the junk like her old school asking for alumni to return to ‘inspire’ the teens or silly forward emails from her mom. There was six from Shada and her collection of bridesmaids and wedding planner reminding everyone that the bridesmaid shopping would be in two days time, and Jo opened up a response to remind them all to look ‘extra pretty and put together’ as the Stone reporter would be tagging along when there was a bump to her knee distracting her mid sentence.

“Hey darling,” The deep voice caught her attention, and Jo barely restrained herself from the childish desire to jerk her knee away from the man’s hand. Looking up, she raised a brow up at Gordon with a frown. “How’ve you been? Did I see your little brat running about earlier?”

“Walker. Yes you did see Billy earlier, he’s currently with Sam’s fiance working on his icing skills out back.”

“I notice you didn’t answer how you are, Joanna.”

“I’m spectacular, actually.” Jo gritted the words out, turning her gaze back down to her phone and tapping out the end of her email before tucking it away. The amused look on the other’s face rubbed her the wrong way. Forcing herself to not rise to the bait, Jo smiled sickeningly sweetly back at him. “I’ve been extremely busy actually, was on Sugar RUSH last year and did pretty well, I’m being a bridesmaid for a big wedding later in the year, and my boyfriend and I are enjoying our time with Billy.”

“So you finally found someone to replace the big macho man, huh?” Gordon’s face twisted into a smirk as he leant on the bench beside her. “Gone for another military boy like Daddy?”

Jo grit her teeth, sneering back at the other, not dignifying his questioning with an answer.

“From the silence I’m going to assume he is. Did you end up with another William this time around - because if you did, darling, that’s just more than a little sad. Nobody’s going to live up to the last one. What could top a Medal of Honor, aye? Selfless sacrificing war hero leaving his mourning widow knock-”

He didn’t get to finish the rest of his theorising before Jo’s fist was thrown straight into his smug, shit talking mouth with a snarl. As he jerked his head back to the side, her other fist threw out towards where his mouth now was. Her ears were pounding and Jo felt herself rearing back to throw a third one before she was tackled to the side by something warm and heavy.

“Hey, hey now chickadee, gorgeous, mamacitta…” The words managed to sink through her anger as the rush of adrenaline left her shaky and numb as she glared across at the now furiously snarling man, held back from following through again by the warm, tight grip of her best friend. Ash had a harsh hold around her arms, pulling her back and away from the other. "Baby girl, you need to calm down."

As she felt herself calming down again, Jo realised the noise around the room had suddenly dipped, and glancing over the top of her friend’s shoulder, she could see eyes focussed right on her from every corner. She bit down a sneer at the furious look on the bleeding man’s face though.

“You calm now, mama?” Ash asked quietly in her ear, hands rubbing her arms carefully, not quite removing the pressure in case she made a move to go again. Too many fist fights, too many bar fights, and too many screaming fits after it happened had taught him never to trust if she looked calm that she was calm.

Jo nodded her head before he finally released her, cracking her aching fist as she attempted to avoid looking at anyone else but Ash. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Good, good. We’re all good here people, let’s get back focussed hey?” The call came out from the tattooer as he looked over his shoulder towards the rest of the room. With a nod from him, the magazine workers went back to preparing for the shoot, while Tamara and Creedy both turned back to discussing one of the portfolio books Ash had out. Gordon only remained standing as quietly as he had before, eyes focussed on the pair of them before he get drawn away by one of the photo assistants.

“Hey, maybe you should suggest they use the bleeding for aesthetics or something.” Jo mumbled the words out as Ash finally stepped back from her, a smile growing on his face at her comment. Nodding, he rushed over towards the creative team with a lot of gesticulation and ‘framing’ hands towards Gordon. A flurry of movement followed shortly after and it appeared the A-shoot had begun.

There was a cough behind her, and the blonde wasn’t surprised at all to see the dark haired reporter popping up at her elbow unnoticed.

“So, a friend of yours?”

“Nah, just some asshole I dated once or twice. However, he loves a good tattoo so...”

“Ah.” Chuck’s voice was soft as he spoke, silve dictaphone held in hand as always, “Well, looks like you’ve helped crack an idea for the photo story at least.”

Looking over, Gordon was already shucking off his t-shirt and had begun moving into position, the focus arm to camera, muscles tightened and flexed to show off the elegant curves of the dragon onto his chest, while his other hand was fisted up as if hitting his own jaw right where Jo had landed her blows. As her eyes caught his, the dark heat of anger shining through towards her, Jo knew she’d just gotten them their best shot of the day for one of the twelve page feature article and spread for the other.

“I’m truly a creative genius, did you not learn that yesterday?” She qupped back, turning to sit back down on the tattoo bench, facing away from where the shoot had gotten underway and facing towards the B-shoot starting with Ash and Creedy. “Well, you’ll grasp that tomorrow when we work on the preliminary design for Shada’s wedding cake.”

“Ah yes, the cake, let’s talk cake while we’re waiting for your call shall we?”

“Well, it’s-” Jo paused for a second, tilting her head at the other as he began to fumble for his notebook to start taking notes alongside the dictaphone he passed her to hold this time. “You, uh, don’t really know what questions to ask or words for a food-focussed article do you?”

“Absolutely not. That’s why I defer to the professionals.” There was a cheeky smile that made him look five years younger and almost what Jo would consider as cute. Perhaps she’d have to find a single friend sometime soon if she was going to be stuck with his presence for the next six months.

Laughing, Jo waited for a nod from him that he was ready to start before begininng to speak and basically ask his own questions for him. They covered the type of cake - a chiffon sponge cake despite the bride’s claims that she wanted a genoise, what she didnt know wouldn’t hurt her - and then a small interlude where Jo expanded on the different types of sponge and why she had selected one of the simpler, more All-American sponge varities for the event. Then the flavor profile of just why Jo had selected honey (”to add the sweetness in a natural form and symbolic to make each day after sweeter”), lemon (”supposed to be for eternal love, but I just love me some honey-lemon mix”) and basil (”given how unique the couple are, it suits to add a touch of the unexpected to the cake”) for the main flavorings. And as the morning moved to afternoon, Jo began to explain aloud her concept for wrapping the layers in fondant and then incorporating the main color scheme of the wedding into a mottled, artistic style with swirls and paint splashes - “perhaps even some gold leaf just to add the sparkle I know Shada loves” - when the pair were finally approached for Jo’s turn under the camera lens.

They had seemingly talked all the way through Gordon’s photos and leaving, as well as Tamara’s shoot which Jo felt a little deflated not to get to see the beautiful koi again since she’d seen the initial concept art. Even Creedy was now being photographed with a finished fine line deer design held on display on his forearm, the geometric lines behind and around it showing the extremely clear vision Ash had during the design and application.

It looked like they were almost finished and one of the makeup artists came over to start working on Jo’s face and hair. They usually only applied something light and a little bit of drama to the eye in order to avoid detracting from the artwork that was the real focus of the shoot. Jo barely contained the eyeroll as Chuck began snapping candidly with his camera again. He leant over to the make up artist for a second and Jo didn’t bother to hide the roll of her eyes as the woman started applying a red lipstick on top of the basic makeup.

“So, little miss punchy, let us proceed without any more mishaps shall we?” The words came from the director of the shoot as he approached with Ash at his side, a smirk on the mulleted man’s face as he shrugged at Jo’s exasperated look. “Firstly, we’ll want a topless shot for each traditional on your ribs, I’m sure you’ve seen enough photos to know what we need. Then, black tank top and thong for the fine line; and then possibly we’ll do a full body with a bit of design on a chair to get your thigh and ribs in the one shot. Capeesh?”

Jo blinked a few times before nodding sharply at the impatient noise from the director. “Yep, capeesh.” Shrugging a shoulder at Ash as the pushy director moved off, the blonde shrugged out of the flannel shirt she had worn that day and made her way towards the well lit window and red brick wall corner that would be used for the rib photos. It took another ten minutes before the director and crew had decided that they had the lighting right and were ready before she slipped her tank top off as well and covered her chest with her hands. “Did you want left or right first?”

From there the three different poses were easy enough - left side of the ribs with the sunlight practically blurring her face in white and her arm tugging to cover herself creating larger curves to her front than she’d even had when breastfeeding Billy, the right side had her hair glowing down her back in stark contrast to the saturation of the tattoo; and then her black tank top and flannel both thrown back on for her thigh to be focussed as she practically hovered rather than sat on the tattoo bench in the best lighting. All pretty standard poses and moves that Jo had seen in the publication before, and had watched from the back corners the last three features done on her friend. Perhaps though, thinking on it, she wouldn’t remind Ellen or Bobby to go searching out that copy of Inked compared to Ash’s previous moments.

She had heard the gasp from the dark haired reporter when her fine line design had been first revealled, and the slight gape to his face as they wrapped up the photographing of it made Jo want to laugh. “I told you, Chuck, that you might get excited by one of the designs.”

“You got a freaking Jack Grey on your leg!”

“Have had more than on my leg you know...” Jo winked at the reporter as she shimmied back into her jeans and joked around with Ash about how uncomfortable it was to hold that pose, the director approached the trio with a pleased look.

“And we’ll do that last set up now."

Puffing her cheeks out a little, Jo looked up at her friend. “Can you go make sure that Billy doesn’t try to come in here if we’re doing that freaking sheet idea of yours?”

“Of course, I’ll make sure he’s very much busy for the next half hour.” Ash smirked, slapping her on the butt cheek as he headed off, calling behind him, “Damn stupid kid, ruining all my fun!”

Laughing, Jo moved towards the stylists and behind the privacy screen Ash would pull open for his more uncomfortable clients. Or those getting something done that would be uncomfortable for anyone to glance through and see. She was directed to strip, laughing with the older stylist woman as they both grumbled about stretchmarks, and then wrapped in a black robe to move back onto the set spot.

They had seeming settled on one of the tattoo chairs with a high back and open sides, and sitting normally Jo was surprised when the director shouted and gesticulated until she turned around, chest pressed against the worn, soft leather and legs thrown to either side of the backrest. Her arms folded across the top of the back and she tilted her head across at the director questioningly. She got a thumbs up in response while the rest of the team ran about, adjusting lighting and the odd pot plant in the background. Got to have those pot plants.

Another gesture and Jo shrugged the robe off and resettled quickly, tilting a hip here on command so her muscles pulled the designs more flatteringly. She had her head resting on her arms for the most part, hair pulled to her far side away from camera. After five minutes, she was motioned to sit up a little straighter. To twist her head like that. To turn her head like that. To hold one hand up to her face. To rest both elbows on the back of the chair. On and on it went until finally she was told they’d gotten what they wanted, and shrugging the robe back on before getting up; Jo was glad that was the end of her day following that asshole’s instructions.

Returning behind the screen, the blonde redressed quickly before moving out of the space to go round into the bakery kitchen to see what her boy had been up to throughout the morning.

Billy was sat on a stool at the bench beside Jessica, both had what looked like powdered sugar in their hair and the odd splatter of food coloring but otherwise appeared unharmed. That couldn’t be said for the workspace itself. There was flour, sugar and cocoa everywhere, and Jo found her eyes blowing wide as she took in the damage.

A hand on her hip didn’t even surprise her as Ash joined her, a coffee being pushed into her hands and the hand guiding her to sit down on one of the only clean stools in the space. Caffiene was amazing and would fix everything, she thought to herself looking around the space. It looked a lot worse than it was, and she figured that she could have the space spotless again within half an hour once she was suitably caffienated.

The sound of a camera shutter barely registered to her as she smiled across at Billy babbling about what he and Jessica had been up to that morning. Something about making cookies in the shape of bones and body parts, and that they were going to be reassembling a cookie monster or something. Jessica looked surprisingly unaffected after four hours alone with the noisy preschooler, and Jo figured that if she was enjoying herself so much it meant that the baker could get ahead of herself to prepare for her day off on Thursday as well.

However before cleaning and preparation and the cookie decorating could get underway, Jo quickly had the two and a half of them working to tidy and clean down the surface with only the slightest whining from the young boy while a tray of sausage rolls baked in the oven for the groups lunch.

When the oven dinged that lunch was ready, the kitchen was back to spotless, and Jo was even in the midst of teaching Billy and Jessica alike the importance of mise en place before she put a hold on the lesson for the flaky puff pastry wrapped sausages, with stewed apples mixed into the pork sausage mix along with dried thyme and fennel seeds making them moist and slightly sweeter. Shortly after they were plated up, one for Billy, one for Jessica, one for Jo, one for Chuck, one for Ash and one for Sam placed in the warming tray to await his opportunity to come in and eat when Ash would hand over for him.

As the five sank into stools around the kitchen, Jo ran over her plan for the rest of the day to check if it suited the other’s and whether or not the reporter needed anything more exciting than watching her preparing cookie trays for the freezer or rolling puff pastry every twenty minutes, or creating tubs worth of various buttercreams ahead of time. Chuck shrugged, and gave no feedback other than he was sure the morning had given him plenty of content for his article and that he’d be back the next day for the start on the wedding cake photos themselves. Jessica had laughed at Jo’s concern she might want to head off to relax on her day off from the hospital, and waved off the suggestion she go home rather than finish her monster anatomy cookies with Billy.

The rest of the afternoon passed by quietly, or as quietly as a busy bakery with buzzing alarms and a squealling almost-five year old and two women singing along loudly to whatever song would come on the radio could be.

Much as the night before, when Jo got home there were smiles, talk of the day’s activities (”some dick started a ruckus during the life drawing class in the morning which threw the entire day off”), babbling excitedly from Billy, a bedtime story and kisses as the night turned to morning and Jo once again fell asleep wrapped up in two warm arms.

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#AU stories #Bakery AU

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