#i pull up two screens (phone and mac) every time i need to check my coloring

[waitimcomingtoo]

Quirks

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader with OCD

Thank you to the anon who requested this and consulted with me on OCD!

Disclaimer: It it not my intention to glorify or romanticize OCD with this story. I consulted with multiple people who have OCD to develop this character.

Masterlist

“Are you ready for bed?” Peter asked as he climbed under the covers on his side. It was your first night in Peters apartment after moving in with him, and you had a nervous feeling in your tummy. There were things about yourself you had begun to notice, and you wondered how long it would take for Peter to notice as well.

“Almost.” You nodded as you knocked on the wall behind you four times. You climbed into bed beside Peter as if nothing happened, leaving Peter puzzled.

“What are you doing?” Peter chuckled as he watched your movements.

“If I don’t do this, I can’t sleep.” You said simply.

“Okay.” Peter laughed again, making you wince a little.

“I know it doesn’t actually help me sleep.” You admitted. “I just need to do it.”

“Wow. I can’t wait to see all the other little quirks you’ve been hiding from me.” Peter smirked as he leaned over to kiss you.

“Yeah.” You laughed nervously. “Quirks.”

~

Peter woke up the next morning to the feeling of you playing with his hair, soft fingertips brushing it off his forehead.

“Good morning sleepy head.” You said through a yawn as you combed his hair off his face.

“Good morning to you too. Are you hungry?” Peter asked as he rubbed your shoulders.

“Um, what time is it?” You sleepily rubbed your eyes.

“111:23” He answered after checking his phone.

“I’m okay.” You decided, despite your stomach growling. “I’ll wait until lunch.”

“Are you sure?” Peter noticed the growl. “I can make you something.”

“I’m sure. Sure, sure, sure.” You told him. “I’ll wait until lunch.”

Once the clock hit an even number, it was lunchtime. You walked into the kitchen at 2:24 feeling famished.

“God I’m hungry.” You patted your stomach. “Do you have anything to eat?”

“Let’s see.” Peter said as he opened his cabinet. “I have honey and boxed Mac and cheese.”

“Ooo. This a fancy restaurant.” You teased as you hugged him from behind.

“Shut up.” He laughed and turned around in your arms. “I haven’t gone shopping in a while.”

“It’s fine. We’ll go tomorrow.” You told him before kissing him. You broke away from him and took out the macaroni while he got out a pot and filled it with water.

“Here you are my love.” Peter carried the heavy pot with ease and placed it on the stove.

“Thank you. How long does the box say to boil it for?” You asked as you turned the heat up on the stove.

“11-13 minutes.” Peter read off the back of the box.

“Okay.” You nodded as you set the timer to 12 minutes. “Okay, okay, okay.”

“So precise.” Peter joked, making your face flush.

“Yup.” You forced a laugh and kept your tone light. “I just like to be precise. I definitely don’t feel like I can’t eat the macaroni unless it cooks for exactly 12 minutes.”

“What was that?” Peter asked curiously when he didn’t understand what you said.

“Nothing.” You looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. “It’ll be ready soon.”

~

A month later, Peter walked into his bathroom to brush his teeth. You were already in there, leaning close to the mirror and pressing on all your teeth.

“What are you doing?” Peter chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“I need you to check my teeth.” You turned around in his arms with a panicked expression.

“For food?” He asked and looked at your teeth. “They’re all good.”

“No, for any loose ones.” You told him and he let out a short laugh.

“Why would your teeth be loose?” He raised an eyebrow, thinking you were kidding.

“They’re not. I know they’re not.” You said, mostly to yourself. “Could you just confirm for me that they’re not?”

Peter found the request strange, but obliged and pressed on your teeth the way you had.

“All good.” He confirmed. “Nothing loose.”

You sighed in relief and turned around again, leaving Peter curious about the encounter. He shrugged it off and walked back into the bedroom, changing into his Spiderman suit while you finished up in the bathroom.

“You’re going out?” You asked from the doorway when you noticed Peter in his suit.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t be too long.” He promised. “I’ll be back before you’re asleep.”

“Will you be back before 12?” You asked as you tugged on your earlobe.

“Yeah, I will.” He told you as he placed his hands on your waist.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” You smiled at Peter as you patted his cheek twice before kissing him. You did this every time Peter was about to leave on patrol. Before you were a couple, he’d text you before he would go out on patrol so you could flex your hand three times to ensure his safety. Now, it was two taps to the cheek and a kiss.

An hour into patrol, Peters phone rang and lit up with your contact. He answered it but before he could say hello, you started speaking.

“Peter are you okay?” You wheezed, sounding frantic.

“I’m fine, honey.” He quickly assured you. “Are you okay?”

“Yea.” You sounded more relaxed. “Are you sure you’re okay? Where are you?”

“I’m on a rooftop near the bakery.” He answered. “Did something happen?”

“No.” You sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” He confirmed. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Alright. I love you.” You said into the phone. “I love, love, love you.”

~

“Are you ready to watch the movie, honey?” Peter called from the living room. It was a few months now since you started living together and he had taken a night off from patrol to be with you.

“Almost. I’m just washing my hands.” You called back. A commercial playing in the background caught your attention and you shut the water off to listen.

“What did they say it treated?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder at the TV.

“BPH.” Pete answered, reading off the screen.

“Do I have that?” You wondered, making a Peter laugh. He looked back at you to see if you were kidding, but your face showed your we’re serious.

“BPH? No, lovey.” He shook his head. “That’s just for men. I think it’s when your prostate is enlarged. And in the words of Noah Puckerman, “chicks don’t have prostates”.”

“So I don’t have that?” You asked him again, as if you didn’t believe him.

“No. You don’t have that.” He answered, growing concerned.

“Okay.” You nodded and dried your hands. “Do you have that?”

“Um, I don’t think so.” Peter furrowed his eyebrows at the strange question.

“Okay.” You said again. “Just making sure.”

“Okay.” Peter eyed you curiously as the opening credits started to play. “Oo, it’s starting.”

“I love this movie.” You mumbled as you nuzzled into Peters side.

“Me too.” Peter smiled as he pulled you closer. “I’ve seen it like 3 times already.”

“I’ve seen it 13 times.” You said after a beat of silence, making Peters eyes widen.

“Really?” He asked. “You must really like it.”

“I like rewatching the same movies.” You said sheepishly.

“Why?”

“I like knowing the ending and whats gonna happen next.” You told him, looking at him to see if he thought it was weird. His face didn’t show any signs of disdain, so you relaxed.

You watched the movie in comfortable silence as time went on, never leaving each other’s sides.

“What time is it?” You asked as the movie neared it’s end.

“11:47 babe.” Peter answered when he checked his phone.

“I have to go to bed.” You said suddenly, getting up off the couch.

“The movies almost over, lovey.” Peter chuckled in confusion as you left his side. “Just 30 more minutes.”

“I know.” You chewed your lip nervously and twisted your fingers. “I just have to go to bed. I can’t really explain it.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded, still confused. “Good night.”

“Goodnight.” You bent down to kiss him before trotting off to bed. “Night, night, night.”

Peter was beginning to pick up on certain things. You needed it be in bed by 12, you often called him randomly to ask if he was okay, and you stayed away from odd numbers. He didn’t know what to chalk it up to, but he didn’t want to pry if you didn’t want to talk about it.

~

Peter caught you putting your caught on one morning as he was coming into the kitchen to get some breakfast.

“Where are you sneaking off to so early?” He asked through a yawn as he lazily kissed your lips.

“I forgot I have a doctors appointments today.” You pouted. “It’s in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Do you need me to drive you?” He offered.

“You don’t have to drive, but could you come with me?” You asked and he nodded.

“Of course. Let’s go.” Peter grabbed his keys and walked with you to the car.

~

You walked into the lobby where Peter had waited for you with a strange look on his face. Peter immediately stood up and met you halfway, feeling concerned when he saw your expression. He could sense something was off with you but he wasn’t sure what.

“Hey baby.” He rubbed your arms in comfort. “How was the appointment?”

“Um, fine.” You nodded hesitantly. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” Peter asked. “Did the doctor say anything?”

“No.” You lied. “Nothing important.”

“Thats good.” Peter agreed, not fully convinced you were okay.

“Hey, when’s the last time you had a check up?” You wondered as you walked towards the car.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Peter shrugged. “Less than a year ago.”

“You should probably get checked out. You know, to make sure you’re okay.” You told him as you buckled your seatbelt.

“Sure. I can schedule an appointment soon.” Peter nodded, still looking at you in confusion.

“Do you feel okay? Do you feel sick or anything?” You put your hand on his forehead while keeping your eyes on the road.

“No.” You said quickly. “I’m okay.”

You continued driving in silence as Peter wondered what was bothering you. You were nervously chewing your lip as you checked your rear view mirror every few seconds.

“Oh my God.” You gasped and looked behind you. “I have to turn around.”

“Why?” Peter turned around as well. “What’s wrong?”

“I might have hit someone.” You gulped and changed lanes so you could turn around. Peters jaw dropped a little, knowing full well that you hadn’t hit anyone.

“Lovey, you didn’t hit anyone.” He said slowly. “We would’ve felt it.”

“I know I didn’t.” You said in defeat. “I just need to check to make sure.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded, sensing something was wrong. “We can turn around.”

You turned around and passed by the street where you though you hit something. Nothing was there, so you kept driving. Peter kept hai eyes on you, notching the worried look on your face as you continued to check the mirror.

“Are you okay?” He asked you.

“I have to do it again.” You sighed. “I have to turn around.”

“You didn’t hit anyone. You’re a good driver, baby.” He said quietly as he put his hand on your knee.

“I know I didn’t hit anyone. I know that but I just…” You sighed in frustration and put your blinker on. “I just have to. I’m sorry. I have to turn around.”

“Okay.” Peter agreed, not taking his eyes off you. You drove past the spot again and kept going, but your expression didn’t change.

“Do you want to turn around again?” Peter asked gently, and hit tears fell down your cheeks.

“Yes.” You sputtered. “I have to do it again. I know I didn’t hit anyone but-“

“It’s okay.” Peter assured you. “We can turn around as many times as you want.”

You gave him an appreciative look before turning around again. You calmed down as you passed the spot and continued driving in silence.

“I’m sorry.” You said after a minute. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I can’t help it though.”

“You don’t have to apologize. And I don’t think it’s weird. I just don’t understand.” Peter spoke softly as he rubbed your knee. You looked at him quickly and chew your lip as you toyed with something in your mind.

“Peter, I have OCD.” You said weakly as you snuck glances at him. Peter’s eyebrows raised in surprise before settling back down into a look of confusion.

“Oh. You do?”

“That’s what the doctor just said.” You continued. “He said there are medications to treat it. I don’t know if I should take it. But I think I need some help.”

“I’m proud of you for telling me you need help.” Peter squeezed your knee. “I had no idea you had OCD. You don’t clean things all the time or like, straighten your pencils or anything.”

“That’s not - no.” You shook your head. “It’s not really like that. It can be for some people, but that’s not what mine is like. OCD is not always cleaning based. Mine is mostly instructive thoughts or repetitive behavior.”

“Oh.” Peter thought back on all your repetitive phrases and movements. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” You sighed and looked at him out of the corner of you eye to see his reaction.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, much to your surprise.

“Could you just text me? I worry about you. Like, a lot.” You admitted. “I worry about if you’re okay or not all the time. Every time you go out on patrol, I put on this one movie. I feel like if I’m not watching the movie, you’re gonna die. I can’t explain it. I know you won’t die, but I can’t shake the feeling that you will. I just always worry about you.”

“I think I can help that.” Peter offered. “I can text you every half hour and make sure you know I’m safe.”

“Are you sure?” You asked as you pulled into your driveway. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“It’s okay.” Peter assured you. “Whatever I can do to make this easier, I’ll do it.”

You smiled fondly at Peter before leaning over the gear shift and kissing him, patting his cheek twice before pulling away.

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Thats exactly what I needed to hear.”

Tag List 🏷

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[fruitcoops]

Omg can you write about coops going live on instagram and answering TONS of fans questions? And just being domestic and cute together in general

I can, yes! This is partially the 450 celebration--to the lovely person who suggested writing a sequel to one of my favorites, please know that I love and appreciate you! Coop credit goes to @lumosinlove

Check out Part 1 here

“Is it working? I think it’s working.” An explosion of hearts covered the screen and Remus’ eyebrows rose. “Yep, definitely working. Hello, Instagram! I’m Remus Lupin, winger for the Lions.”

“And I’m Sirius Black, center and team captain.” Sirius waved at the phone. “We had a great time answering your questions last month and we figured we’d come back to do it again, since there were so many people we couldn’t get around to in those few minutes.”

“I can already see a bunch coming in. Should we start?” Remus asked, turning to him with a small smile.

“You go first.”

“Alright, first question….” He squinted at the screen. “How long have we been together? We’ve been dating for just over a year now, but we’ve known each other for three-ish.”

Sirius snorted when he read the next question. “What do we do in our free time? It’s cute that you think we have free time. Um, we read a lot. Sometimes I’ll play video games with the guys.”

“If we have a free weekend, we’ll go hiking or take a short road trip. Practice takes up four or five hours a day, so we’re very low-key, which I think surprises people.” Remus scrolled down a bit. “What are our favorite foods?”

“Don’t say it.” Sirius said immediately. “Don’t you dare.”

“Fine, fine.” Just as Sirius began to answer, he coughed, “pineapple pizza.”

“No!” Sirius smacked Remus on the arm with a pillow as he laughed. “Menace. My favorite food is pasta, because it’s versatile and I’m not a heathen. All of you who are agreeing with him, stop it right now. I’m very disappointed in your tastebuds. Next question…do either of us cook? We do, yeah.”

Remus gave him a look. “Do you, though?”

“That’s a funny thing to hear coming from the man who said he’d die for one of my grilled cheeses yesterday,” Sirius countered.

“Fair point. Yes, we both cook, but I generally do it more often because I enjoy it.”

Sirius looked back at the camera with sad eyes. “He kicked me out of the kitchen last week.”

“You kept stealing bites of soup!” Remus laughed. “It wasn’t even done, you could have gotten salmonella!”

“You can’t get salmonella from soup,” Sirius scoffed. The comment section went wild. “…apparently you can. Huh.”

“Next question, before we get too off-track. Who is the more dramatic one?” Remus folded his hands and rested his chin on top. “I’m giving you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re plenty dramatic.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Moving on! Oooo, this one is for me specifically.” He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist as he read. “Sirius: does Regulus—you spelled that wrong by the way, there’s only one ‘g’—does Regulus still live with you? If yes, how does that work?”

“I’m telling him someone spelled his name wrong,” Remus said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“He’ll be so pissed,” Sirius agreed. “Nope, Reg moved out a few months ago and now lives with Pascal Dumais, but it was really neat to have him around. He’s still got a room here and it was nice spending so much time with him after we didn’t talk for a while. He’s awful about vacuuming, though.”

“Aw, people think that’s cute.” Remus smiled as he read the responses. “Ohoho, people are getting nosy. What do we argue about the most?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe chores?”

“I was going to say practice time. We’ve gotten into a couple tiffs about watching tape or running drills after we get home.”

“That’s true.” Sirius frowned at the screen. “For those of you who apparently think that’s all one-sided: it’s really not.”

“He came downstairs to get me at ten or eleven at night the other day. We’re both hockey nerds, so it happens from time to time.”

“Are we going to keep doing tiktoks? Oh, for sure, they’re a ton of fun.”

“Absolutely. Where else am I going to get the inspiration to glue things shut just to irritate him?”

Sirius shook his head with a smile. “Diablotin.”

“Nothing like being called a gremlin by your fiancé,” Remus laughed, tapping the screen. “Okay…who’s the best in bed?”

“I’d say we both sleep really well,” Sirius said. “You talk sometimes, which is really funny.”

Remus glanced over. “Do I really?”

“Yep. I think you were grocery shopping the other night. You kept saying orange juice very adamantly.”

“Interesting. I agree, though, we both value sleep.”

“There are too many questions!” Sirius scooted forward and sifted through them. “To jay-mac 2001, we both love kids and might have some in a few years. No, mermaid queen, we don’t really have friends outside of hockey because we don’t have lives outside of hockey—” Remus leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder as he laughed. “—but I’m sure that will change someday. Oh, here’s a fun one: what are our love languages?”

“Our what?”

“Love languages. Like the Buzzfeed quiz Pots made us take last week.” The screen lit up and Sirius looked offended. “Of course we know what Buzzfeed is! We’re 25, you fuckers!”

“I think mine was quality time.”

Sirius pulled Remus’ arm further around his shoulders and leaned into his side with a smile. “It’s physical affection,” he singsonged, making him laugh. “Your turn.”

“Have you finally found your song?” Remus read aloud. “I think so! We did an interview a while back and there was a question about our ‘couple song’, which we didn’t have at the time.”

“That didn’t answer the question, sweetheart.”

“Oh! Shit, sorry. It’s La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf.”

Sirius read the next question and snorted. “This is convenient. Who swears more?”

Remus looked away. “It’s, uh, a tie.”

“That’s such a lie.”

He sighed. “It’s probably me.”

“You taught a literal baby to swear.” Sirius turned back to the camera with a wicked grin. “Harry’s first word was ‘Loops’, but his second was ‘shit’ and there’s an eighty percent chance he learned it from Re.”

“Changing the subject!” Remus cleared his throat, then smiled. “Aw, I like this one. What’s the compliment you get most often from your partner?”

“Does it have to be verbal?”

“Sirius.”

Sirius’ eyes went wide. “Not like that! Oh, fuck, I did not mean that! You always touch my hair, so I figured that was a compliment. Merde.”

Remus shook his head. “We need a supervisor again. Anyways, you talk about my freckles all the time and it’s adorable.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Sap.”

“Yeah.” Sirius kissed his cheek. “What’s the best date I’ve ever been on? We went ice skating at the local rink a few weeks ago and it was so much fun. I had never done that before.”

Remus’ eyebrows rose. “I thought for sure you would say the aquarium.”

“The aqu—oh, right! With the jellyfish arch!”

“Yeah!”

“Now it’s a tie, I can’t decide.”

“That’s fair. From spaceman93: who tops? We actually don’t have a bunk bed, though that would be cool as hell! Do you think Ikea sells them?”

“We should check.”

The screen exploded into activity again and Remus did a double-take. “Yes, we do buy our furniture from Ikea, there’s no need to sound so shocked. This person—I can’t read your username, sorry—wants to know which of us is more cuddly.”

“Definitely me,” Sirius said.

“For sure. I like cuddling people, but only a select few. I mean, I’m assuming you guys saw the Cap cuddles slideshow at our last game.” He laughed when Sirius turned pink. “Why are you embarrassed? It was cute!”

“There’s a hashtag now!” Sirius complained. “I have a reputation.” Remus rolled his eyes fondly as Sirius looked for the next question. “Ha! Do we ever get jealous?”

“Yes, but not for the reasons people might think.”

Sirius laughed quietly. “We went out to a bar for Kasey’s birthday a month or so ago—”

“Oh, please no.”

“—and a young lady was hitting on me, not taking the hint—”

“Jesus.”

“—so Re comes out of nowhere and kisses me full on the mouth in front of everyone.” He snickered and Remus hid his face in his hands. “It was kinda hot, not gonna lie. Really funny looking back, though. Your turn, sweetheart.”

“Who is clumsier? Ooh, we’re both disasters off the ice. I tripped over the carpet about twenty minutes ago.”

“I’ve run into every doorframe in this house at least twice.” Sirius grimaced. “If I could just tape my skates to my feet and always be on ice, that would be much safer.”

Remus cocked his head to the side. “I dunno, it would be hard to sleep in them.”

“I do that all that time.”

“That’s true, you take a nap in the hall at least once a week in full gear.”

“Reverse Edward Scissorhands.” They had to take a moment to stop laughing before Sirius turned back to the phone. “Mon dieu. Alright, what do we have next…when did you know I was ‘the one’? When did you know, mon amour?”

“Breaking out the nicknames, very snazzy,” Remus teased as he rested his chin on his hand. “I think it was just an accumulation of things, and then one day I went ‘oh shit’ and just knew. Sometime around New Year’s, maybe?”

“You only made it two months?” Sirius teased, nudging him lightly.

“Shush, you.” Remus nudged him back. “I knew I wanted to propose when I came home from hanging out with Leo and you were napping with the dog. You had done the dishes and left Avatar on so we could watch it together, and I opened the door and knew that I wanted that moment forever.”

Sirius smile was unbearably soft, and he kissed Remus on the cheek as hearts filled the comments section. “I’ve never seen so many keysmashes in my life,” he laughed when he looked back to it. “Hey, someone addressed one to you specifically.”

“Really?” He leaned forward eagerly. “To Remus, do you feel like part of the team yet? I do, a hundred percent! It helped that I was close with a lot of the guys from being the PT, so those friendships carried over really well. Being a player on the roster has only made that better and it’s the best job in the world.”

“Who has the better smile? We’re going to say each other, so I think we’ll leave that one to the comments—fuck, that was a bad idea, it’s moving too fast for me to read!” Sirius tapped the screen desperately, then gave up and waited for the scrolling to slow down. “Ask each other one question you’ve always wanted to know the answer to.”

“Do you actually want to get your ears pierced?” Remus asked. “You talked about it a while ago but I wasn’t sure if you were kidding.”

Sirius thought for a minute, biting his lip. “Y’know, I might. It was one of those things where it started as a joke and then I kept thinking about it. I’m not sure, hockey’s not the best sport to have things that can catch and tear.” They both winced at the idea. “My turn. What is it about pineapple pizza that you actually enjoy?”

“It annoys you.” Remus laughed as Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I honestly don’t know why I like it so much. There’s something about the sweetness that goes so well with the regular pizza taste. Okay, last question for me: how many freckles do I have? Not many right now.”

“So many in the summer,” Sirius said dreamily. “That’s the best part of summertime and the only reason I like Florida. They might have bouncy ice, but it’s worth it to see the freckles pop.”

“Whew, Florida’s getting mad in the comments!” Remus grinned. “Get some real ice, then come talk to us.”

“Final question, then we really have to go. What does your partner look best in?” Sirius drummed his fingers on his knees. “His jersey. Or my jersey. He does own a pair of skinny jeans, though, and that was the closest thing to a religious experience I’ve ever had.”

“They’re comfortable.” Remus shrugged, but he looked rather self-satisfied. “That’s all we have time for, folks, but thanks for joining us!”

“Go Lions!”

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (3)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Fun fact: the final scene of this chapter is part of my original brainstorm for this fic. The rest of the scenes I initially dreamt up won’t come until much later, so I’m thrilled to have at least one of them come early on in the story. 

To Carrie and Anna, the lights of my life: I named the neighbor after you two. She’s annoying as shit and nothing like either of you, but I needed a name and decided if anyone deserves to have their name as an Easter egg, it’s the two of you. 

*****

Despite the storm, Matty has the shipment of borrowed guns delivered to the Port of Houston in the middle of the night. While they eat breakfast, Mac and Riley study Matty’s excruciatingly detailed directions for navigating the port and finding their shipping crate. She certainly didn’t make it easy on them. 

Riley leans back in her chair, looking around until her eyes land on Harley. “Time for you to earn your keep,” she says between mouthfuls of toast. 

Supposedly, this is what Harley specializes in—sniffing out weapons. The dog should be able to confirm which shipping container the guns are stashed in without Mac or Riley having to check themselves. Theoretically. 

Mac finishes his own plate of eggs and toast in a few ravenous bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.” He gets up to clear the plates and start rinsing dishes. After living with her for more than a year, Riley making breakfast is routine, but Mac still thanks her for it every day. 

Living in the apartment together, they fall right back into their old habits. Mac wakes up early and goes for a run. By the time he returns, Riley is awake and making breakfast. After they eat, Mac showers while Riley goes on her own run. And so on and so forth. 

While Mac was out this morning, he wove through the whole neighborhood, making sure it’s safe for Riley to go out alone. She can handle herself, but Mac has no delusions about the overall quality of men on the streets, and even though he can’t fix that, at least he can help minimize her chances of encountering creepy dudes. 

Before they leave for the Port, Mac and Riley scour their car for a bug or any other surveillance equipment the organization might’ve hidden while they were inside the warehouse talking to Conrad yesterday. They find none. Thankfully. 

Once again, they’re going in armed, and the weight of Mac’s gun feels just as foreign and unwelcome as it did yesterday. He tries not to fidget with it while Riley drives, but she notices his discomfort anyway. “You’ve got to relax,” she says. “All your squirming is stressing me out.” 

“Sorry.” Mac stills, even though his whole body screams to put the gun somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Once they arrive at the Port, Mac guides Riley through the maze of cranes and crates and warehouses until they find the one Matty had the guns stashed in—dark green and otherwise nondescript. 

Unfortunately, there are multiple shipping containers that fit that description at the location Matty provided. As they get out of the SUV, Riley glances between the boxes nervously. “Uhh, which one is it?” 

Mac doesn’t have a clue. “I guess that’s for Harley to tell us.” He looks down at the dog standing obediently beside him. “Find it.” 

He releases the leash as Harley takes off like a rocket, sniffing each container and the surrounding area. She inspects more than half of them before sitting and looking back at Mac. He waits for her to bark, but she doesn’t. Whoever trained her clearly did so with stealth in mind. 

“Do we open it to double check?” Riley asks. 

Mac opens his mouth to say yes, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before a muddy, dark-blue diesel truck parks beside their SUV. Conrad jumps out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by two younger men, wearing matching scowls and Carhartt jackets. He walks with that same entitled swagger, and a cheap smile spreads across his face. 

“Mr. Turner!” Conrad exclaims, shaking Mac’s hand. His grip is too firm to be friendly. Stepping back, he sneers at Riley, acknowledging her just long enough to impatiently say, “Genevieve.” Mac doesn’t miss the way Conrad’s eyes drop to Riley’s chest, nor the way Riley bristles beside him, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her and crossing her arms to hold it in place. Mac clears his throat. “Sorry,” Conrad says, not sounding sorry at all, “but your wife is very attractive.” 

Riley rolls her eyes so hard they nearly fall out of her head. 

“Your order is this way,” Mac says, cutting off Conrad before he could make another gross statement, “Follow me.” Mac puts a hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he steers the man toward the shipping container. Harley is still sitting beside it, waiting patiently, and Mac scratches her head with his free hand. 

Riley whistles, a single sharp note that sends Harley running back to her side. Mac buries his relief that she’s not alone, although he’d still much rather the hulking bodyguards were closer to him than Riley. 

Focus, Mac reminds himself. Riley can hold her own. Just get this over with. 

Mac opens the container, revealing two nondescript wooden crates. Still sneering—at this point, Mac’s starting to think that’s the only expression Conrad is capable of—Conrad waves over his bodyguards, gesturing for them to open the crates. 

For just a second, Conrad’s sneer edges toward a smile. Inside the crates lie exactly what he ordered: military-grade, semi-automatic rifles and enough ammo to kickstart the apocalypse. Mac’s gut churns. He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates that he’s arming terrorists. He hates how these men look at Riley like dogs drooling over a steak. He hates that he can’t do anything about any of it, that he has no choice but to play along. 

Mac wishes he could bury his feelings the way Riley does, locking them behind a carefully controlled mask. Instead, his linger just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known at the first available opportunity. 

Counting backward from five, he steels himself to finish the game. Just as Conrad brushes a reverent finger down the barrel of a rifle, Mac chides, “We followed through on our end of the bargain. Did you?” 

“Of course.” 

One of the bodyguards pulls out his phone. In a deeper voice than Mac expects, he says, “We can wire the payment to your bank account right now.” 

“Good. My wife will help you set that up.” Mac gestures to Riley, and the bodyguard walks over to her. 

Conrad extends his hand, and Mac takes it, trying not to wince when his arm brushes his concealed gun. “Pleasure doing business with you, James,” Conrad says. 

“I hope this is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.” Long and prosper? Who was he, Spock? 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Patriots.” Conrad gestures for his men to start loading the guns into their truck. “Expect another order within the week.” 

Mac doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Riley waves him over, apparently having finished her conversation with Conrad’s lackey. “I’ll leave you to it,” Mac says, then turns his back on the terrorists and rejoins Riley. On instinct, he reaches for her arm as he murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

Riley tenses under his touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He said the same thing to Conrad just a minute ago. Good. But the word is light years different from before—soft and caring, not curt and vaguely challenging. Bozer pointed it out to him once, how he talks to Riley differently than he does anyone else. 

Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t get distracted, no matter how much his mind only wants to think about Riley. Releasing her arm, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Back at the apartment, Riley settles in on the couch to dig into the Patriots' bank records. By wire-transferring the money instead of paying them in cash, Conrad practically offered up the organization's entire digital footprint on a silver platter, at least to someone like Riley. She doesn't speak as she works, so Mac listens to the melody of keyboard clicks while he makes them each a grilled cheese. 

Contrary to popular belief, he's not completely incompetent, although Bozer has nearly everyone convinced otherwise. Mac will never be able to cook something fancy, but he does make a mean sandwich. 

He even spreads mayo on the bread, the way Bozer does, because Riley prefers it that way. 

The sizzle of the sandwiches hitting the hot pan joins the keyboard clicks right as Riley announces, "I hacked into their bank records." 

"What've you got?" 

"From the look of it, the shell corp they used to pay us has only been around for four months. Before that, they must've either paid in cash or used personal accounts." 

"That makes sense though, since the Patriots haven't been around all that long." 

"That's what I thought at first, but come look." Mac does, leaning over the back of the couch so his head is right beside hers. Riley points at the screen. "The first three transactions were all big deposits, each one two weeks apart." 

Frowning, Mac squints at the tiny numbers on the screen. "One hundred thousand dollars?" 

"Times three deposits," Riley adds. 

"Where the hell did they get that kind of money?"

"I don't know. The deposits were cash." 

“Damn. Did you at least figure out who their previous arms dealer was?” 

“Yeah.” Riley shifts, causing her hair to tickle Mac’s nose, and he brushes her hair to the opposite side of her neck without another thought. “Turns out their previous dealer has Mexican cartel connections, which explains why the Patriots only paid them twice. I’m guessing they found out about the cartel part and broke it off before they made a long-term deal.” 

“At least they’re not complete idiots,” Mac mumbles. Tired of squinting, he leans closer to better see the screen. 

Except now they’re cheek to cheek, and Mac suddenly can’t focus on the screen at all. 

Riley twists to look at him, and it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to glance at her lips. "Are you burning my grilled cheese?" 

"No." He straightens, simultaneously disappointed and relieved by the space now between them. Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t keep getting distracted like this. 

"Uh huh. Sure." 

Retreating to the kitchen, Mac calls, "That was one time!"

*****

As expected, they don’t hear anything from Conrad or the Patriots the following day. Mac doesn’t know what to do with all the downtime on this op. There are plenty of books in the apartment, but he’s too restless to sit and read. He opens the fridge, more out of boredom than actual hunger. 

They’re on day five of the undercover op, and it’s starting to feel an awful lot like quarantine. With nothing to do but hurry up and wait, hanging out in the apartment and doing nothing is starting to make Mac go a little stir crazy. 

When Riley emerges from the bedroom wearing workout clothes, it’s clear she feels the same way. “I’m going for a run,” she announces. 

“Want company?” He hopes she says yes. Anything to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Riley unplugs her phone from the charger and slides it into her pocket. “No offense, but no.” 

Dammit. Mac shoves down his disappointment. “None taken.” He closes the fridge. Nothing in there looks good. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “After I get back we can go to the space museum, okay?” 

His heart skips a beat at her offer. “Is it that obvious I’m bored?” 

“Yes.” Riley gives him a pitying smile. “So do you want to go?” 

Mac smiles. It feels like she just asked him out on a date. It’s not, but it feels like one anyway. Be cool. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” 

“Okay then.” Popping in her earbuds, she walks out the door. 

“Enjoy your run, muffin!” Mac calls, stealing Bozer’s go-to pet name for when he’s undercover with Riley. She reaches back inside to flip him off before slamming the door shut, and Mac chuckles. Riley really hates that nickname.

Now it’s just him, Harley, and this tiny apartment. 

Resuming his search for food he’s not even hungry for, Mac opens the pantry, and Harley comes running into the kitchen. She must’ve learned the sound of the door opening since they keep the dog food in there. Harley looks up at Mac expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whines, and her pleading expression reminds Mac of the wide-eyed look Bozer mastered as a kid while begging his parents for something. Neither are very effective. “You just had breakfast an hour ago,” he insists.  

Harley glances at the open pantry, then back at him. 

Mac doesn’t give in, but he does kneel to pet her instead, scratching Harley’s neck and ending up with a handful of hair. Frowning, Mac digs through every drawer in the kitchen in search of a dog brush. No luck. He checks the bedroom and bathroom, coming up empty once again. Who even organized this house? It makes no sense. His gaze lands on the laundry room door. 

Ah. 

Sure enough, there’s a dog brush on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Leash and brush in-hand, Mac calls out, “Alright, girl. Let’s go de-floof you.” 

Harley takes one look at the brush and sprints in the other direction. 

Well this is going to be harder than Mac anticipated. 

He ends up chasing Harley throughout the apartment, zig-zagging from one room to the next. Every time Mac gets close, Harley slips by, just out of reach. After the fourth time she sends Mac stumbling into the furniture after lunging for her and missing, he realizes what she’s doing. 

Harley is playing him. This is a game to her. And, so far, she’s winning. 

Mac stares the dog down, and she seems to narrow her eyes in response. “Challenge accepted,” he tells her. 

This time, he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for—peanut butter. He smears an unnecessarily large glob into Harley’s dog bowl, making sure she sees exactly what he’s doing. Harley’s stubborn, and does a good job of appearing not to care, but Mac has a hard time believing any dog would turn down peanut butter. 

Harley, it turns out, is no exception. 

She follows him to the door, and Mac rewards her with a few licks of peanut butter while he clips on the leash, careful not to let her eat so much that there’s not enough to last while brushing her. Despite Harley’s obvious enjoyment of the peanut butter, Mac is no fool. She let him win this round, no doubt about it. 

He leads Harley down the stairs to the small lawn in front of the apartment building, where it wouldn’t matter if he left dog hair everywhere. The brush pulls away thick chunks of her undercoat with each pass, and it doesn’t take long for the lawn to look like something died there. 

The peanut butter, unfortunately, doesn’t last nearly as long as Mac hopes. 

Mac figures out pretty quickly that Harley does not like her tail being brushed; she turns away and tucks her tail and generally makes it impossible for Mac to reach it. He sits back on his heels, formulating a new strategy. “If I don’t brush your tail,” he says, “you’re going to look like a squirrel, and neither of us wants that.” 

Harley’s ears prick at the word squirrel. 

Mac tries again, and this time Harley lets him…sort of. It’s not perfect, but at least she won’t be leaving hair all over the apartment anymore—hair that he needs to vacuum, because Riley asked him to last night and he’d completely forgotten until now. Tucking the brush into his back pocket, Mac scratches Harley’s ears the way he learned she likes, and when she leans into his touch, Mac’s heart swells. 

“Good girl.” He kisses her head, and Harley licks his chin in return. “See? We’re not so bad.” Mac sighs. “I know we’re not who you wanted, but we’re going to take good care of you.” 

Riley made the same promise in the war room. Even if she doesn’t stay with them after the op, Mac will make sure Harley ends up with people who will love her for the rest of her life. 

“I promise,” he murmurs into her fur, kissing her head again.

Mac startles when a feminine voice calls, “You could make a whole other dog from all that hair.” A middle-aged woman stands in the walkway, oversized blue purse on her shoulder and car keys in hand. She smiles at Mac. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” 

“Yeah,” Mac says, standing up. “My wife and I moved in this week.” 

“Well, welcome. My name is Carrie Ann, and my husband and I live in apartment 317. Feel free to stop by anytime. I think you’ll like living here, though I must warn you that it gets pretty loud during football season.” 

Mac nods. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.” He expects Carrie Ann to keep walking—presumably to her car—but she doesn’t, and Mac suddenly gets the feeling this conversation is about to be much longer than he wants. 

“And who is this cutie?” she asks, directing her attention to the dog. 

“This is Harley.” 

Carrie Ann sounds like a squeaker toy, greeting Harley in a voice so high-pitched it’s almost inhuman and petting her without bothering to ask for permission. Harley eyes the woman warily but surprisingly sits still. “I love dogs,” she says at a mercifully normal decibel. “Sadly my husband is allergic.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Mac shifts from foot to foot, eager to escape the small talk. He’s never really had the patience for it. 

Carrie Ann, it seems, is completely oblivious to his discomfort. She prattles on, asking asinine questions about what he does for work, if he’s been to the coffee place down the street, and when she can meet his wife. 

Mac doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Riley appears in his peripheral vision, as if on cue. “Actually,” he says to Carrie Ann, “you can meet her right now.” Mac flashes Riley a wide, bright smile that she returns half-heartedly, chest still heaving after her run. Sweat glistens on her body, and a few wispy curls that escaped her ponytail are now plastered to her face. “This is my wife, Genevieve.” 

Giving Harley a quick scratch, Riley stands beside him, close enough that Mac can feel the heat radiating off her body. Instinctively, he starts to put a hand on her back, but he quickly pulls away. She’s not wearing a shirt—only a sports bra and those stupidly tight leggings—and the intimacy of putting his hand on her bare skin is too much to handle. “Hi,” she says, completely oblivious to Mac’s internal panic. 

Carrie Ann introduces herself again, and Mac is only half-listening while she and Riley chat. Riley’s so much better at small talk anyway. 

He’s much too focused on how Riley grabs his shoulder to use him for balance while she stretches. She’s so casual about it, like she’s done it a million times before. His skin burns under her touch. 

Mac wants to feel more of her, wants his whole body to feel like that. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Stop thinking about her like that. 

He can’t. 

Even after Riley lets go, the feeling lingers, and Mac can’t stop thinking about that too. She’s standing slightly in front of him now, almost as if she’s protecting him from their nosey neighbor.

“When are you having kids?” Carrie Ann coos. “An attractive couple such as yourselves would make such beautiful children.” 

Shit. He and Riley never talked about that. 

Before Mac can come up with an answer, Riley pulls his arms around her, a smile blooming on her face. She guides his hands to rest low on her abdomen. “We’re actually trying right now.” 

Mac’s brain short-circuits. 

He blushes, both at the casual intimacy of Riley wrapping herself in him and at the implications of what she just said. Pressing her body fully into Mac’s, Riley looks up at him, smiling like he’s her whole world, and Mac’s heart stops. He’s not breathing. 

His whole body burns, and the feeling is so much more intense than he imagined just seconds ago. 

Alight with mischief, Riley’s dark brown eyes draw him in, and suddenly Mac is picturing Riley with that exact same expression while wearing far less clothing. 

Mac thinks he might die from spontaneous combustion. 

You are so beautiful, he barely stops himself from saying. His blush deepens as he’s snared in the mental image of him and Riley doing said “trying.” 

Their neighbor has the audacity to laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Genevieve. Your husband looks like he’s ready for another round.” 

That makes it worse. So much worse. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust, then he’ll definitely die of embarrassment. It’s not how he wants to die, but it’s better than explaining his reaction to Riley. Because she’s going to ask him about it. Mac knows this—knows this like he knows grass is green and gravity is what keeps his feet on the ground.

As soon as Carrie Ann leaves, Riley does exactly that. She extricates herself from his grasp, putting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow the way she always does when she knows something’s up. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Mac’s voice is strained as he replies, “Yeah. I’m good.” 

He is not good. He is definitely not good. 

And Riley knows it. 

This op feels like all Mac’s worst nightmares coming to fruition. Simultaneously. 

Riley can’t know. Her knowing would ruin everything—their friendship, their work, their trust. Mac can hardly look her in the eye. How is Riley supposed to trust him when he’s secretly thinking about her like that? He’s her friend; he’s supposed to protect her from guys who want her like that, not become one of them. 

But god does Mac want to be one of them. Not one of them, he corrects himself. The only one. 

He’s screwed.

.

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[who-ya-gonna-call-winchesters]

A Learning Experience - jack kline x reader

Sam and Dean Winchester leave their little sister behind on a hunt to be a glorified babysitter for a certain nephilim. Y/n introduces Jack to a bunch of new things like pancakes, grocery stores and chick flicks. A few harmless questions arise. Fluff.

Word Count: 2,154 

masterlist

If anyone had told you a couple months ago that you would be babysitting Lucifer’s son while your brothers went out hunting without you, you would have laughed in their faces. But that was then and now you were cooking breakfast for two in the bunker’s kitchen balancing your phone against your head with your shoulder. 

“Real nice move, assholes. A note. What a nice way to tell your sister you’re abandoning her”, you hissed.

“We’re not abandoning you, Y/n, it’s just a couple weeks. Jack isn’t ready to come with us and he shouldn’t be left alone”, Dean replied, “According to Sam.”

“Are you keeping the knives away from him?”, Sam asked in the background. 

“I did not realize that was something I had to do but I think I’ll lock them up now”, you said.

“He’s not gonna hurt you, I’m worried about him hurting himself.”

“Great, so you abandoned me with a suicidal nephilim in a bunker that no one knows about.”

“It wasn’t my idea”, Dean grumbled.

“Shut up, De, I know you don’t like him but he’s just a kid”, you rolled your eyes. 

Your oldest brother laughed, “You two are like the same age if you don’t wanna get technical-”

“Which”, Sam interjected, “is why I think it’s a good idea you stay with him at home. You can teach him stuff and make sure he takes care of himself.”

“I’m literally a babysitter. You guys owe me big time when you get back”, you said. 

“Something I’m sure you won’t let us ever forget.”

“Goodbye, Dean”, you hung up the phone and plated the last of the pancakes. 

After setting the table you cleared your throat and called out for Jack in your best mother hen voice. It echoed around the empty bunker for a few moments before you heard footsteps approaching and a head of blonde hair poked in from around the door frame. 

“Yes, Y/n?”, Jack asked. 

“Sit your ass down and eat, breakfast is ready”, you gestured towards the pancakes on the table.

“What are these?”, he asked, staring at the pancakes after he sat down. 

You stared at him, “Are you kidding? They’re pancakes, you’ve never had pancakes before?”

He shook his head. 

“Well, these are the best breakfast food in the whole world. I don’t really know how to explain them better than that”, you said, putting a couple on his plate and passing him the bottle of syrup, “I think, you’ll like them. You can put syrup on them if you want…”, You watched in abject horror as he drowned his pancakes in the substance before digging in. 

Jack grinned through a mouthful of food, “These are good. I like pancakes.”

You laughed, “I’ll make them for you every morning as long as you don’t tell Sam about the amount of sugar you just ingested.”

Jack nodded, “Deal.”

After a couple days of making three square meals a day for a nephilim that seemingly never got full, especially of your pancakes, you had to make a trip to the grocery store. Syrup was at the top of your shopping list but you were running low on other actual essentials and you didn’t know if a nephilim could actually eat unhealthily but Jack was half human after all and Sam might appreciate you putting a salad into the boy. 

You knocked on the door to his room, in between yours and Sam’s incase anything were to happen, and stuck your head in. He was reading, something you encouraged considering how many pop culture references your brother used, besides Harry Potter was a classic and you were showing him the movies as he gradually finished each book. Which was surprisingly quick before you realized that Jack didn’t sleep nearly as long as you did. 

“Hey, Jack, you wanna get out of here for a little while?”

He looked up at you in confusion, “Sam and Dean said it would be best for me to stay here.”

“Well, I don’t see those dummies anywhere now, besides we need more food. It’s just a quick run to the store. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to though”, you said. 

He shook his head and stood up, “No, I’ll come with you.”

“Cool.”

It really was supposed to be a quick trip to the store until you learned just how much food Jack had never had before. 

“Do you normally get this much food?”, Jack asked, looking over the nearly full shopping cart. 

“Living with Sam and Dean? Yes. But we’re getting a lot of stuff I don’t usually buy. It’s high time you lost your mac and cheese virginity”, you said as you examined the tomatoes.

“What is that?”, he asked tilting his head in a very Castiel esque manner, which you found absolutely adorable. 

What? Mac and cheese? It’s kinda in the name, just macaroni and cheese-”

“No, virginity.”

You think you probably rivaled the tomatoes in how red your face was, “It’s uh…like when you’ve never done something before. But it’s just a metaphor, normally virginity pertains to um”, you paused. You really did not want to give Jack the sex talk in the middle of the produce section. 

“Intercourse?”

You breathed a sigh of relief, thank god. Wait… 

“How do you know what that is?”

“I saw something on Dean’s laptop-”

“Dean showed you porn?”, you hissed. 

“Not exactly, it was just there”, Jack said nonchalantly. 

You shook your head and put the tomatoes in the cart before dragging Jack off towards the registers. That was enough for today’s outing. 

After about a week, you two had finished all eight Harry Potter movies and had moved onto the rest of Dean’s vast collection of movies. Over the course of your time alone with Jack you had learned he was a huge cuddler. The first time you had sat down on the other side of the couch, he pulled you closer by the second act. Not that you minded, Jack was warm and it kept the chill off, the bunker was drafty. It was only for that reason. Not because you were developing a huge crush on Satan’s son. 

Tonight you were watching some romantic chick flicky movie you didn’t even know Dean owned. Well, Jack was watching it. You were nose deep in your book with one hand curled in Jack’s hair as he rested his head on your lap. 

“They’re supposed to be in love, right?”, Jack asked. 

“Yeah, that’s kinda the whole point of the movie”, you said, not looking up from your book. 

“Then why is he hurting her?”

That got your attention, you looked up at the screen. The guy in the movie was pushing his female love interest up against the wall and gazing into her eyes with an intense smolder that made you shiver a little. 

“He’s not. It’s kinda meant to be romantic. It’s building sexual tension”, you replied as the pair on screen started making out. “See? Now they realize they’ve been in love the whole time.”

Jack turned to look up at you, “How do you know when you’re in love though?”

“I don’t know, you feel all tingly and happy when you’re around someone you love. You really like spending time with them, I guess. These are some loaded questions. Haven’t you been watching the movie?”

Jack flushed, “I wasn’t really paying attention to some of it.”

You shrugged, “You didn’t miss much, most chick flicks are all the same anyway.”

The end credits rolled down the screen a few minutes later and you closed your book. Jack looked like he had zoned out again as you continued to play with his hair. He was probably tired. Even nephilim had to burn out at some point. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed. You look like you should too”, you suggested, pushing a few stray stands of blonde away from his forehead. 

“Maybe. I’ll only wake up in a couple hours anyway. Can I stay up longer? I want to watch another movie”, he said, sitting up to let you up.

“Go ahead. I’m not your mom, you can stay up late if you want. Just don’t start Star Wars without me.”

Being a Winchester meant very few nights of peaceful sleep, luckily tonight was just the usual nightmares of being torn apart by various monsters. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. So when you woke up in a cold sweat, you shook off the fear and decided to grab a drink before going back to sleep. The clock read 3:00 AM in big red letters, so you had only been out for a few hours. 

Jack’s bedroom door was shut when you walked past, so you assumed he had turned in sometime after you. You crept down to the kitchen as quietly as possible to avoid waking him. You grabbed a drink of water and checked your phone for any notifications, nothing from the boys yet but they weren’t supposed to be home until next week due to complications according to their last call. From somewhere down the hall you heard a floorboard creek. If Jack had woken up you would have heard his door, the hinges in the bunker weren’t exactly well oiled. The hairs stood up on the back of your neck and you set your glass down silently. 

The hall was dimly lit but there was no sign of anything that could have made the noise. You sighed. You were just on edge from that nightmare, the bunker was decades old if ever there was the time to use the “house settling” excuse it was with this ancient building. You turned the corner back down your hallway and was suddenly slammed up against the wall. You let out a gasp that would have turned into a very loud scream if your eyes hadn’t met a pair of blue ones. 

“Jack”, you breathed, “You scared the shit out of me.” 

Jack stared you down silently. His grip on your wrists was tight and it made you wonder if he knew just how tight. His gaze was intense almost like…

“You can ease up a little bit there, tiger”, you whispered and his eyes softened along with his grip. 

“I’m sorry. Did I actually hurt you?”, he asked nervously. 

You shook your head, “I think I’ll live. What are you doing?”

His cheeks turned red, “In the movie, you said this was romantic.”

Oh. Now it was your turn for your cheeks to heat up. 

“Jack...”

“I feel tingly and happy when I’m around you, Y/n”, he said sincerely, “You said that means I’m in love.”

“You’ve never been in love before, Jack. Love is more than just tingly feelings. It’s something that you have to figure out and learn on your own”, you explained. 

“You don’t love me?”

That damn near broke your heart. You shook free one of your hands and caressed his cheek softly. “Jack, I like you way too much than I should already and could well be on the road to loving you. But I don’t want you to think you’re in love with me just because I’m one of the only people you’re around-”

He shook his head, “I’ve seen other people though. No one has ever made me feel like you do. I thought there was something wrong with me but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels good, like pancakes or grocery shopping or you playing with my hair.” 

Forget being on the road, you had reached your destination. You were definitely in love with Lucifer’s son. His eyes bore into yours and you couldn’t take it anymore. You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. His hands landed on your hips as you threaded your fingers into his hair. The kiss was hot and messy, that was the only indication that this was Jack’s first time doing something like this. Of course he would also be a perfect kisser. You pulled away after a few more moments, breathing harshly. 

Jack beamed at you, “Can we do that again?”

You laughed, “Yes, Jack. But maybe after a couple hours of sleep.” You swore he was pouting.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”, he asked, “I heard you earlier, you had another nightmare.”

“Did I wake you?”

He shook his head, “No, I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

That’s why you had heard creaking, it really was Jack moving around. 

If anyone had told Sam and Dean Winchester a couple months ago that they would come home to find their little sister cuddled up to Lucifer’s son in bed, they would have laughed in their faces. But that was then and now Dean was looking absolutely mortified and about to blow as Sam dragged him out of the doorway so as to not wake them up.

[achaoticeternal]

Asset Protection

Ransom Drysdale x Reader request from capshoney: Ransom with 31 and 39?

Summary: Ransom is oddly kind to you, but you always brush it off because of your closeness with his mother. Word Count: 2.4k

31) “If we’re going to keep ending up in life-or-death situations, trust that I will save you every single time.” 39) “Wait, are you saying you want to move in with me?”

“(Y/N),” You heard your name spoken with calmness, yet with authority from the black office phone that sat to the right of your Mac Desk Top. Everything was finely put in place, perfectly organized so that you could complete any task at a moment’s notice.

Currently, your eyes were fixated on the screen of the desktop, checking over the calendar for Mrs. Drysdale and various appointments she or her husband previously set so that you could coordinate a time for her to meet with a fairly new client. Your job was supposed to be centered around organizing Mrs.Drysdale’s emails, clients, and setting her calendar. Yet, your job description originally didn’t include practically becoming her personal assistant in both her workplace and life.

“(Y/N),” Mrs. Drysdale’s voice called again with just a touch of impatience.

Quickly, you picked up the phone and opened her full calendar for the month, along with opening both her husbands’ and sons’ schedules in minimized tabs.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Linda?”

“Father’s will reading shall be taking place on Saturday at 3 pm,” She promptly stopped and you quickly began typing away into Mr. and Mrs. Drysdale’s calendar.

“Aare there any arrangements you would like particularly made? Dry-cleaning? Have to cook set up a lunch or appetizers?”

“I need two items. First of all, have my pink suit pressed and dry-cleaned please,” You quickly scribbled down her request onto a post-it note, “and secondly, if you could stop by son’s little bachelor pad and ask if he plans to attend that would be phenomenal. And make sure his maid is still coming and that he hasn’t managed to scare her off yet. You can do that after your lunch break.”

“Yes ma’am, anything else?”

“Actually, if you could go now, you could pick up some lunch for him. I doubt he’s had anything besides a protein shake and who knows what else. Charge it to the VISA”

“Of course, ma’am. Have a wonderful afternoon.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

After five years, 2 years as an intern and 3 as an actual employee, you had come to know and be known by Mrs. Drysdale’s full family. They were an interesting mix of hard workers with rich kid mentalities. Well, most of them. And they were ever a loud crowd. But quite recently, her father had died from a supposed suicide. Of course, that truly wasn’t any of your own business, you just coordinated the funeral date, the invitations, the catering, and anything which the family didn’t want to settle themselves. At the end of it all, you weren’t permitted to attend the funeral which in all honesty made a fair amount of sense.

You didn’t know Harlan at all personally, but he was always kind to you and asked his daughter and her family to treat you with kindness. But two factors didn’t make sense about the funeral. Why they didn’t allow Harlan’s sweet nurse, Marta, to attend… and why Ransom Drysdale didn’t make an appearance at his beloved grandfather’s funeral?

                                                           -  -  -

The little doorbell camera rang as you balanced a paper sack and drink tray in one arm, and your purse and phone in the other. You waved at the camera, knowing he got humor out of watching people wait for him through his recently upgraded phone.

“Afternoon, Ransom. You know I would usually let myself in with the key above the door frame, but as you’ll notice,” you attempted to show off full your hands were, ”My hands are quite full. If you could kindly-”

The large wood door swung open into Ransom’s modern house before you could finish your sentence. And there stood Ransom in a pair of black jeans, a creme shirt, and a burgundy cardigan which you gave him for Christmas two years ago. If he had a scarf and boots on, you would’ve suspected that he just returned home from an outing.

“-open the door,” you stepped inside and made your way promptly to the kitchen, “Glad to see that you're fully awake and you didn’t leave any trash for me to pick up. How sweet. That makes what? Three months?”

“Well, it’s been four months since I brought home a pretty little thing for any bar or club,” Ransom took a seat on a stool and watched you unload your items onto the kitchen island. From the brown paper sack, you pulled two clear to-go containers; one containing Ransom’s favorite turkey and rye sandwich and a side of fruit salad, and in the other, your preferred lunch meal of choice. He threw you his signature smirk as you handed him his container, his hand soft grazing yours, “Are you proud of me, (Y/N)?”

Both his words and his actions caused your cheeks to fluster a bit. You understood how unprofessional your encounters with Mrs. Drysdale’s son were, but either she made it a point to notice or she simply didn’t care. Linda had only taken comfort in you a few times, but her frequent concern was Ransom and his future.

“Of course I am,” You smiled at him kindly, before returning back to business reaching into the bag again to obtain napkins and cutlery, “Now, your mother will pester me about this if I don’t get an answer to her in the next twenty-four hours. Do you...”

Ransom’s gaze shifted down to the pile on the counter where he noticed a napkin with black spots.

“...Do you plan to attend the reading of the will? I mean, after his birthday and not attending the funeral, I’m not sure what your p-”

“Yeah, I’ll be there, but (Y/N),” sipping your drink, you turned around to see what had captivated him, “who wrong this note?”

On the napkin was inscribed:

Does sleeping with him get you extra money from his mommy?        X. 

“Wh-what? I need a drink, that doesn’t even make sense. I haven’t even spent the night here, well except for when your mother left me here for four hours the night before our business trip but I’ve never even entered your room with you in there. This is just some small... little...” but the world seemed to fade quickly.

                                                          -  -  -

“Does she have any family?”

“Her mother and sister live in Vermont, but no one in the state. We treat her like part of our family”

The two female voices continued their conversation as you opened your eyes but quickly covered them to adjust yourself to the light. You saw Ransom sitting in one of the chairs while Linda answered any medical or personal questions. 

“Where are we? Ransom- what happened?”

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember?”Ransom asked.

Telling you how proud I am of you.

“Asking about your schedule for the weekend?” From there on, things were blurry, but shapes and colors would stand. Things you might remember later.

“From your report, it seems you were drugged. Nothing heavy, but quite fast-acting. At least, you weren’t behind the wheel when this happened,” The nurse responded, “You’re free to leave, thanks to Mrs. Drysdale here.”

Linda gave the nurse the same smile she gives to every client after a sale, “Thank you, now let’s get to my car. Hugh, your father is probably waiting at the house with dinner. And you better behave, because Ms. (Y/L/N) will be our guest tonight”

                                                         -  -  -

The dinner table inside the Thrombey House was on the quiet side, even though the full family was in attendance. It wasn’t your first time attending such an event, but it wasn’t one you made frequent. The youth spent most of the meal on their phones while the adults chattered about various topics, and even asked you a few questions about future aspirations or opinions on the current state of something you probably couldn’t care less about tonight. Everyone tried to engage themselves in something, except for Ransom who picked at his food and made a few crass comments under his breath. You took the slight lull to speak up.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay for the evening. My car is stranded at Ransom’s and getting an Uber this late in the evening is-”

“(Y/N), you’re my go-to girl, my secretary, practically my personal assistant. I couldn’t allow for anything bad to happen to you. You’re far too... valuable to be lost,” Linda never spoke like this, unless she needs to boast about her own self-made business and image.

“In fact,” it was now Richard’s turn to begin boasting about how you were so helpful to the entire Drysdale family and coordinating the funeral and this and that and you just couldn’t comprehend why such a family always had to one-up each other. It simply had to be exhausting.

Fran then entered into the dining area and began clearing plates. You offered to assist her, but she mustered up a smile that said she could handle it by herself. When she came around to take your plate, a neatly folded piece of paper sat right underneath it. Quickly, you snatched it from its’ position, hoping to one saw the paper or your sly movements. 

You thought you could get away with it until you felt a foot connect with your shin. Blue eyes met your own and you knew Ransom saw everything. He just seemed to always pay close attention to you, maybe a sign of concern or endearment. And you could tell exactly what his eyes were saying.

“Well, thank you, all of you with providing me dinner and a room for the night,” You quietly slid your chair back and stood.

“Of course, dear. Hugh,” Ransom peered to his mother as if surprised by her attention, “Please show, (Y/N), our guest room before you make your own exit for the evening.”

Ransom lead you easily up the oak staircase to the second floor where he pushed you inside what seemed to be a supply closet. A large supply closet mainly filled with old board games but still a simple closet.

“What was that paper you were so quick to hide?”

You tugged it out of your pocket and unfolded it, smoothing the creases so you could read the context better.

Asset protection is important for any and every company.                       X.

“This one doesn’t even make sense! How do you go from a direct attack on me to this- this load of shit!”

“Well, in my eyes a person who won’t make a better effort to threaten you or do it in a more accurate way is a piece of shit,” Ransom’s eyes skimmed over the paper, “But this time, it’s remarkably true. My parents admire your hard work for them, so you are an asset in a way.”

You felt fear knot up in your stomach, you couldn’t understand what someone could have against you. In every aspect, you were an honorable citizen who made a fair living. It just didn’t add up, “Where’s the guest room? I need to sleep.”

“Right, but I’m going to show you a different way into the guest room,” He grabbed your hand before leading you across the hall into another bedroom. The pair of you crept into the closet and Ransom kicked a panel in the wall. A door quickly slid open and the pair of you made your way up a little staircase, “Harlon just loved his hiding places”

“Ransom. If I’m in potential danger? What do I do? I don’t have to first clue in-

“Well, first of all, don’t be so damn trusting. It makes you an easier target. Second of all, find somewhere or someone you can stay with that you could seek comfort and safety in, at least until you feel safe.”

Both of you came to a stop as you made it to a small door. But a little idea popped into your head, “Well, could I stay in that big house of yours? I don’t have any family here and I refuse to go bankrupt in a motel room because of a potential stalker. I know it might be strange given our past flirtations, but I-”

“Wait, are you saying you want to move in with me?”

“Not really, move in. That would mean something completely different and- and completely out of the question because of my position in your moth-”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can stay with me. It’ll be nice to have a welcomed guest around,” Ransom pushed open the door and emerged into the guest which felt like a victorian guest suite set up, “and that’s why we came in through the back”

In the front of the door was tripwire for a possible trap unseen, but just the thought stirred you in unpleasant ways. Ransom searched the room before finding three darts ready to fire at any notice, “I’m really looking like a good guy, stopping any threats before they happen.”

“Yeah, it’s almost out of character,” You grabbed the glass of water by the nightstand.

Quickly, Ransom snatched the water from your hand, leaving you shaking, “Niether of us brought a glass up with us and I’m not going to have a repeated visit to the hospital to be asked if I gave you a date rape drug.”

He entered the attached bathroom and poured its’ contents in the sink while you sat yourself upon the bed. Thinking of the events from today. Shakily, you looked up to Ransom, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I haven’t done anything. I-”

“Maybe someone is trying to get your attention,” He sat beside you and took your left hand into his right, using his thumb to caress the gentle skin, “And you still have me, though this is too far outside my comfort zone with any woman. If we’re going to keep ending up in life-or-death situations, trust that I will save you every single time.”

“Thank you, Ransom. For offering your assistance. For making sure I don’t get myself hurt. For not being a huge dick to me also,” you laughed.

“Well, what’s my mother’s is mine, and I happen to like her little personal assist,” before he stood from the bed, he gave your knuckles a strangely gentle kiss, “good night, (Y/N). I’ll see you at Breakfast”

Everything blurred, including Ransom’s exit, as you feel into a soft slumber.

:———————————————————————:

let me know if you think this deserves a part 2 or anything!

[massivedrickhead]

Could you do a prompt where Beca is burnt out from working so hard at record company or something and Chloe takes care of her and is all soft??

This is 10000% up my alley, thank you for sending this prompt :)

----

It was 10 pm when Chloe was startled awake by the sound of the front door closing.

A textbook for veterinary school was lying open against her chest, and there was a crick in her neck from falling asleep on the sofa.

“Bec?” She said, rubbing her eyes and putting the book on the coffee table. “Is that you?”

Beca gave a grunt in response and dropped onto the sofa next to her.

“Why are you still up?” Beca mumbled, immediately resting her head in Chloe’s lap and closing her eyes.

“I was waiting up for you,” Chloe said, running her hand through Beca’s hair.

“M’sorry,” she breathed out.

“That’s okay,” Chloe replied. “You want something to eat? I made dinner, I can go reheat it for you.”

Beca opened her eyes. “What did you make?”

Chloe smiled, “Mac and cheese. You want some?”

Beca nodded and, with great effort, lifted herself up from Chloe’s lap.

“So how was work?” Chloe asked from the kitchen.

“Busy,” Beca said, now resting her head in her hands, her elbows digging into her thighs. “Long.”

Chloe brought Beca’s food through and sat beside her on the sofa, rubbing circles on her back as she ate.

“You look tired, baby,” Chloe said.

“Thanks,” Beca said with a laugh. She ate the food quickly, and Chloe wondered if she’d stopped to eat all day. “What time is it?”

“About 10:30,” Chloe replied. 

Beca groaned. 

“What?”

“They want me back in at 7,” she said, rubbing at her eyes.

“Seriously?” Chloe asked, her voice soft but disappointed. “Bec, it’s Saturday tomorrow. You’ve done like 16 hour days every day for the last like two weeks.”

“I know that,” Beca said. “But it’s my job.” She knew Chloe wanted to say more, but she didn’t have the energy for a fight. “Please, Chlo’. Not tonight? I’m just… I don’t wanna fight. I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked, biting her bottom lip.

“I dunno. Tired, headache, stomach ache. Everything is kinda hurting,” Beca said.

“Are you getting sick?” Chloe asked, holding her hand against Beca’s forehead.

“I don’t think so,” Beca said, stifling a yawn. “I don’t know. Can we just go to bed?”

“Okay,” Chloe said, pushing down her worry. “But if you still feel bad in the morning, you’re staying off work.”

“I can’t do that,�� Beca said, wincing slightly as Chloe helped her stand.

“I’ll call and yell at Theo if I have to,” Chloe said.

“Don’t yell at Theo,” Beca said, changing out of her work clothes and into a baggy t-shirt. “He’s already terrified of you.”

“He should be,” Chloe said. “Can I get you anything?”

Beca shook her head, and Chloe climbed into the bed beside her.

“I just worry about you, you know?”

Beca didn’t reply because she’d already fallen asleep.

Chloe pressed a kiss to her forehead, and fell asleep quickly.

She felt like she’d only been asleep for seconds when the ringing of Beca’s phone woke her up. It was 11:45 pm.

Beca was still dead to the world, so Chloe picked the phone up from her nightstand and hurried out into the hall with it. 

At the sight of Theo’s name on the call screen, her exhaustion turned to anger quickly.

“Hello, Beca’s phone?” She said, fighting to keep her voice quiet so she didn’t wake her fiancé.

“Hey Chloe, is she there?” Theo asked. He sounded tired too, and she could hear voices talking in the background.

“She’s sleeping, what’s wrong?”

“We need her back here,” he said, stifling a yawn. “The vocals she did earlier didn’t save, we need her to come back in and re-do them.”

“No,” Chloe said.

“… I’m sorry?”

“I said no. She’s sleeping. It’s 11:45 pm on a Friday night, and she’s probably only been asleep for about an hour. I’m not waking her up so she can drag herself to the studio and record some vocals that we both know won’t be useful because of how damn tired and run-down she is,” Chloe snapped. She knew her voice was getting louder, so she stepped further away from the bedroom.

She heard Theo sigh. “Chloe, this is her job, okay?”

“I know that. But she’s barely slept for more than a few hours for the last three weeks. She hasn’t had a single day off. She’s-” her voice caught in her throat. She forced herself to take a breath, pushing away the urge to cry. “You have her back in like 7 hours. Let her rest, please.”

“She knew what she was signing up for,” Theo said, sounding frustrated and exhausted. “She knew this would be hard work.”

“I’m not waking her up,” Chloe said.

“What’s going on?” Beca asked from behind her, her voice thick with sleep. “Is that my phone?”

“Go back to bed, Becs. I’m dealing with it,” Chloe said, her heart breaking at the sight of her. 

“Put her on the phone, please!” Theo said, his voice carrying over to Beca.

Beca sighed and held out her hand. “You should have woken me,” she said.

Chloe let out a groan of frustration and handed the phone over. “Please, baby, you need rest.”

Beca gave her a shrug and took the phone. “What’s up?” 

“Beca,” Theo said, sounding relieved. “We need you to come in and re-do those vocals.”

“Dude,” Beca said, groaning. “Can this seriously not wait until morning?”

“We’re all here waiting on those vocals,” Theo said. Beca could tell he was clenching his jaw like he always did when he was stressed. “This whole team is now at a standstill because we’re waiting on you.”

“Why did you even let me go home?” Beca asked, annoyed as she walked back into the bedroom. She began pulling clothes out of her wardrobe, the phone balanced in the crook of her neck as she dressed.

“Look, just come in for a few hours and take tomorrow off, how about that?”

“Is that a real offer, Theo?” Beca asked, skeptical. “Because you’ve been offering me days off for weeks now.”

“I promise. Once we get those vocals down, this track is as good as finished, and then the album is done, okay?” Theo said. 

“Fine,” Beca said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up and tossed her phone onto the bed, and began pulling on the remainder of her clothes.

“Bec,” Chloe said, standing in the door way. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Chlo’. Just a few hours, okay? I’ll be back before you even wake up,” Beca said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

“I’m worried about you,” Chloe said. 

“I’m fine,” Beca said, kissing her on the cheek. “Go back to bed, I’ll be home soon.”

Chloe felt helpless as she watched Beca close their front door behind her.

Beca’s eyes itched with tiredness as she made the thirty minute drive to work. She didn’t know if she’d ever been this tired before.

Her head was pounding, and her hands were shaking slightly on the wheel. 

By the time she pulled into the deserted parking lot, she was starting to feel really rough. The pain in her stomach was nagging her, and she felt like her nerves were fried and frazzled.

“Good, you’re here. You want some coffee?” Theo asked as she walked into the studio.

“No,” Beca said, rubbing at her forehead. “I want to get this done so I can go home and sleep.”

“We all want the same thing,” he said. 

Beca looked around at the other people in the room and saw her own exhaustion reflected back. She felt for them. At least she’d been able to go home and eat and get a little bit of sleep.

“Okay,” Theo said, “we need the bridge and the last chorus. So whenever you’re ready.” He gestured to the booth.

“Give me a sec,” Beca said, taking a drink of water, trying to shift the throbbing in her head. “Why isn’t, uh, Ben Dover here?”

“Ben Rover,” Theo corrected. 

“Ben Dover’s a much better stage name. This is his track, his album, why isn’t he here?”

“Because it’s after midnight on a Friday and he’s a pop star,” Theo said.

“Oh so he gets a social life? Must be nice,” Beca said, drinking the remainder of her water. “Come on then, let’s get this done.”

As she stood, she felt the ground shift beneath her, and she had to grab onto the back of a chair to steady herself. 

“Beca?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Beca said, her voice shaking slightly. “Stood up too quick.”

She waited for the black spots in her vision to fade away, her hands gripping the chair.

“Sit down,” someone said.

“I’m fine,” Beca said, squeezing her eyes shut. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision.

“Seriously, Beca, sit down,” Theo said. He pushed another chair behind her, catching her in the back of the legs, causing them to buckle. “Take a minute. You want something to eat?”

Beca shook her head, feeling embarrassed as she rested her head in her hands. She was hoping the pain in her head and the nausea would pass soon. 

“Theo, can’t we just do this tomorrow man?” One of the interns asked. 

“We’re so close, guys,” he said, sounding exasperated. “You’ve all worked so hard, I know that. But we’re so close. This album is going to be huge for all of us, and we’re one little push away from it being done. Just think how good-”

His motivational speech was cut off by gasps as Beca slumped forward, falling out of her chair, and collapsing on the ground.

——

For the second time that night, Chloe was woken up by the sound of a phone ringing.

Theo was calling her.

“What happened?” Chloe asked, suddenly wide-awake.

“She’s fine,” Theo said, sounding apprehensive. “She just, uh, passed out, I guess?”

“She what?!” 

“It’s been a long night for everyone, she’s been working really hard-”

“Don’t give me that,” Chloe snapped. “I know she’s been working hard. Is she okay? Have you called an ambulance?”

“She’s fine, Chloe. She doesn’t want an ambulance,” Theo said. 

“Put her on.”

She heard him sigh and say. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Hey baby,” Beca said. Her voice was barely there, but Chloe could hear the smile in it.

Whatever Chloe had planned to say didn’t come out, and instead she just burst into tears.

“Hey,” Beca said, softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I was out for like 10 seconds, tops. Didn’t even bump my head.”

“I’m coming to get you,” Chloe choked out. “And we’ll go to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“I’m fine, Chloe, I don’t need to go to the hospital. Theo’s called me an Uber, I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe said, her voice shaking as she tried to hold back her tears. “Put him back on the phone please.”

“Please don’t yell at my boss,” Beca groaned, handing the phone over.

“I second what Beca just said,” Theo said, bracing himself.

“She has the weekend off,” Chloe said. It wasn’t a question. 

“Chloe-”

“She has the weekend off. The whole weekend. When she gets home, her phone is getting switched off. She won’t be checking any emails, she won’t be taking any calls. At 8 am on Monday, you can have her back,” Chloe said, her voice calm but terrifying.

“The album-”

“-Can wait. I’m sure the artist will understand. It would be really bad for their publicity if, I don’t know, it was posted on social media that the label worked the artist’s producer passed the point of exhaustion, wouldn’t it? I mean, the artist would have to take a stand about that, right? The label would have to take a stand. People might lose their jobs.”

She heard Theo sigh. “Okay. You’ve made your point,” he said. “Beca can have the weekend off. Everyone can.” Chloe heard cheering in the background. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen. I respect Beca a lot. She’s seriously talented, and she works really hard. I want her to do well. She is all over this album, Chloe. You can hear her in every song, not just her voice. This is gonna be big for her.”

“It’s not worth her health though,” Chloe said, softening slightly. 

“No,” he said. “It’s not. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “Is she on her way home?”

“Yeah, one of the interns just loaded her into an Uber. She’ll be with you soon.”

“Good,” Chloe said. “Goodnight Theo.”

“Goodnight.”

Chloe paced while she waited for Beca to get home. She wouldn’t believe that Beca was alright until she saw her.

When she heard Beca’s keys in the door, she froze, waiting in the hallway, desperate to see her.

“Hey,” Beca said, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. 

Chloe practically ran towards her, and cupped her face in her hands.

“You look like shit,” she said, taking in Beca’s pale skin and tired red-rimmed eyes.

“Thank you,” Beca said, before sinking into Chloe’s arms.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Chloe said, gripping her tightly, tears streaming down her face.

“I won’t,” Beca said, her face buried in the crook of Chloe’s neck.

“What do you need?” Chloe asked, looking over her again as their hug ended.

“Bed,” Beca said. “Sleep.”

“Come on then,” Chloe said, half-carrying her to the bedroom.

She sat Beca on the bed and eased the jacket from her shoulders. Beca tried feebly to kick off her shoes, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I can’t do it. I’m so tired,” Beca groaned, tears pricking her eyes now.

“I’ll take care of it,” Chloe said, kissing her on the forehead.

She pulled off Beca’s shoes and helped her out of her jeans while Beca removed her own shirt and bra. Chloe grabbed a baggy t-shirt and slipped it over Beca’s head, helping her thread her arms through the sleeves.

Beca managed to crawl up the bed, and Chloe got in beside her, pulling her close and covering them both with their duvet.

“I love you so much Beca Mitchell,” Chloe said kissing the top of her head.

“Love you too,” Beca mumbled. “Can you do that thing…” She trailed off, pointing at her own head.

“Sure baby,” Chloe said, kissing her again. “Headache?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay.” Chloe began gently scratching across Beca’s scalp, rubbing at the base of her head, and then running her hands through her hair, and repeating the process.

She knew Beca had fallen asleep in seconds of her starting, but she didn’t stop.

She was just so glad to have her there, home and safe.

[philliamwrites]

Ocean Eyes, Golden Mind

Fandom: All For The Game (Nora Sakavic)

Pairing: Neil/Andrew

Tags: #math nerd neil, #neil with glasses, #no exy

Summary: In which Neil hates his new prescribed glasses until they attract the interest of a certain Andrew Minyard.

Commissioner: Ziegenkind

Notes: Title taken from Billie Eilish’s ‘Ocean Eyes.’

Ocean Eyes, Golden Mind

Dude, it’s just a frat party. Who doesn’t go to frat parties?

     The message flashes Neil’s screen white, its sender none other than his roommate Nicky who is supposed to study for an upcoming test in Public Policy in exactly nineteen hours. That’s what Neil writes him. Nicky’s reply comes instantly.

Those who study tend not to party. You know. Like you.

     Neil leaves him on read. If he wants to party, he’ll lock himself inside his room, two bottles of Jack Daniel’s by his side while watching every existing compilation of cats attacking people on the small screen of his phone. He knows how to have a good time, alright. Not everyone has to set their scale like Nicky: More than once Neil has been the spectator of him coming back to the dormitory completely wasted, but still eager enough to get frozen waffles from the fridge. Being too drunk to put them in the toaster, he usually just climbs up to his top bunk and puts them between his thighs to eat them partially defrosted. It’s this fragile line between genius and stupidity that has Neil doubting if he should fill in a request for changing roommates or just live with the fact that Nicky Hemmick is one special kind of man.

    So instead of spending his night curled into himself, wall against his back and eyes on every stranger distributing awful shots, Neil sits at the Math Tutoring Centre on the west side of the campus and gives group tutoring sessions.

    Math comes to Neil like breathing. Like Bertrand Russel said, not only does Mathematics possess truth, but supreme beauty—a beauty cold and austere, like that of a sculpture. It is sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show. It is poetry—elegant and deep—of logical ideas to create harmony in a written line. Once he tried to explain that to Nicky over microwaved Mac n Cheese with Girls running in the background, clearly overestimating him, because Nicky only stared into space for a few seconds, and replied, “You really need to get laid, man.”

    Reluctant at the beginning, Neil only agreed to join the Tutor Program because his math professor promised to throw in some extra cash. Something about raising the graduate numbers in order to get the board of education off his back. That’s where Neil’s jurisdiction of interest ends, but he has enjoyed it more than expected—the empty hallways, the harsh light of the ceiling lamps, the smell of chalk, the faint echoes of students still lingering in classrooms. There’s this magic about the Palmetto State University at night—a vulnerability that can only live once the sun sets behind the horizon. When else would he find a kid sleeping under a table in the library, or seniors breaking down in tears for exact 10 minutes before continuing their studies as if nothing has happened.

    There’s another reason he’d rather spend his evening on campus, one Nicky doesn’t need to know because then Neil won’t hear the end of it. That reason being 5’0’’ tall chemistry prodigy Andrew Minyard, sitting in the last row of Neil’s math sessions each Friday. He only knows about him thanks to Nicky’s never-ending complaints, but that never really stopped him from throwing a few or more glances in Andrew’s direction. Just curiosity, of course.

    So when he stands in front of the blackboard now, putting away his lesson papers which are full of numbers and equations—the kind that has enough letters to look like sentences—he feels dozens eyes burn holes in the back of his neck, and one pair belongs to Andrew. No one asks why he’s here, but everyone knows he doesn’t need to be.

    In his one year of giving tutoring sessions, Neil has learnt that exactly three types of students exist: Students who are really good, certainly not in need of the extra lessons, but going anyway for some extra ego-buff and unnecessary brain-flexing. The second type is students who are okay, doing their tasks, following the lesson, not really attracting any attention safe for some crude jokes. The last type has Neil questioning his belief in the educational system of the whole state because he doesn’t understand how they are allowed inside the sacred halls of PSU.

    Andrew is a special type on his own—the enigma that keeps Neil awake at two in the morning because he’s desperate to solve it, but without knowing where to start, he’s just running in circles. His fingers itch to solve an equation with multiple variables, to find the solution to a problem and get it off his mind.

    He doubts it will be this easy with Andrew.

    “Before we continue to look at scalar products in R- and C-vector spaces, we’ll consider bilinear and semi-bilinear forms in general, and link them to matrices for their representation to chosen bases.” Neil’s hand flies across the board, leaving letters and parenthesizes that look like bizarre drawings—art in its most complex form. Once he’s finished, he takes a step away, wipes the chalk on his fingers off on his jeans, and turns to his audience. “What happens to this equation with the semi-bilinear form σ?”

    Two hands shoot up immediately. He ignores them; no need to feed their ego, and instead picks a freshman who’s been staring at his phone for the last ten minutes. Making way, Neil moves back to the student’s seats and leans against a desk.

    Is it the farthest place away from the board? It is.

    Is it the closest that will get him to Andrew? Might be so.

    It certainly gives him a good look at what Andrew’s been doing since Neil started—and that is not solving a single task on the paper Neil has handed out at the beginning of the session. Andrew, apparently bored before it even started, has taken out a slip of paper with a sudoku puzzle on it and is solving it against his leg, completely linked out of the instruction.

    Neil tries not to stare too much at Andrew’s bare arms, and instead looks back at the board.

    “Does that look right?” the freshman—Rhys or Rheeze or something like that—asks, turning around.

    Neil narrows his eyes and squints at the board. He can’t make out a single thing, and that’s bad, yes, but his feet betray him, staying rooted where they are instead of reducing the distance until he can distinguish σ from a.

    “Where does the l come from,” he asks. Multiple heads snap in his direction.

    “That’s a j, Josten,” someone says from the other side of the room.

    Neil squints harder. “And the u?”

    “A μ.”

    “No, it’s a v,” a girl next to Neil says, and that’s when the everyone starts shouting about what’s on the board and what isn’t.

    Neil bears it for a solid minute before he surrenders. He pulls a small case from his pocket, opens it. Puts his glasses on.

    The whole room goes silent.

    Neil checks the equation, nods. “Correct. Who’s next?”

    Multiple people stir, one manages to get up, and walks straight into a table leg. Neil questions that ‘straight’, because only then the freshman guy stops staring at Neil and steers his attention to the equation on the blackboard.

    It was a bad idea, and Neil still hates Allison for forcing him to go. She’d dragged him to the doctor last week to get his eyes tested, annoyed by his never-ending questions of ‘What’s written there?’ or ‘Is that a six or an eight?’.

    “They’re my eyes,” Neil had said, arms crossed as he sat in the office and waited for his turn.

    “And it’s me who has to see your ugly squinting face,” Allison had replied.

    Two hours later Neil had finally his prescriptions but that didn’t mean he was free from Allison’s clutches. He would have been fine with some glasses from the dollar store, but she insisted that if he’s going to wear them more than once a day, he should get designer glasses—thin frames and a color that matches his copper hair. She suggested gold. Neil picked black. The look of disappointment on Allison’s face was something that deserved its own painting to commemorate it. But once they’d finally chosen the right pair, she’d given him the very same look most of the students are giving him now—a mix between slight awe and disbelief as if he’s grown a second head. Or owes them all a month’s worth of lunch money.

    “Well,” had Allison said at least, turning away to pack up and go home. “Tigers have their stripes. I have my eyeliner.” She threw him another scrutinizing look over her shoulder. “You have your glasses.” If it was supposed to make him feel better, it didn’t work, and right now he regrets nothing more than allowing Allison to drag him around.

    Neil’s eyes land on Andrew’s sudoku puzzle, now half-hidden under his papers, and he sees now that he isn’t even solving the thing, but simply coloring in the empty squares.

    He takes a second too long and meets Andrew’s eyes staring back at him.

    “Problem, Josten?” Andrew asks with a blank expression, tapping the end of his pen against his monochrome picture of black and white squares.

    Neil wants to see how far he can push until he walks against a brick wall and breaks something. He returns his gaze to the board but feels Andrew’s eyes like a solid touch on the back of his neck.

    After the session, the students hurry outside, still throwing curious glances over their shoulders at Neil and if he could merge with the back of his chair and disappear forever, that would be totally okay. It isn’t until a shadow looms above him that he looks up from his own homework and draws in a careful breath when Andrew towers above him.

    Neil raises an eyebrow. “Problem, Minyard?”

    Andrew’s face gives nothing away, and when he stretches out a hand, Neil doesn’t flinch. His glasses slip off easily, held between Andrew’s thumb and index finger.

    “Nicky told me he’s trying to convince you to join him tomorrow,” Andrew says. Neil needs a second, because that is the most words he’s heard out of Andrew’s mouth.

    “I have no reason to go,” Neil says, his eyes jumping up and down, from the equation that makes his sight blur to Andrew leaning his slender waist against the table.

    “You have one now.” It’s barely neutral enough to not sound like a threat, but Neil stares at Andrew nonetheless, and when he puts Neil’s glasses on, Neil’s heart does a weird stutter. He’s still starring at Andrew when he leaves the room, and no, his eyes don’t stray, they stay on Andrew’s broad back, and if they dip lower it’s because of the light.

    Once he’s alone, Neil takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. Puts his head in his arms and counts to ten in French first, then again in German. His heart still does this weird thing, trying to bruise his ribs from the inside.

    He gets his phone, texts Nicky he’ll go to the frat party tomorrow and puts it away, not interested in his roommate’s reply. There’s still the equation he needs to solve, but for the first time Neil’s heart isn’t really into math, and he is quite alright with it.

[lexartsstuff]

You'll Always Have Me

Word Count: 3,925

    “So, Ari, excited for your big day off tomorrow?” Anna plopped her tray on the table, the red plastic rattling as she threw her leg over the bench.

    Catalina looked up from her sushi, raising a playful brow at the two meat lovers’ pizzas on Anna’s tray. Returning to her food, the woman said, “Yes, I am actually.”

    “No, you’ve only been raving about it for a week!” Lina shot a glare at Anne, who gave her a smug grin in response. She wasn’t wrong, though. Lina had been hyping herself up for this all week. It would be a day to have all to herself. No work, no house cleaning, nothing. She was free for the whole day.

    Cathy rested her chin on her palm, a knowing smirk on her face as she said, “She’s gonna spend it all day sleeping, you know that right?”

    A collective nod went around the table. Even Lina couldn’t deny that she’d sleep until noon. “I’ll sleep until one and then I’ll spend the rest of the day watching movies,” Lina said. “Me-time is all I need.” A small moment of silence fell over the group, before a tray was set down on Lina’s left. Rose scent drifted lightly into her nose and Lina’s chest warmed.

    “Sorry, the line was long,” Jane apologized, sliding in to sit beside Lina.

    “For yogurt?” Anne asked, looking up from Kat’s phone.

    “They don’t just have yogurt, Anne.” 

    As the group tucked into their food, Catalina began rethinking her previous statement. While, yes, she did want to spend some time to herself, there was a certain someone she really wanted to spend the day with. Casting a look to her left, Catalina noticed Jane sweep her blonde hair back over one shoulder, lifting her spoon and savoring her parfait. It was undeniably cute, to which it had no right to be.

    Lina was a woman of her word, and denying a crush was far beneath her. If she were in any other situation, she’d have asked Jane out by now. Problem is; Jane isn’t open. She’s been dating some guy named Henry for four years now. It sunk Catalina’s heart to see the sweet blonde around the pompous jerk.

    “So, we all know what Cath’s gonna be up to,” Kitty began, “anyone else have any fun plans?”

    “I finished my project for Monday,” Anna said nonchalantly. “I’m just gonna work on my wall tomorrow.” Kat brightened upon hearing that, leaning over to Anna with her classic kitty eyes. Anna chuckled and booped the younger woman’s nose. “Yes, you can come over and help.”

    After shoveling a forkful of salad into her mouth, Anne said, “I will be working out tomorrow. So, Lina, if you wanna join-”

    “Don’t call me Lina,” Catalina enforced, tightening her grip on her chopsticks and fixing a glare on the shorter woman. Anne raised her hands defensively, swallowing her mouthful.

    “Just know the offer’s out there.” Anne returned to eating, occasionally eyeing Lina suspiciously. Cathy chuckled, sending her cousin a knowing look.

    “Oh, yes! Lina, what are your plans for tomorrow?” Jane asked, placing a hand on Catalina’s arm.

    “Wait, how come she-”

    “Sleep and watch movies.” Lina interjected, ignoring Anne’s declaration. Turning to Jane with a soft smile, she continued. “It won’t be exciting, but it’ll be relaxing.”

    Jane nodded, a sweet smile on her face. It amazed Catalina how interested Jane could seem about anything. It wasn’t fake interest either. Lina could sit and describe paint drying and Jane would look at her with interest dancing in her wide, azure eyes.

    “What’re you gonna be up to, Janey?” Kit questioned, leaning on the table. “I’m sure Ari doesn’t wanna be alone all day.” The way she glanced at Lina was far too teasing to be accidental. The worst part about her crush was how apparently obvious it was. Anna and Cathy were the denser of the group, and they figured it out first.

    Jane’s smile faltered, and it turned anxious. She prodded her yogurt, nudging a blueberry around silently. Dread befell Lina as a tense silence fell over the table.

    “You’re kidding, right?” Cathy’s eyes were firm as she asked this, fixed on Jane solemnly. Anne did her best to hide her disappointment, hiding her face behind her curtain of hair. “I thought you were gonna drop him!”

    “I was.” Jane pushed her blueberry under the yogurt, refusing to meet her friends’ eyes. “I told him Tuesday, and he asked for another chance-”

    “And you gave him one?” Anna demanded, causing Jane to flinch. The red clad woman frowned and sat back down, folding her arms. Lina could understand her friend’s frustration. Jane had come to Anne’s on Monday night, sobbing about how she’d caught Henry sending texts to another woman, asking ‘what to bring’ and ‘Jane won’t know’. The group had had a talk that night, and Jane promised to stick it to Henry the next day.

    However, as per usual, Henry squirreled his way out of a break-up by promising to “make it up” with a date.

    “Look, he seemed really genuine,” Jane reasoned. No one missed how soft her voice had gone when Anna had raised her own. “If he gets too drunk tonight or makes an excuse to cancel, I’m dropping him. He hasn’t forgotten all week.”

    Lina’s heart clenched at Jane’s broken tone. She was convincing herself that Henry would show, rather than her friends. She hated hearing Jane’s attempts to salvage the tiny pieces of her relationship with Henry, but she hated putting Jane down even more.

    Placing a hand on the blonde’s, Catalina said, “Just be safe, okay? If anything happens, call us.” She fixed her gaze on Jane, trying to steady her breathing. As much as she hated it, the date was going to happen. She just had to be ready to catch Jane when it fell out.

    Jane widened her fingers. Not by much, but just enough for Lina’s fingers to brush in between. The action sparked warmth in the taller woman’s chest, and she watched Jane nod slowly. “Thank you, Lina,” Jane whispered. She looked up, azure eyes void. “May I excuse myself?”

    “Of course, querida,” Lina replied, shifting to allow Jane room to leave the table. The blonde gave her friend a tiny smile, before retreating to the restrooms.

    Upon looking back at the table, Lina noticed all her friends staring at her, dismay in their eyes. Cathy’s expression said it all, and Lina let her defeated sigh slip. There was no point in trying to fix the problem anymore. There had been a time when Lina would purposefully make plans ahead of Henry, or ask Jane to things first, which kept Henry at a safe distance. Her attempts had declined over the years upon seeing no improvement in their relationship.

    Anna laid a hand on Lina’s shoulder, to which the curly-haired woman simply nodded.

    Tomorrow felt much less exciting now.

    Lina had been right. She’d slept in until one on Saturday, and only got out of bed when her stomach growled at her for food.

    She slumped around her house in a hoodie and sweatpants. She had ordered take out for lunch, which she then had delivered to her flat. She’d never done that before, which made her realize why Anne loved lazy weekends.

    Lunch was followed by a short yoga session. Lina had picked up yoga in her second year of college. Sitting all day was awful on her back and joints, and she definitely didn’t get enough exercise from just walking to and from campus. Kat had suggested yoga, and Lina was rather impressed with the results it had. Her posture had improved and she no longer felt the need to fidget in her seat.

    “How’s the wall coming along?” Lina asked, face buried in her arms as she reached for her toes.

    Anna’s voice came through the phone. “It’s halfway done,” she answered. “There’s paint all over me, though, and Kat’s not helping.”

    “Excuse me!” Kit’s voice came from somewhere else in the room, making Lina chuckle. “It’s not my fault you put so much stuff where I can’t reach.”

    “Anyways,” Anna continued, “how’re you holding up? Being lazy must be so hard.”

    Lina sat up, letting out a breath of air. “I don’t know how Anne does it,” Lina replied, feigning exhaustion, before reaching down to her other foot.

    Anna laughed, disappearing from the screen as she continued painting.

    That call had lasted the hour Lina did her yoga. Anna had hung up when she and Kat ran out for food, waving bye. Lina rolled her mat up and tucked it away in the corner of her living room. With a final stretch to loosen herself up, she changed back into a hoodie and sweats.

    The next couple hours were spent napping and scrolling through her phone. A gentle rain had begun to fall, pattering on the windows. Lina checked her phone. 9:43. I should eat something.

    She headed for the kitchen and began rummaging for something to heat up. She pulled out a container of mac n’ cheese, shrugged, and popped it into the microwave.

    Wine goes with that, right?

    Looking back in the fridge, Lina took notice of the wine bottle. It wasn’t until she pulled it out that she realized something.

    This was the bottle Jane had given her for her birthday. It was a Spanish red wine, similar to what her abuela used to drink. Lina had tugged Jane into the tightest hug, thanking her over and over.

    As one memory of Jane took hold, more and more began to flood Lina’s mind. Memories of school musicals, dances, mall outings, amusement park trips. Every moment with Jane was held close to Lina’s heart, which was breaking with each memory remembered. The thought of her being held by that pig of man was worse than someone ripping Lina’s heart out.

    “I should check up on her.” She had gone to reach for her phone, before thinking better of it. No. I don’t wanna piss Henry off by texting during their date. While the thought of Jane on a date with Henry was far from pleasing, it was better than thinking about all the times Jane had looked at Lina as if she were the sun. Lina knew if her mind strayed to Jane, she’d be tense the rest of the night.

    Shaking her anxieties off, Catalina poured a glass of wine and waited for her food to finish heating up. She watched the rain drops race down her windows, the rain picking up outside.

    The microwave dinged and she pulled the mac n’ cheese out, hissing as the bowl burned her hands. Setting it down, Lina retreated to the living room to search Disney+ for a movie. She settled on Lady and the Tramp, placing the remote back on the coffee table.

    And no, not because it was Jane’s favorite.

    Lina ran back for her dinner, tucking her phone into her sweat pockets before carrying her bowl and wine out the living room. She reclined back on the arm of the couch, wine glass on the end table and bowl cradled in her lap.

    It was halfway through the movie when Lina felt something vibrate against her stomach. She groaned and dug around for her phone. She had just gotten into the perfect position where everything was stretched just right.

    She pulled her phone out, took one look at the contact, and her adrenaline shot up. She slid the green button and quickly held the phone to her ear.

    “Jane, what’s wrong?”

    There was silence on the other end, aside from rain and the faint sound of breathing.

    “Lina…”

    Catalina was already pulling her coat on with that one word. Jane had sounded shattered on the other end, her sniffles coming through the rain.

    “Stay right there, bebé,” Lina ordered. “I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”

    “Lina, I-I’m so sorry. H-He-”

    “Hush, querida, don’t speak,” Lina interrupted, grabbing her keys and hurrying out the door, forgoing the slides that sat at the door. “Are you home?”

    A choked sob echoed in the phone before Jane whispered, “Yes.”

    “Alright, hun, I’m on my way,” she assured. “Just stay on the phone, please.”

    A whimpered ‘ok’ was all she got to confirm Jane had heard. Catalina watched the rain smack off her window, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter. She could only assume two things, neither of which she wanted to dwell on. Jane’s broken tone was already enough for Lina to rip the steering wheel right off the dashboard.

    “Don’t worry, Jane, I’m almost there,” Lina murmured, taking the turn at the intersection.

    It was a fight to not go over the speed limit, to which she was already surpassing. All the while she spoke words of comfort into the phone, Jane’s sobs echoing in her ear.

    She pulled to a stop in front of Jane’s apartment complex, and through the heavy downpour, she took notice of a petite blonde. Lina leapt from her car, hurrying to Jane’s side. She was seated under the small overhang of the building, but she was absolutely drenched.

    Mascara ran down Jane’s cheeks in rivers, the rain water spreading it over her face. Her blonde hair, which Catalina could only assume had once been wavy and conditioned, was soaked and mattered. Blonde strands plastered to Jane’s face, and her chin quivered as she forced back tears.

    “Oh, cariño,” Lina gasped, taking notice of Jane’s dress. “Usaste el nuevo.”

    A sob broke through Jane’s lips and she buried her face in her hands. Lina knelt down, gently pulling the blonde to the ground, and tucked the sobbing woman into her chest. Jane’s hands fisted into Lina’s coat instantly, and she cried into her friend’s neck.

    “Oh, Lina, I-I’m such an idiot!” Jane cried, knuckles jabbing into Catalina’s chest. “I should’ve listened to you! You were right; you were all right! I’m so stupid!”

    “No, no, querida,” Lina soothed, pressing Jane closer to her body. “You’re not stupid, never say that.”

    Jane shook with another sob. “B-But if I had just listened to you-” Jane paused to sniff, another sob choking out. “I-If I had just dropped h-him like you said, then you wouldn’t have to be h-here in the rain with me.”

    “Jane, no.” Lina sat back, holding Jane back to look her in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter what day it is, nor the weather. I’d come to you in a blizzard on foot if you needed me.” Shrugging out of her coat, Lina pulled the garment over Jane’s shoulders and pulled her in. “Now, how about you come with me? I have wine.”

    Another sniffle followed by a nod against her chest was all the confirmation Lina needed. She took Jane’s hands in her own, helping her to her feet. Catalina pulled the coat over Jane’s head while she opened the car door.

    Holding the door open, Lina helped Jane duck into the car. Once she was situated, Lina ran to the driver’s side and quickly dove in. The rain was pounding the roof of the car, the window being splattered with drops faster than the wipers could clean them.

    Jane was shivering in the seat, clutching Catalina’s coat tight to her body. Lina’s heart sank and she offered her hand to the woman. The blonde took it immediately, silent tears still flowing down her cheeks. The drive home was silent, golden eyes fixed ahead while azure focused down, hands intertwined.

    Lina scooped Jane out of the passenger seat, carrying her to the door and setting her down only to open the door. Jane kept her face tucked into Lina’s neck until they reached the bathroom.

    “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Lina whispered, cupping Jane’s sticky cheeks. Jane nodded weakly and Lina began searching for the make-up wipes.

    She pulled the wipes out and gently swiped it over Jane’s cheek. The blonde tensed, but slowly relaxed into the movements. Lina tossed the now-black wipe and pulled another out. This time, when she wiped Jane’s cheek, Lina felt her press into her touch. Her cheeks warmed with a pink dust, and she was thankful for Jane’s shut eyes.

    “Do you want to get a shower?” Lina gently brushed Jane’s arm, noting the goosebumps trailing up her skin. Jane nodded again, and Lina pulled a white towel out from under the sink. “You’re favorite color.”

    A tiny, watery smile tugged at Jane’s lips, and Lina mentally patted herself on the back. “I have an extra loofa in there, it’s the black one, and you can use my body wash and stuff.”

    She moved to leave the bathroom, when Jane let a small noise escape. Lina looked back and her heart melted at the sight of Jane brushing through her wet hair. “C-Can you wait outside? I don’t want to be alone…” Her voice drifted off towards the end, and Lina returned to her friend’s side.

    Taking Jane’s small, shivering hand in her warm ones, Lina looked sincerely into Jane’s eyes. “I’ll be just beyond the door, alright? You can shout to check.”

    Jane’s eyes softened, and a new emotion flickered in them. Lina slowly released the blonde’s hand and retreated from the bathroom.

    She stood outside of the bathroom for the entirety of Jane’s shower.

    Not once did Jane check if Lina had stayed.

    The bathroom door creaked open, and Lina stood up from the wall. Jane stepped close to her, wrapped in the towel. Her hand brushed Lina’s, and the taller woman took it gently. “I have a fresh load of laundry in my room,” she said, leading Jane to her bedroom. “I’ll get you something warm.”

    Lina found a sweater and pair of sweats that would hopefully tie tight enough for Jane. She left the blonde to change, and her jaw nearly hit the floor when she came back in.

    The sweater fell down to Jane’s mid-thigh, hanging off one shoulder. Lina’s face flushed and she coughed into her hand, attempting to hide her gay panic. Stop it. Jane needs you. Swallowing, Lina stepped into the room. “How’re you feeling?”

    Jane looked down, bringing her hands up to clutch her forearms. “Better, I guess,” she mumbled. Her drying blonde hair fell over her face in a curtain.

    Lina made her way towards the blonde. She placed a gentle hand on the small of Jane’s back. Suddenly, arms looped around Lina’s neck and tugged her in. Jane’s nose brushed the column of her throat, causing a blush to spread up the taller woman’s cheeks.

    “Thank you, Lina,” Jane whispered, voice tight. Lina smiled, wrapping her arms around Jane’s waist and setting her chin on her head.

    “Anytime, mi querida,” Lina murmured.

    They ended up on the couch, Lina reclined against the armrest once more with Jane cuddled into her side. Both nursed a glass of Spanish wine, eyes fixed on the TV. Lina threw occasional looks towards Jane, checking to make sure the blonde was okay.

    In truth, Lina wanted to ask her exactly what had happened. Jane was always down after dates with Henry, but never was she so upset to the point of crying. Taking a sip of her wine, Lina turned her gaze on Jane. “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Jane took a long sip of wine, lips remaining pressed to the glass. Lina bit her lip and set her glass down. “You don’t have to,” she added. “I just think it’d be best if I knew a little.”

    “No, you’re right,” Jane said, clutching the neck of her glass. “You deserve to know.”

    Lina set her hand on Jane’s shoulder, pulling her a bit closer. “Jane, I’m always gonna be here for you, alright?” She fixed her eyes on the blonde. “If you’re not ready to talk, that’s perfectly okay. I just want to know at some point.”

    Jane nodded, taking a small sip from her wine. Silence followed, to which Lina picked up her own glass and returned to watching the movie. If Jane didn’t want to share, that was fine with her. She’d wait for years if that’s what Jane needed.

    “He left me there.”

    She nearly choked on her wine, spitting it back into the glass. Jane looked at her with worried eyes, placing a hand on her side. Lina set her glass down and sharply turned to face Jane. “He what?”

    Jane bit her lip, averting her eyes from Lina’s. “He said he’d pick me up at nine,” Jane said. Her voice was tight with sadness and underlying anger. “He promised me. He kept telling me all week that it’d be great.” She faltered, staring down at her drink.

    Lina’s dread was replaced by rage. Jane had sounded so sure that Henry would make it up to her. She sounded far from excited, but she was hopeful. Even Lina had a tiny spark of hope that Henry would make an effort for Jane. But he hadn’t even bothered to show up!

    “I should have listened to you.” Jane sounded defeated, her fingers tapping the glass. “I guess that’s one thing he was honest about. I really am an idiot.”

    Lina slid off the couch and took Jane’s hands, holding them to her chest. “Jane Seymour, you listen to me.” She waited until Jane’s azure eyes met her golden ones. “You are a wonderful woman. You’ve been my dearest friend all my life, and I would rather freeze hell over than listen to you speak horrible things about yourself. You are such a kind woman, with a heart undeserving of the cruelty in this world.

    “You are not an idiot, and I will keep telling you this until you realize it’s true.” Lina moved her hands to cup Jane’s face, brushing her cheek lightly. “So please, all I ask of you, is to remember how truly remarkable you are; both inside and out.”

    Jane’s eyes glittered with tears, small streams glistening down her cheeks. She cupped one of the hands on her cheeks, pressing into it as she nodded. Lina smiled softly, stretching forward onto her knees to touch her forehead to Jane’s.

    “You’re so kind to me,” Jane murmured, a watery smile appearing on her face. Lina chuckled and kissed the blonde’s forehead.

    “Only ever for you.”

    The soft look of trust that flushed over Jane’s eyes, along with the tiny giggle, was enough to melt Lina’s heart. She pulled herself back onto the couch, and giggled as Jane snuggled back into her. As Jane’s head settled beneath Catalina’s chin, the blonde whispered, “Thank you, again, Lina. For everything you’ve done.”

    Lina pulled the blanket over the two and held Jane close. “I’ll always be here for you, querida.”

    The two stayed close, cocooned in the blanket as the Disney movie carried on quietly. Lina melted into Jane’s presence, burying her nose in soft blonde hair. She felt Jane smile against her neck and Lina placed another kiss on the crown of Jane’s head.

    “I love you, Lina.”

    Jane’s breath tickled Lina’s neck as she spoke. Her words sent goosebumps up Lina’s skin, but she replied without hesitation. “I love you, too, Jane.”

    And though she knew they both meant different things, one of platonic origin and the other romantic, Lina knew that Jane meant it. That she loved Lina as much as she loved Jane. And that was enough to make her forget about destroying Henry.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

Wow. I’m so, so grateful for the lovely response to chapter 1 of this story. I’ve never had so many notes on one of my posts before, so many, many thanks to everyone who took the time to read, like, reblog and comment on it. i do appreciate it

Thanks also to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Previous chapter

AO3

Chapter 2: From Scrubs to Sauvignon

Sunlight streaming through the shutters wakes me before the alarm. After the previous seventy two hours with too much alcohol, not enough sleep and shared hotel rooms, last night’s sleep was a solid nine and a half hours and I feel so much better for it.

Trying, for a moment at least, to ignore both the demands of my bladder and my desperate need for caffeine, I gaze up at the ceiling and contemplate the surgery ahead of me. Whilst it’s a comparatively routine procedure for me, I always think about the families — parents, grandparents, siblings. It’s an anxious time for them, never routine, a step into the unknown and they are putting their trust in me to look after their precious child. Their faith in me is something I take very seriously.

I have a ritual I follow every time before theatre. I take a few minutes to close my eyes and let the procedure play inside my head, my hands echoing the images in my brain. I trace the path my scalpel will take on the skin; I position, in mid air, the locations of the clamps; I work with my imaginary mallet and chisel honing the bone, the X-ray images clear in my head.

By the time I’ve finished closing the incision, the demands of my bladder can no longer be ignored. That’s my cue to get out of bed and start my day.

***********

Before I put my scrubs on, I pay a visit to the side room where Robbie, my seven year old patient has spent the night. His parents have already given consent for the operation, but I like to go and do a final check.

Robbie is sitting up in bed, a bit subdued but in good health. His mother is sitting expectantly, nervously playing with the skin around her nails. The foldaway bed has already been put away, but, judging by her red rimmed eyes, I don’t think it got much use. Robbie’s father follows me into the room, two coffees in his hands.

“Sorry, Doctor Claire,” he nods at the coffee. “I didna get ye one. D’ye want one?”

I let the doctor reference pass. As a surgeon, my title is no longer doctor. Officially, I am Miss Beauchamp, but prefer my juvenile patients to call me Claire. Quite a lot of the parents seem to call me Doctor Claire. I suppose they like the reassurance that I am actually a proper doctor.

“No, thanks.” I smile. “Are we all set then?”

They nod nervously.

“Aye,” Robbie’s father agrees. “We need tae get it done.”

“How long will it take?” Robbie’s mother looks directly at me, wanting a definitive answer.

I hesitate. I don’t like to give precise times. If the surgery goes longer then parents start to fear the worst, and that’s not always the case. So I give a vague answer. “‘Till lunchtime… you could always go and sit outside in the little garden, it’s a lovely day.”

His mother looks down at her hands and shakes her head. “No, I want tae be right here …”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. I know exactly what she’s thinking.

I turn to Robbie, blissfully unaware of his parents’ thoughts. He beckons me to him.

“When I wakes up,” he begins in a stage whisper. “Can I have a treat?”

“What sort of treat did you have in mind?”

“Can I have a MacDonald’s? But no’ a kid’s meal. I’ve never had a Big Mac.”

I glance at his parents who nod at me before I whisper back, “Of course you can, but don’t let nurse Geillis see, will you? She can be ever so naughty. She’ll be trying to steal your chips away, if you’re not careful.”

And with that, I stroke Robbie’s little cheek before saying my goodbyes and head out to get changed.

**********

Robbie’s surgery went to plan, no nasty surprises or tricky complications. I call in to check on Robbie’s parents before they head to recovery. They look totally different to when I saw them this morning. Still worn out of course, I don’t think they’ll sleep properly until their little lad is home with them, but their faces shine with sheer relief. I have warned them about the long road ahead, with many hours of physiotherapy and exercises, but, for today, I’ll let them have their moment of pure happiness. Reality will hit them again soon enough.

As I leave the waiting room, making my farewells, Robbie’s dad thanks me once more. I can tell he’s unsure whether hugging me is appropriate or not, so he settles for a handshake. His wife has no such qualms, wrapping me tightly in a hug, whispering her thanks until her husband reminds her that they need to be with their son. I point the way and head down to the nurses station.

Geillis is sitting there, looking very busy on the computer. I pull up a chair and sit next to her. The screen is filled with images of our weekend in Barcelona.

“What?” She looks at me as if I’ve accused her of something. “I’m on ma lunch, aren’t I?”

“How was your night then?”

Geillis beams from ear to ear— she’s like the cat who got the cream. “Nay bad, nay bad at all. After two nights away, Dougal realises what he’s got wi’ me, and he dinna hesitate tae show me, if ye ken what I mean?”

She winks at a poor medical student, who blushes and busies himself with a set of medical notes.

“Geillis,” I warn. “Behave yourself.”

“Anyway, pet, how was yer evening? Another tryst wi’ Professor Randall?” Her face says it all. Geillis thinks about as much of Frank as he does of her. Literally the only thing they have in common is me, and it’s getting pretty wearing.

“No, I was worn out and— oh, that reminds me.” I fumble in my pocket for my phone as I carry on talking. “I’ve got someone else’s suitcase. I hope they’ve got mine.”

I glance at the screen. Two missed calls and one message. All from the same number. All from the number I called last night, the James-Fraser-isn’t-here-don’t-call-again-ever number. Looks like this James Fraser has a jealous or suspicious wife-partner-girlfriend-housekeeper.

“Catch up later, Geillis, I need to deal with this.”

I rush back to my office to try and sort the suitcase problem out.

The message is brief and to the point.

Hi, Jamie Fraser here. I think I have your case too. Can we arrange a swap? I live in Glasgow. Hopefully you too. Where and when? I’m free after 5 today.

After five will work for me too, I just need to pop home and pick up his case. Now, based on his wardrobe choices and his one message to me, he doesn’t actually seem like an axe murderer or sex pervert, but you can’t really tell, so I think about a public location.

How about the benches by the cafe at Kelvingrove Park? 5:30? Claire Beauchamp

A couple of minutes later his reply appears on my screen.

Fine. See you then.  I’ll be the one wheeling a black Samsonite. JF

**************

It’s another glorious sunny day here in Glasgow. Just ideal for going for a stroll in the park. I do feel a bit conspicuous with a suitcase trailing along behind me — kind of like an upmarket bag lady.

There are no other suitcases around, so I perch on a bench. I fire a quick message to Geillis, just so that she knows where to direct the police if I disappear and then wait. It’s not too bad waiting. The sun is still warm, so I stretch my legs out trying for a tan. With my eyes closed, I lift my face up to soak up the rays. I may get panda eyes with my sunglasses on, but I don’t really care. The warmth is so good and I can feel myself relaxing totally —

“Ahem.”

I am conscious of a shadow across my face. I open my eyes and quickly stand up.

He’s tall. That’s the first thing I notice. A good few inches taller than me, and I’m 5 feet 9. And broad. Broad enough to block my sun. His hair is red, very red and the sun behind him creates a fiery corona around his head.

He’s a Viking. A Viking in a navy blue suit and a crisp white shirt. How many of those white shirts does he own, I wonder?

“Claire Beauchamp, I presume. I recognise the case. That red ribbon on the handle, such a unique idea.”

He smiles, a lopsided half grin and holds out his hand for me to shake. “Jamie Fraser.”

“Claire Beauchamp,” I say somewhat unnecessarily as we shake hands.

He sits down. “So,” he begins politely. “I hope ye havena come far out of yer way.”

I join him on the bench.

“No,” I gesture vaguely to my right. “I live not too far from here. How about you?”

That lopsided grin appears again. “Nah,” he gestures to his left. “No’ too far at all.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence. We are not really here for small talk, but is it too rude to just dive in and do the swap?

“So,” Jamie breaks the silence. “About the cases…”

Apparently it’s not too rude.

“I ken ye have ma case there, on account of ma contact details being in it, but what about this one? How do I ken this is yers? Black Samsonites with wee red ribbons seem to be awfa common ‘round here. As proof, can ye mebbe tell me something that’s in it? Something identifiable?”

And at this, my mind goes blank, what did I pack?

“Er, denim shorts… black flip flops… white vest—”

“Weel, they’re all verra common. Is there anything a wee bit more… unique?”

Is it my imagination or is there a twinkle in his clear blue eyes as he says this? And then I remember exactly what’s in my case and start to blush.

“There may be some hen party bits and pieces in there too. It was my friend’s hen weekend, so I think there may be some, er, stuff from that, you know, er, handcuffs… shot glasses…”

He puts me out of my misery. “Och, that’s fine. It’s yers, right enough. Here ye go.”

And we do the exchange, just like in the spy movies. Except in those, the cases are filled with bank notes and the top secret blueprints for a submarine base, and not white dress shirts and an assortment of shot glasses shaped like penises.

Our phones beep practically simultaneously. I pull mine out of my pocket. Jamie does the same and glances at his phone.

Mine is a text from Frank confirming tonight’s arrangements “I’d better go. Plans for tonight, you know.”

“Snap. Plans here as well.”

“Goodbye then. I’m not sure whose fault it was, the mixup at the airport. So why don’t we both say sorry, or neither of us?” I suggest as I stand up and smooth the creases from my skirt.

“Sounds good tae me. How about neither?” He smiles again. “Ms Claire Beauchamp, nice to meet you.”

“Mr Jamie Fraser, likewise I’m sure.”

And with that we head off, me to the right and Jamie Fraser to the left.

************

Frank had said 7:30, and, sure enough, at 7:28 my intercom buzzes and I let Frank in. He arrives at my door carrying a large bunch of lilies and roses. No, not a bunch, I can’t describe it as a bunch… carrying a large bouquet of lilies and roses, beautifully arranged and hand-tied. Clearly not a supermarket purchase. Nor is the wine he also hands to me. A chilled bottle of my favourite Sauvignon Blanc, only available from quality wine merchants in the city.

Frank can be incredibly thoughtful and generous, and I am suitably grateful. I pop the flowers into the kitchen sink while I try to locate a vase big enough to hold them.  He walks in as I’m scrabbling around on my hands and knees, bum in the air, head buried in the cupboard under the sink.

“So what are we having for dinner?” He asks as he pours the wine. “Are you cooking?”

I emerge victorious, having found the vase wedged between a bottle of sink unblocker and an unused can of spray starch.

“Sorry?”

“Dinner?” He repeats, helping me to my feet.

“I’ve not had a chance to cook. I told you about the suitcase confusion, didn’t I?  Well, I had to get that sorted. I thought we could have something delivered. That’s ok, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure that will be fine, darling. What would you like?”

What would I like? What I would really like would be a huge, great pizza full of carbs and grease and pepperoni and cheese that pulls into strands when you try to take a slice. And to sit on the floor with the pizza box between us watching Netflix and drinking beer.

But, that is clearly a rhetorical question.

“Thai?” Frank doesn’t wait for my answer.

Thai is the only acceptable takeaway in Frank’s eyes, eaten at a table, on proper plates. I nod my agreement. After all, he’s brought me wonderful flowers, and a gorgeous bottle of wine. He deserves to have the choice. And I can have pizza with my friends any time.

“You ring the order through then, while I arrange these beautiful flowers.” I say and kiss his cheek.

And that is our evening sorted - takeaway, a couple of glasses of wine, Newsnight on the television and then to bed for a bit of sex.

So, that’s food, drink, mind and body all sorted. I should go to sleep feeling satisfied with everything. I should… shouldn’t I?

[waitimcomingtoo]

Quirks

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader with OCD

Thank you to the anon who requested this and consulted with me on OCD!

Disclaimer: It is not my intention to glorify or romanticize OCD with this story. I consulted with multiple people who have OCD to develop this character. 

Masterlist

“Are you ready for bed?” Tom asked as he climbed under the covers on his side. It was your first night in Tom’s house after moving in with him, and you had a nervous feeling in your tummy. There were things about yourself you had begun to notice, and you wondered how long it would take for Tom to notice as well.

“Almost.” You nodded as you knocked on the wall behind you four times. You climbed into bed beside Tom as if nothing happened, leaving Tom puzzled.

“What are you doing?” Tom chuckled as he watched your movements.

“If I don’t do this, I can’t sleep.” You said simply.

“Okay.” Tom laughed again, making you grime a little.

“I know it doesn’t actually help me sleep.” You admitted. “I just need to do it.”

“Wow. I can’t wait to see all the other little quirks you’ve been hiding from me.” Tom smirked as he leaned over to kiss you.

“Yeah.” You laughed nervously. “Quirks.”

~

Tom woke up the next morning to the feeling of you playing with his hair.

“Good morning sleepy head.” You said through a yawn as you combed his hair off his face.

“Good morning to you too. Are you hungry?” Tom asked as he rubbed your shoulders.

“Um, what time is it?” You sleepily rubbed your eyes.

“111:23” He answered after checking his phone.

“I’m okay.” You decided, despite your stomach growling. “I’ll wait until lunch.”

“Are you sure?” Tom noticed the growl. “I can make you something.”

“I’m sure. Sure, sure, sure.” You told him. “I’ll wait until lunch.”

Once the clock hit an even number, it was lunchtime. You walked into the kitchen at 2:24 feelings famished.

“God I’m hungry.” You patted your stomach. “Do you have anything to eat?”

“Let’s see.” Tom said as he opened his cabinet. “I have honey and boxed Mac and cheese.”

“Ooo. This a fancy restaurant.” You teased as you hugged him from behind.

“Shut up.” He laughed and turned around in your arms. “I haven’t gone shopping in a while.”

“It’s fine. We’ll go tomorrow.” You told him before kissing him. You broke away from him and took out the macaroni while he got out a pot and filled it with water.

“Here you are, my love.” Tom carried the heavy pot with ease and placed it on the stove.

“Thank you. How long does the box say to boil it for?” You asked as you turned the heat up on the stove.

“11-13 minutes.” Tom read off the back of the box.

“Okay.” You nodded as you set the timer to 12 minutes. “Okay, okay, okay.”

“So precise.” Tom joked, making your face flush.

“Yup.” You forced a laugh and kept your tone light. “I just like to be precise. I definitely don’t feel like I can’t eat the macaroni unless it cooks for exactly 12 minutes.”

“What was that?” Tom asked curiously when he didn’t understand what you said.

“Nothing.” You looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. “It’ll be ready soon.”

~

A month later, Tom walked into his bathroom to brush his teeth. You were already in there, leaning close to the mirror and pressing on all your teeth.

“What are you doing?” Tom chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“I need you to check my teeth.” You turned around in his arms with a panicked expression.

“For food?” He asked and looked at your teeth. “They’re all good.”

“No, for any loose ones.” You told him and he let out a short laugh.

“Why would your teeth be loose?” He raised an eyebrow, thinking you were kidding.

“They’re not. I know they’re not.” You said, mostly to yourself. “Could you just confirm for me that they’re not?”

Tom found the request strange, but obliged and pressed on your teeth the way you had.

“All good.” He confirmed. “Nothing loose.”

You sighed in relief and turned around again, leaving Tom curious about the encounter. He shrugged it off and walked back into the bedroom, throwing on his jacket as you finished up in the bathroom.

“You’re going out?” You asked from the doorway when you noticed Tom in his jacket.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t be too long.” He promised. “I just need to run to the store. I’ll be back before you’re asleep.”

“Will you be back before 12?” You asked as you tugged on your earlobe.

“Yeah, I will.” He told you as he placed his hands on your waist.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” You smiled at Tom as you patted his cheek twice before kissing him. You did this every time Tom was about to leave the house. Before you were a couple, he’d text you before he would go out so you could flex your hand three times to ensure his safety. Now, it was two taps to the cheek and a kiss.

A few minutes after Tom pulled out of the driveway, his phone rang and lit up with your contact. He answered it but before he could say hello, you started speaking.

“Tom, are you okay?” You wheezed, sounding frantic.

“I’m fine, honey.” He quickly assured you. “Are you okay?”

“Yea.” You sounded more relaxed. “Are you sure you’re okay? Where are you?”

“I’m near the bakery.” He answered. “Did something happen?”

“No.” You sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” He confirmed. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Alright. I love you.” You said into the phone. “I love, love, love you.”

~

“Are you ready to watch the movie, honey?” Tom called from the living room. It was a few months now since you started living together and he had taken a night off from work to be with you.

“Almost. I’m just washing my hands.” You called back. A commercial playing in the background caught your attention and you shut the water off to listen.

“What did they say it treated?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder at the TV.

“BPH.” Tom answered, reading off the screen.

“Do I have that?” You wondered, making Tom laugh. He looked back at you to see if you were kidding, but your face showed your we’re serious.

“BPH? No, lovey.” He shook his head. “That’s just for men. I think it’s when your prostate in enlarged. And in the words of Noah Puckerman, “chicks don’t have prostates”.”

“So I don’t have that?” You asked him again, as if you didn’t believe him.

“No. You don’t have that.” He answered, growing concerned.

“Okay.” You nodded and dried your hands. “Do you have that?”

“Um, I don’t think so.” Tom furrowed his eyebrows at the strange question.

“Okay.” You said again. “Just making sure.”

“Okay.” Tom eyed you curiously as the opening credits started to play. “Oo, it’s starting.”

“I love this movie.” You mumbled as you nuzzled into Tom’s side.

“Me too.” Tom smiled as he pulled you closer. “I’ve seen it like 3 times already.”

“I’ve seen it 13 times.” You said after a beat of silence, making Tom’s eyes widen.

“Really?” He asked. “You must really like it.”

“I like rewatching the same movies.” You said sheepishly.

“Why?”

“I like knowing the ending and whats gonna happen next.” You told him, looking at him to see if he thought it was weird. His face didn’t show any signs of disdain, so you relaxed.

You watched the movie in comfortable silence as time went on, never leaving each other’s sides.

“What time is it?” You asked as the movie neared it’s end.

“11:47 babe.” Tom answered when he checked his phone.

“I have to go to bed.” You said suddenly, getting up off the couch.

“The movies almost over, lovey.” Tom chuckled in confusion as you left his side. “Just 30 more minutes.”

“I know.” You chewed your lip nervously and twisted your fingers. “I just have to go to bed. I can’t really explain it.”

“Okay.” Tom nodded, still confused. “Good night.”

“Goodnight.” You bent down to kiss him before trotting off to bed. “Night, night, night.”

Tom was beginning to pick up on certain things. You needed it be in bed by 12, you often called him randomly to ask if he was okay, and you stayed away from odd numbers. He didn’t know what to chalk it up to, but he didn’t want to pry if you didn’t want to talk about it.

~

Tom caught you putting your caught on one morning as he was coming into the kitchen to get some breakfast.

“Where are you sneaking off to so early?” He asked through a yawn as he lazily kissed your lips.

“I forgot I have a doctors appointments today.” You pouted. “It’s in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Do you need me to drive you?” He offered.

“You don’t have to drive, but could you come with me?” You asked and he nodded.

“Of course. Let’s go.” Tom grabbed his keys and walked with you to the car.

~

You walked into the lobby where Tom had waited for you with a strange look on his face. Tom immediately stood up and met you halfway, feeling concerned when he saw your expression. He could sense something was off with you but he wasn’t sure what.

“Hey darling.” He rubbed your arms in comfort. “How was the appointment?”

“Um, fine.” You nodded hesitantly. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” Tom asked. “Did the doctor say anything?”

“No.” You lied. “Nothing important.”

“Thats good.” Tom agreed, not fully convinced you were okay.

“Hey, when’s the last time you had a check up?” You wondered as you walked towards the car.

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Tom shrugged. “Less than a year ago.”

“You should probably get checked out. You know, to make sure you’re okay.” You told him as you buckled your seatbelt.

“Sure. I can schedule an appointment soon.” Tom nodded, still looking at you in confusion.

“Do you feel okay? Do you feel sick or anything?” You put your hand on his forehead while keeping your eyes on the road.

“No.” You said quickly. “I’m okay.”

You continued driving in silence as Tom wondered what was bothering you. You were nervously chewing your lip as you checked your rear view mirror every few seconds.

“Oh my God.” You gasped and looked behind you. “I have to turn around.”

“Why?” Tom turned around as well. “What’s wrong?”

“I might have hit someone.” You gulped and changed lanes so you could turn around. Tom jaw dropped a little, knowing full well that you hadn’t hit anyone.

“Lovey, you didn’t hit anyone.” He said slowly. “We would’ve felt it.”

“I know I didn’t.” You said in defeat. “I just need to check to make sure.”

“Okay.” Tom nodded, sensing something was wrong. “We can turn around.”

You turned around and passed by the street where you though you hit something. Nothing was there, so you kept driving. Tom kept his eyes on you, notching the worried look on your face as you continued to check the mirror.

“Are you okay?” He asked you.

“I have to do it again.” You sighed. “I have to turn around.”

“You didn’t hit anyone. You’re a good driver, baby.” He said quietly as he put his hand on your knee.

“I know I didn’t hit anyone. I know that but I just…” You sighed in frustration and put your blinker on. “I just have to. I’m sorry. I have to turn around.”

“Okay.” Tom agreed, not taking his eyes off you. You drove past the spot again and kept going, but your expression didn’t change.

“Do you want to turn around again?” Tom asked gently, and hit tears fell down your cheeks.

“Yes.” You sputtered. “I have to do it again. I know I didn’t hit anyone but-“

“It’s okay.” Tom assured you. “We can turn around as many times as you want.”

You gave him an appreciative look before turning around again. You calmed down as you passed the spot and continued driving in silence.

“I’m sorry.” You said after a minute. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I can’t help it though.”

“You don’t have to apologize. And I don’t think it’s weird. I just don’t understand.” Tom spoke softly as he rubbed your knee. You looked at him quickly and chew your lip as you toyed with something in your mind.

“Tom, I have OCD.” You said weakly as you snuck glances at him. Tom’s eyebrows raised in surprise before settling back down into a look of confusion.

“Oh. You do?”

“That’s what the doctor just said.” You continued. “He wants me to start medication but I’m not sure. I think I might need some help.”

“I’m proud of you for telling me you need help.” Tom squeezed your knee. “I had no idea you had OCD. You don’t clean things all the time or like, straighten your pencils or anything.”

“That’s not - no.” You shook your head. “It’s not really like that. It can be for some people, but that’s not what mine is like. OCD is not always cleaning bases. Mine is mostly instructive thoughts or repetitive behavior.”

“Oh.” Tom thought back on all your repetitive phrases and movements. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” You sighed and looked at him out of the corner of you eye to see his reaction.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, much to your surprise.

“Could you just text me? I worry about you. Like, a lot.” You admitted. “I worry about if you’re okay or not all the time. Every time you go out of the house, I put on this one movie. I feel like if I’m not watching the movie, you’re gonna die. I can’t explain it. I know you won’t die, but I can’t shake the feeling that you will. I just always worry about you.”

“I think I can help that.” Tom offered. “I can text you every half hour and make sure you know I’m safe.”

“Are you sure?” You asked as you pulled into your driveway. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“It’s okay.” Tom assured you. “Whatever I can do to make this easier, I’ll do it.”

You smiled fondly at Tom before leaning over the gear shift and kissing him, patting his cheek twice before pulling away.

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Thats exactly what I needed to hear.”

Tag List 🏷

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[amelialincoln]

I’m Okay Now

“Sorry, I’m here,” Amelia huffed, sliding into the booth beside Meredith and spilling the contents of her bag over the table. “Shit.” Mer laughed as she took in Amelia’s catastrophic entrance which was nothing out of the ordinary. Maggie took in the exasperated neurosurgeon’s appearance, frowning slightly.

“Amelia you’re--”

“Spilling out of my shirt?” She finished for her sister. “Yeah, I’m aware.” She grabbed the medical booklet that had flown out of her bag and held it up for them both to see. “I stopped taking the pill cause I’m looking at IUD options and my hormones are fluctuating like crazy.” She tucked her sore chest back into her bra that had become two sizes too small. “Did you guys order?” Maggie and Meredith shared a look that Amelia couldn’t recognize.

“We just got a bunch of things for the table,” Mer explained. “Maggie’s been waiting for you to tell us.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia’s breathing was still heavy, as if she’d run all the way from the hospital. “But I am intrigued, it’s not often that the three of us go out for breakfast to reveal some big news--”

“Winston wants me to move,” Maggie blurted out, tired of Amelia’s rambling. “He’s already arranged a position for me at his hospital. He wants me to leave Grey Sloan.” Amelia choked on her glass of water.

“What?” She exclaimed.

“Is that what you want?” Meredith asked at the same time.

“I mean, I don’t know…” Maggie sighed. “He never really took into consideration the idea of moving here. I mean I’m probably more highly regarded at Grey Sloan than he is at his hospital.” 

“Yeah you are. Girl power,” Amelia whooped, receiving a small smile from Maggie.

“I’ve just built a life here. I’m not sure I want to start over.”

“That’s your right,” Meredith added as their food arrived at the table. Amelia wrinkled her nose at the sight of bacon and pushed that specific plate away.

 “You love bacon and eggs,” Mer narrowed her eyes at Amelia’s disgust.

“Uh yeah, not feeling it right now though. Trade plates with me, Maggie? I’ll take the fruit.” Maggie raised her eyebrows but passed her the plate all the same. “So are you gonna do it?” 

Maggie sighed, “I mean I love Winston.” She spoke the words as if she were testing them out loud. “And that’s not something I say lightly.”

“We’d miss you,” Amelia interrupts with a mouthful full of fruit and receives a look of disapproval from Meredith.

“Well exactly.” Maggie smooths her braids. “I don’t think I could leave you guys behind.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to.” Meredith shakes her head.

“But then we’re stuck,” Maggie’s tone is exasperated, she’d run every possibility over in her head. “There’s no way to advance or grow in our relationship. Long distance is fine if it's temporary but what’s the point of all this if we don’t see an end goal together.” 

“Where do you see you both ending up,” Amelia asks. “In your perfect world.”

“Well he’d be here,” Maggie spoons yogurt into her mouth. “In my perfect world we’d be in Seattle.”

“Then you need to tell him that.” Amelia sets her fork down and is surprised to find Meredith nodding in agreement. “Fuck, I don’t feel good,” she muttered under breath as she steadied herself by pressing a her fingertips on the side of the table.

“For god sakes, Amelia, it’s because you're pregnant,” Meredith rolled her eyes. “For a doctor you could not be more oblivious.” Amelia’s eyes flew open in shock.

“It’s not...I’m not.” The tone in her voice was wavering. Maggie couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“Don’t sound so unaware,” Meredith teased, “I could name off five symptoms since you got here.” She expected the neurosurgeon to come back with a classic Amelia style response but instead she was lost in thought.

“Amelia,” Maggie’s voice was so quiet it was barely heard. “Is Link--”

“He’s away,” Amelia swallowed, hard, “in LA. Some pro athlete called him in cause he wanted the best. We haven’t talked about kids.”

“Well we can try and act as your big calm mountain until he gets back,” Maggie offered.

“Can we just get back to your thing right now?” Amelia pleaded, she avoided her sister’s looks of concern as she took a swig of her water and tried to ignore the fact that she wished it was the mimosa that Meredith was sipping on. Meredith’s phone buzzed on the table and the general surgeon glanced down before shoving the phone in her purse and gathering her wallet.

“That’s the hospital.” She looked at Maggie sympathetically. “We can finish this conversation tonight? Will breakfast on me make up for this?” 

“Mer it’s fine,” Maggie assured her.

“Wouldn’t complain though,” Amelia mumbled, receiving a glare from Maggie. Meredith set her card on the table and scooted past Amelia before heading hurriedly out of the restaurant.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Maggie asked immediately after her departure, watching Amelia swirl her spoon around in her coffee. She’d already had three cups today and doubted the amount of caffeine was good for the situation she might’ve gotten herself in. “Cause I know you and Mer’s relationship is...complicated and if you didn’t want to talk about it with her I’m here.” 

“I haven’t taken a test, Maggie,” Amelia snapped, her tone harsher than she’d intended. Maggie sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed. I wish Link were here.”

“I know how that feels,” Maggie shrugged, handing Mer’s credit card to the waiter as she came to their table.

“That was insensitive of me--” Amelia began as Maggie held up her hand to quiet her.

“Let’s just get out of here.”

Meredith’s emergency surgery ended up being a twelve hour one. Amelia pulled off Ellis’ snow boots and smiled as the little girl ran off into the living room to play with her siblings.

“Hey Elle belle,” she whispered and motioned for the child to come back. “Since your teacher said you did such a great job on your math homework, you can pick what’s for dinner.” Ellis’ eyes lit up and she shrieked with excitement. Amelia winced as she felt her head begin to pound.

“Mac n cheese?” She asked.

“Sure, baby.” Amelia was relieved that she’d picked something so simple. Ellie wrapped her arms around Amelia’s legs in response, whispering that Amelia was her favourite aunt and to not tell aunt Maggie. To which Amelia rolled her eyes. “Nice try, you told her that she was your favourite aunt yesterday.” Ellis pressed a finger to her lips as if Maggie wasn’t at work and was listening in the other room.

“You’re my favourite aunt today,” she promised before running off once again. Amelia’s phone buzzed and Link’s face illuminated the screen.

“Hey,” she mumbled softly, “you just get off the plane?”

“Yep!” She winced at Link’s loud and cheery voice, wondering how he could always be so full of energy. “I was thinking of picking up some food on the way home. Do you have any requests?”

“Oh.” She realized she’d completely forgotten to update him on the last minute change of plans. “I’m not at the apartment. Meredith got pulled into a surgery and Maggie’s working the night shift so I’m watching the kids.”

“Okay, no worries.” He quieted down to match her tone. “Do you want me to pick up something and bring it there? We can put the kids down early and watch a movie.”

Amelia’s stomach turned at the idea of food. “I’m not really hungry but I’m up for a movie.” 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, not remembering a time where Amelia hadn’t been ‘up for food’. “I could pick up soup or something?” Amelia ran a nervous hand through her hair.

“Yeah, actually I need you to go to the store.”

“Okay, just send me a list, you know I’m no good at grocery shopping.” She could hear Link asking for a cab.

“No, Link, I need a--” she turned to see Bailey hovering over Ellis’ head with a pair of scissors. “Bailey! Don’t you dare cut your sister’s hair!” Bailey’s eyes widened, dropping the scissors guiltily. “I need a pregnancy test,” she practically yelled into the phone. Zola glanced up in confusion as her siblings carried on playing, completely unfazed. The other end of the phone was silent almost long enough for Amelia to check if they’d lost connection.

“Pregnancy test?” Link confirmed.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he swallowed. “See you soon.” He hung up quickly. Amelia tossed her phone away in annoyance and angrily filled a pot with water setting it on the stove. She didn’t know she’d begun to cry until hot tears were clouding her vision.

“Auntie Amelia?” Zola’s voice rang out beside her and Amelia jumped. “Are you okay?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Amelia forced a smile, rubbing her eyes with her shirt sleeve. “Yeah, I’m all good.” Zola didn’t seem to take that as an answer, crossing her arms in front of her and staring up at her aunt patiently. Amelia sighed, pouring the box of Annie’s into the boiling water. 

“Are you having a baby?” 

“I don’t know,” she responded truthfully. “I’m not sure if your uncle and I are ready for that.” Despite her and Link not being married the kids referred to him as uncle so much that the title had stuck.

“Whenever Uncle Link braids Ellis’ hair he always says it’s because he’s practicing for when you and him have a kid,” Zola says this simply, as if it’s common knowledge. Amelia almost drops the plastic bowls she’d been retrieving from the cupboard.

“He said that?” 

“Like every time.” Zola rolls her eyes. “Are you making Annie’s?”

“Yes,” Amelia sighed, not wanting to hear any complaints from her niece.

“Good,” she wrinkled her nose. “Bailey likes Kraft Dinner but Annie’s is way better.”

“I hear nothing but facts.” Link’s voice surprises them. Amelia turns to meet his gaze. “Hey.” He holds a plastic bag in one hand and a duffle bag in the other.

“Uncle Link!” Zola runs to hug him, her squeal alerting the other two from their game in the living room. Bailey is throwing a bouncy ball at Link seconds later and Ellis follows him giggling. Link bent down to greet the three of them, allowing Ellis to wrap her pudgy fingers around his neck and kiss his cheek affectionately. Once he’s greeted each one separately, he moves to wrap his arms around his girlfriend, staring over her shoulder as she stirs the pasta slowly.

“You okay?” He pressed some tentative kisses on her neck as she relaxed into his embrace.

“All good,” she moved to strain the noodles before stirring in the rest of the ingredients and spooning the pasta into bowls. “Want some?” 

“I ended up picking up pizza,” he answered guiltily. “It was across from the CVS.” She ignored his attempt to bring up the test, instead calling out for the kids and handing each of them a bowl.

“You’re not hungry?”

“Nauseous.” She bit her lip worriedly, not wanting to meet his eyes. “If I eat I’ll throw up. Learned that this morning.” She glanced at the table instead. “Bailey, if I see you throw food at Ellis one more time I’m going to have a chat with your mother!”

“Annie’s mac and cheese sucks!” Bailey shot back with defiance.

“Well that’s unfortunate for you because tonight it’s your dinner.” Amelia shrugged.

“Irritable much?” Link had meant it as a joke but as he said it out loud he immediately regretted it. Amelia didn’t even look at him, no energy for a witty response. Instead she turned to the sink and started on the dishes. “I can do the dishes,” he offered.

“Can you just put them to bed?” She asked without glancing up from the soapy water. “I could use a minute alone.” 

She finished the dishes as Link dragged the squealing group of children up the stairs, knowing immediately by the ruckus that they’d convinced him to build a fort and he wouldn’t be down for a while. She finally brought herself to peek into the plastic bag Link had brought home. As promised, there were two pregnancy tests inside along with her favourite chocolate bar and ginger tea. She suddenly felt the urge to take it but the feeling quickly passed and she was left terrified. Instead she turned the test over in her hands, reading the instructions over and over in an attempt to distract herself.

“I read that ginger tea is supposed to help with nausea.” Link’s voice brought her back to reality and she looked to find him leaning on the doorway. “Meredith told me that you were feeling sick at breakfast.” Amelia raised her eyebrows. “I called her while I was at the drugstore. I didn’t know which test to buy,” he confessed. “I felt like she would know.” Amelia nodded, staring at the test in her hands. With the both of them being doctors she’d never felt more clueless.

“I didn’t get morning sickness last time.” Link raised an eyebrow, allowing her the space to elaborate but she didn't. They’d talked about Christopher once before but he’d still been left with questions.

“Do you even want kids?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “Do you want kids with me?”

“Yes,” she felt herself say immediately. They stared at each other for a while before she continued. “I was thinking more like adoption but here we are.” Tears burned at her eyes and Link closed the space between them immediately, wrapping his arms around her trembling body. They stood like that for a while until Amelia had straightened up and wiped her tears away, numbly making it towards the bathroom. Both tests confirmed their suspicion. To her surprise Link burst into happy tears, confessing how much he’d wanted this but had never wanted to push her and before she knew it they were both laughing and crying in each other's arms.

“Are we having a baby?” Meredith set her keys on the table as she pulled off her coat. Amelia was fast asleep on Link’s chest, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of a day.

“We’re having a baby.” Link’s beaming grin was illuminated by the tv and Meredith shook her head in amusement at the excitement he showed despite it being long past midnight.

sorry all I write is amelink pregnancy fics cause it makes me happy lol

[escxpedes]

loopholes (cont.)

I literally can’t even begin to tell you how much everyone’s support meant to me on the last chapter. All your comments and tags were so sweet, it was seriously the highlight of my day. I’m sorry for the delay, I meant to get this out a couple of days ago, but I’ve come down with a bad cold. This part, while fun, was so hard to get right. Angus Macgyver is a genius, his mind goes a mile a minute, and I wanted to do my best to replicate that. This part is a little slow in getting to the Macriley stuff, but I wanted to show how much he really thinks about things. He’s such a complex character, that if I didn’t do him justice, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Also, there’s dialogue in this one! Sadly, Jack isn’t mentioned in this chapter, but he’s there in spirit. Clearly, we all love and miss him. I hope you guys enjoy, the last part will be out soon! x

~

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system

~

Riley finally moves into her new apartment, but struggles to adjust after the events of Codex and the realization of her feelings for Mac. When Mac finds her passed out over her keyboard after a late night of coding at Phoenix, he decides a talk is long overdue. Just some slightly angsty soft!macriley to help you cope with this season 5 hiatus.

~

of lips that i am yet to kiss (and eyes not met my own.)

It's highly unlikely that you'll find Mac walking down the halls of the Phoenix Foundation so late at night. Without the bustling energy of his coworkers fetching important documents or discussing the best way to break down one of the many mysteries the foundation deals with, the darkened hallways and quiet atmosphere can be unnerving.

Sure, he spends nearly every waking hour employed there, but he'd rather be outside the office in different countries, doing hands-on work and saving lives. When you work in his profession, It can be difficult to separate business and pleasure, but that only makes it more important—if only to conserve what mental health he has left. 

However, in the haste of putting together last-minute preparations for yet another meeting with the Department of Justice and trying to make it back to his house in time for something Desi whipped up, he managed to forget his cellphone.

It's funny, mainly because of how little the small device truly matters to Mac.

It only goes to show how insignificant material objects, or even human beings in general, are. The idea that something so meaningless can affect someone's life so much when, if they just looked past that obsession and considered its part in the profound scope of the universe, another perspective would take shape.

It's fascinating stuff, really.

There's a concept essential to understanding Japanese aesthetics, otherwise known as an ancient set of ideals important to Japanese society, called Yūgen. When applied in the right context, Yūgen underlines this deep awareness of the universe and the experiences we have within it. It's often the feeling interpreted when you gaze at the stars late at night or watch the sunset dip behind a hill.

Mac wouldn't think twice before breaking his phone, or rather, breaking the phone of his nearest friend, open for an obscure part that might make one of his many homemade devices come together. However, when he's the only person able to communicate the scientific specifications of an unheard-of-until-recently base plan for saving the planet, he's practically on call 24/7.

He remembers having it in the labs earlier that day when he stopped by before his meeting to remind Bozer to come by his house on Friday for the team's new weekly attempt in group-bonding.

After the betrayals that surfaced during the climax of taking down Codex, the team collectively decided to spend more time as a group in hopes of eliminating any lingering doubts. 

They used to hang out all the time before the government dismantled the Phoenix Foundation.

Mac still can't believe that, after everything they had been through, he allowed his friendships to dissipate over the year they had been separate.

Bozer is his childhood best friend, and Riley had become a solid foundation in his life. He didn't have anyone outside his team at Phoenix, and while he deeply cared for Desi, their first relationship was proof that too much time—and too little communication—with each other can do severe damage to one's sanity.

If Russ hadn't brought them back together, would they have tried to reconnect at some point?

Mac wants to say they would have but wouldn't blame them if they didn't; they all lost something they cared about, and each served as a constant reminder of it.

It would've been hard, but part of him feels like living without them is a lot harder.

When he manages to access the lab, flipping his shiny new I.D. card over his fingers and into its place in his wallet, his eyes scan the room. It's empty, which isn't unusual at this time, but years of military training have rewired his brain to notify him of threats, even if there aren't any.

Just like he thought it would be, the device sits untouched a few tables behind Bozer's workspace where Mac had been sitting.

Quickly, because he left the house in a hurry and forgot to leave a note, he scoops up his phone and makes his way towards the exit. There's a couple of missed calls, but it doesn't seem like he missed anything too important.

Not that they would let him. 

At any rate, they would probably show up on his doorstep if they couldn't get a hold of him. With days off so few and far between, that's the kind of interaction he's hoping to avoid. Hence, why he came to pick up his phone when he realized it was missing instead of waiting until the next day.

He's nearly made it to the end of the hall when a light flashes in his peripheral vision, coming from the I.T. department.

His body is tense with apprehension; his mind races with several different kinds of possibilities and outcomes. He slows his pace, his movements fluid, silent, and controlled from years of stealth practice.

The light is soft, he notices, as if only one or two monitors are in use.

When he gets to the doorway and nudges open the door, hands at the ready, his entire body sags in relief to see the dark wavy hair he's come to associate with one of his closest friends.

"Riles?"

The nickname falls from his mouth before he can stop it, and even though the light from the monitor creates a halo above her head, shadowing her features, it's unmistakably her.

She doesn't move. 

It becomes abundantly clear why as Mac moves towards her and notices the monitor's screen filling up with a sequence of letters that look nothing like coding despite his lack of knowledge in programming languages.

Her elbow balances precariously on the edge of the table, her arms creating a makeshift pillow for her head. The weight of her forearm bears down on the keyboard, causing the side of her hand to press down multiple keys at once.

He shakes his head a little, amused by the situation unfolding. 

Her cheek rests comfortably on her hand, a serene expression masking the signs of exhaustion that showed on her face.

Mac's lips curved into a soft smile, seeing Riley in any state that wasn't cloaked in layers of worry or anxious determination always washed away any doubts he might have about working in such a stressful field.

The scars that covered his body, the secrets he has to keep, and the pain he has to endure are so unbelievably worth it as long as she out of harm's way and able to sleep peacefully.

Of course, he couldn't imagine anyone else by his side on a mission, knowing they share the same love and passion for kicking ass and saving lives.

However, he also knows that more lies underneath the surface.

He wouldn't wish the hardships of this job on anyone. Seeing it affect someone he cares about, watching it break them down slowly pulls at his heartstrings and fills him with a knowing sadness. 

When a piece of hair falls into her face, his fingers don't hesitate to gently brush it behind her ear, lightly tracing her cheekbone and caressing her cheek.

Kneeling, his hand drops to her shoulder in an attempt to gently wake her.

After a couple of shakes, the expressive brown eyes he's come to look forward to seeing begin to flutter open and nearly render him speechless.

She blinks a couple of times, inhaling slowly, "Macgyver."

Her voice is full of sleep and breaks from misuse, but the way she says his name—like there's nobody else she'd expect to see when she wakes up —has him grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Rising from her position on the table, she scans the room before meeting his eyes and scoffing, "It's hardly the morning."

He laughs softly, holding back the urge to mention that technically it is morning considering its past twelve. Instead, he focuses on the matter at hand, or more likely, the question at hand.

"What are you doing here so late?"

She's more alert now, sitting back in her chair and lifting her arms to stretch out the muscles that stiffened while she slept, glancing at her work on the monitor.

Her face drops into a grimace when she notices her mistake, "Matty and I were talking about updating the foundation's firewall and spyware," she yawns, "I must have been more tired than I realized."

Mac's eyebrows scrunch in thought, remembering something Bozer said earlier about Riley spending quite a few nights this week working late.

Between going over his mother's scientific data, trying to patch up whatever relationship he had left with Desi, and making sure he didn't go off the rails with grief, his effort to check in on everyone decreased significantly.

"Yeah, you've been doing that a lot lately," his hand returned to her shoulder to emphasize his point, "Everything okay?"

She waves him off, "There's too much work that needs to be done around here before we can get things running the way they used to."

Riley doesn't lie to him—if you overlook the whole situation with her ex, Aubrey, that is, but the movements she's making indicate otherwise.

Her eyes refuse to meet his, flickering down and to the right. When she talks, her head shakes lightly, and she purses her lips in an attempt to give off a careless impression. Maybe someone who doesn't know her or didn't train to pick up on it would believe her, but he knew better.

She was definitely hiding something from him.

Part of him understands that if she wanted to talk about it, she would. However, his instincts urge him to press harder, locate the problem, and bring back her contagious smile that always seems to fill him with warmth.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, you can't patch some things together by sheer will and sellotape, so instead, he stands up and drops his hand from her shoulder.

"Let's get you home."

[arfox158]

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages

TLDR: With a bit of research and support we were able to demonstrate a proof of concept for introducing a fraudulent payment message to move £0.5M from one account to another, by manually forging a raw SWIFT MT103 message, and leveraging specific system trust relationships to do the hard work for us!

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages App

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages Message

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages To My

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages For Her

Before we begin: This research is based on work we performed in close-collaboration with one of our clients; however, the systems, architecture, and payment-related details have been generalized / redacted / modified as to not disclose information specific to their environment.

A desktop application for Instagram direct messages. Download for Windows, Mac and Linux.

Have a question, comment, or need assistance? Send us a message or call (630) 833-0300. Will call available at our Chicago location Mon-Fri 7:00am–6:00pm and Sat 7:00am–2:00pm.

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages App

With that said.. *clears throat*

The typical Tactics, Techniques and Procedures (TTPs) against SWIFT systems we see in reports and the media are - for the most part - the following:

Compromise the institution's network;

Move laterally towards critical payment systems;

Compromise multiple SWIFT Payment Operator (PO) credentials;

Access the institution's SWIFT Messaging Interface (MI);

Keys in - and then authorize - payment messages using the compromised PO accounts on the MI.

This attack-path requires the compromise of multiple users, multiple systems, an understanding of how to use the target application, bypass of 2FA, attempts to hide access logs, avoid alerting the legitimate operators, attempts to disrupt physical evidence, bespoke malware, etc. – so, quite involved and difficult. Now that’s all good and fine, but having reviewed a few different payment system architectures over the years, I can’t help but wonder:

“Can't an attacker just target the system at a lower level? Why not target the Message Queues directly? Can it be done?”

A hash-based MAC might simply be too big. On the other hand, hash-based MACs, because they are larger, are less likely to have clashes for a given size of message. A MAC that is too small might turn out to be useless, as a variety of easy-to-generate messages might compute to the same MAC value, resulting in a collision. WhatsApp Messenger is a FREE messaging app available for iPhone and other smartphones. WhatsApp uses your phone's Internet connection (4G/3G/2G/EDGE or Wi-Fi, as available) to let you message and call friends and family. Switch from SMS to WhatsApp to send and receive messages, calls, photos, videos, documents, and Voice Messages. WHY USE WHATSAPP. Garrick Hello, I'm Garrick Chow, and welcome to this course on computer literacy for the Mac. This course is aimed at the complete computer novice, so if you're the sort of person who feels some mild anxiety, nervousness, or even dread every time you sit down in front of your computer, this course is for you.

Well, let's find out! My mission begins!

So, first things first! I needed to fully understand the specific “section” of the target institution's payment landscape I was going to focus on for this research. In this narrative, there will be a system called “Payment System” (SYS). This system is part of the institution's back-office payment landscape, receiving data in a custom format and output's an initial payment instructions in ISO 15022 / RJE / SWIFT MT format. The reason I sought this scenario was specifically because I wanted to focus on attempting to forge an MT103 payment message - that is:

In this video I will show you where to locate the serial number on a Western golf cart. Ebay Store: Please SUBSCRIBE. Western golf cart serial number lookuplastevil.

MT – “Message Type” Literal;

1 – Category 1 (Customer Payments and Cheques);

0 – Group 0 (Financial Institution Transfer);

3 – Type 3 (Notification);

All together this is classified as the MT103 “Single Customer Credit Transfer”.

Message type aside, what does this payment flow look like at a high level? Well I’ve only gone and made a fancy diagram for this!

Overall this is a very typical and generic architecture design. However, let me roughly break down what this does:

The Payment System (SYS) ingests data in a custom - or alternative - message format from it's respective upstream systems. SYS then outputs an initial payment instruction in SWIFT MT format;

SYS sends this initial message downstream to a shared middelware (MID) component, which converts (if necessary) the received message into the modern MT format understood by SWIFT - Essentially a message broker used by a range of upstream payment systems within the institution;

MID forwards the message in it's new format on to the institution's Messaging Interface (let's say its SAA in this instance) for processing;

Once received by SAA, the message content is read by the institution's sanction screening / Anti-money laundering systems (SANCT).

Given no issues are found, the message is sent on to the institution's Communication Interface (SWIFT Alliance Gateway), where it's then signed and routed to the recipient institution over SWIFTNet.

OK, so now I have a general understanding of what I'm up against. But if I wanted to exploit the relationships between these systems to introduce a fraudulent payment without targeting any payment operators, I was going to need to dig deeper and understand the fundamental technologies in use!

So how are these messages actually 'passed' between each system? I need to know exactly what this looks like and how its done!

More often than not, Message Queues (MQ) are heavily used to pass messages between components in a large payment system. However, there are also various “Adapter” that may be used between systems communicating directly with the SAG (Such as SAA or other bespoke/3rd party systems). These are typically the:

Remote API Host Adapter (RAHA);

MQ Host Adapter (MQHA);

Web Services Host Adapter (WSHA).

Having identified that MQ was in use, my initial assumption was that there was most likely a dedicated Queue Manager (QM) server somewhere hosting various queues that systems push and pull messages from? However, due to SWIFT CSP requirements, this would most likely - at a minimum - take the form of two Queue Managers. One which manages the queues within the SWIFT Secure Zone, and another that manages queues for the general corporate network and back office systems.

Let's update that diagram to track / represent this understanding: Now I could research how this 'messaging' worked!

There are multiple ways to configure Message Queues architectures, in this case there were various dedicated input and output queues for each system, and the message flow looks something like this: Full disclosure, turns out it’s hard to draw an accurate - yet simple - MQ flow diagram (that one was basically my 4th attempt). So it’s.. accurate 'enough' for what we needed to remember!

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages Message

Now I had a good understanding of how it all worked, it is time to define my goal: 'Place a payment message directly on to a queue, and have it successfully processed by all downstream systems'.

This sounds simple, just write a message to a queue, right? But there are a few complications!

Why are there few indications of this attack vector in the wild?

How do I even gain “write” access to the right queue?

What protects the message on the queues?

What protects the messages in transit?

What format are the messages in?

What is the correct syntax for that message format at any particular queue (0 margin for error)?

Where does PKI come in? How / where / when are the messages signed?

Can I somehow get around the message signing?

What values in the messages are dependent / controlled / defined by the system processing them (out of my control)?

What is the maximum amount I can transfer using Straight Through Processing, without alerting the institution / requiring manual validation?

But OK, there's no point dwelling on all of that right now, I'll just clearly define what I want to do! The goal:

Successfully write a payment instruction for 500,000 GBP;

Inject that message directly onto a specific queue;

Have the message pass environment-specific validation rules;

Have the message pass sanctions and AML checks.

Have the message successfully signed;

Have the message pass SWIFTNet-specific validation rules;

What I was not interested in doing for this research - yet needed to understand nevertheless for a full attack chain was:

How to compromise the institution's network;

How to gain access to the MQ admin's workstation;

How to obtain the pre-requisite credentials.

What I wanted to 100% avoid at all costs:

The attack involving SWIFT payment operators in any way;

The attack involving SWIFT application access in any way;

A need to compromise signing keys / HSMs;

A need to compromise SWIFTNet operator accounts or certificates or any type of PKI;.

Now I had an idea of what to do, I needed to make sure I could write a raw MT103 payment instruction! Typically, even when operators write payment messages using a messaging interface application like Alliance Access, they only really write the message “body” via a nice GUI. As raw data this could look something like:

I'll break this down in the following table:

NameFieldValueTransaction Reference20TRANSACTIONRF103Bank Operation Code23BCRED (Message is to 'credit' some beneficiary)Value Date / Currency / Amount32A200102 (02/01/2020) GBP 500,000.00Currency / Original Credit Amount33BGBP 500000,00 (£500,000.00)Ordering Customer50KGB22EBNK88227712345678 (IBAN) JOHN DOE (Name) JOHN'S BUSINESS LTD (Line 1) 21 JOHN STREET, LONDON, GB (Line 2)Beneficiary59KFR20FBNK88332287654321 (IBAN) ALICE SMITH (Name) ALICE'S COMPANY (Line 1) 10 ALICE STREET, PARIS, FR (Line 2)Remittance Information7012345-67890 (essentially a payment reference)Details of Charge71ASHA (Shared charge between sender and receiver)

Now as this is a valid message body, if I were targeting a payment operator on SWIFT Alliance Access, I could - for the 'most' part - simply paste the message into SAA's raw message creation interface and I'd be pretty much done. With the exception of adding the sender / recipient BIC codes and most likely selecting a business unit. However, these values are not stored in the message body. Not stored in the message body you say? Well that complicates things! Where are they stored exactly?

The message “body” is referred to as “block 4” (aka the “Text Block”) within the SWIFT MT standard. As suggested by the name, there is probably also a block 1-3. This is correct; and these blocks are typically generated by the payment processing applications - such as SWIFT Alliance Access - and not necessarily input by the operators. A 'complete' MT103 message consists of 6 blocks:

Block 1 – Basic Header

Block 2 – Application Header

Block 3 – User Header

Block 4 – Text Block

Block 5 – Trailer

Block 6 – System block

So it looked like I was going to need to learn how to craft these various “blocks” from scratch.

Block 1 (Basic header)

Reading through some documentation, I crafted the following “Basic header” block:

A breakdown of what this translates too is as follows:

NameValueContextBasic Header Flag1Block 1 (Not 2, 3, 4, or 5)Application TypeFFIN ApplicationMessage Type0101 = FIN (I.e not ACK/NACK)Sender BICEBNKGB20EBNK (Bank Code) GB (Country Code) 20 (Location Code)Sender Logical TerminalATypically A, unless they are a significantly large institution and require multiple terminalsSender BranchXXXAll X if no branch neededSession Number0000The session number for the messageSequence Number 999999The sequence number of the message

Taking a step back, I already identified two potential problems: the “session” and “sequence” numbers! These are described as follows:

Session Number – Must also equal the current application session number of the application entity that receives the input message.

Sequence number – The sequence number must be equal to the next expected number.

Hmmm, at this point I was not sure how I could predetermine a valid session and/or sequence number - considering they seemed to be application and 'traffic' specific? But there was nothing I could do at the time, so I noted it down in a list of 'issues/blockers' to come back to later.

Block 2 (Application Header)

A bit more dry reading later, I managed to also throw together an application header:

Again, I’ve broken this down so it makes sense (if it didn’t already; I’m not one to assume):

NameValueContextApplication Header Flag2Block 2I/O IdentifierIInput Message (a message being sent)Message Type103103 = Single Customer Credit TransactionRecipient BICFBNKFR20FBNK (Bank Code) FR (Country Code) 20 (Location Code)Recipient Logical TerminalXAll General Purpose Application Messages must use 'X'Recipient BranchXXXAll General Purpose Application Messages must use 'XXX'Message PriorityNNormal (Not Urgent)

Awesome! No issues crafting this header!

Note: At this point I should probably mention that these BIC codes are not 'real', however are accurate in terms of in format and length.

Block 3 (User Header)

The third block is called the “User Header” block, which can be used to define some “special” processing rules. By leverage this header, I could specify that the message should be processed using “Straight Through Processing” (STP) rules which essentially attempts to ensure that the message is processed end-to-end without human intervention. This could be specified as follows:

However, this was not yet a valid header! As of November 2018 the user header requires a mandatory “Unique end-to-end transaction reference” (UETR) value, which was introduced as part of SWIFT's Global Payments Innovation initiative (gpi)! This is a Globally Unique Identifier (GUID) compliant with the 4th version of the generation algorithm used by the IETF standard 'RFC4122'. This consists of 32 hexadecimal characters, divided into 5 parts by hyphens as follows:

where:

x – any lowercase hexadecimal character;

4 – fixed value;

y – either: 8, 9, a, b.

This value can be generated using Python as seen below:

With an acceptable UETR generated, this is how the third block looked:

And as before, a breakdown can be found below:

NameValueContextUser Header Flag3Block 3Validation Flag119Indicates whether FIN must perform any type of special validationValidation FieldSTPRequests the FIN system to validate the message according to the straight through processing principlesUETR Field121Indicates the Unique end-to-end transaction reference valueUETR Value8b1b42b5-669f-46ff-b2f2-c21f99788834Unique end-to-end transaction reference used to track payment instruction

Block 5 and 6 (Trailer and System Blocks)

I’ve already discussed “block 4” (the message body), so to wrap this section up, I'll be looking at the final 2 blocks: Block 5, aka the “Trailer”; and block S, aka the “System” block.

Before going forward, let me take a moment to explain the pointlessly complicated concept of input and output messages:

An “input” message (I) is a message which is traveling “outbound” from the institution. So this is a message being “input” by an operator and sent by the institution to another institution.

An “output” message (O) is a message which is traveling “inbound” to the institution. So this is a message being “output” by SWIFTNet and being received by the institution.

OK, moving swiftly (aaaahhhhh!) on.

For Input messages, these blocks were not too much of a problem. The headers only really seemed to be used to flag whether the message was for training / testing or to flag if it was a possible duplicate, which syntactically took the following form:

Where “TNG” indicated “training” and “SPD” indicated “possible duplicate”.

However, with Output messages, it got considerably more complicated. An example of what the trailer and system block could look like on an Output message is the following:

A breakdown of these various values is:

Trailer ((5:) MAC – Message Authentication Code calculated based on the entire contents of the message using a key that has been exchanged with the destination bank and a secret algorithm; CHK – This is a PKI checksum of the message body, used to ensure the message has not been corrupted in transit; TNG – A flag to indicate that the message is a Testing and Training Message.

System ((S:) SPD – Possible Duplicate Flag SAC – Successfully Authenticated and Authorized Flag. This is only present if:

Signature verification was successful.

RMA (Relationship Management Application) authorization and verification was successful.

COP – Flag indicating that this is the primary message copy; MDG – The HMAC256 of the message using LAU keys.

However, these seemed to only be values I would need to consider if I was to try and forge an “incoming” message from SWIFTNet or an 'outbound' message on the output of the SAG.

So.. I'll stick with crafting an “input' message trailer:

Now, having said all that, it turned out the trailer block did seem to sometimes hold a MAC code and a message checksum (sigh), meaning I actually needed to construct something like:

So that was +2 to my 'issues/blockers' list. However, issues aside, I now understood the complete message format, and could put it all together and save the following as a draft / template MT103 message:

Highlighted in bold above are the areas of the message I was - at this point - unable to pre-determine. Nevertheless, a summary of what that the message describes is:

Using the transaction reference “TRANSACTIONRF103”;

please transfer 500,000.00 GBP;

from John Doe, (IBAN: GB22EBNK88227712345678) at “English Bank” (BIC: EBNKGB20);

to Alice Smith (IBAN: FR20FBNK88332287654321) at “French Bank” (BIC: FBNKFR20);

Furthermore, please ensure the transaction charge is shared between the two institutions;

and mark the payment with a reference of “12345-67890”.

To wrap up this section, i wanted to take a moment to explain some logic behind the target of 500,000 GBP, as it is also important.

Aside from the many reasons it would be better to transfer (even) smaller amounts (which is an increasingly common tactic deployed by modern threat actors), why not go higher? This is where it’s important to understand the system and environment you are targeting.

In this instance, let's assume that by doing recon for a while I gathered the understanding that:

If a message comes from SYS which is over £500k;

even if it has been subject to a 4 eye check;

and even if it is flagged for STP processing;

route it to a verification queue and hold it for manual verification.

This was because a transaction over £500k was determined to be “abnormal” for SYS. As such, if my transaction was greater, the message would not propagate through all systems automatically.

OK, so now that I understood:

how the system worked;

how it communicated;

the fundamental structure of a raw MT103 payment messages;

and how much I could reliably (attempt) to transfer.

And with that, it was time to take a break from MT standards and establish an understanding of how I would even get into a position to put this into practice!

To place a message on a queue, I was going to need two things:

Access to the correct queue manager;

Write access to the correct queues.

Depending on the environment and organisation, access to queue managers could be quite different and complex. However a bare-bones setup may take the following form:

An MQ Administrator accesses their dedicated workstation using AD credentials;

They then remotely access a dedicated jump server via RDP which only their host is whitelisted to access;

This may be required as the queues may make use of Channel Authentication Records, authorizing specific systems and user accounts access to specific queues;

The channels may further be protected by MQ Message Encryption (MQME) which encrypts messages at rest based on specific channels. As such, even if someone was a “super duper master admin” they would only be able to read / write to queues specifically allocated to them within the MQME configuration file (potential target for another time?);

The MQ Admin can then use tools such via the Jump Server to read/write to their desired message queues.

So, in this scenario, to gain access to the message queues I - as an attacker - would need to compromise the MQ admin’s AD account and workstations, then use this to gain access to the jump host, from where I could then access the message queues given I knew the correct channel name and was configured with authorization to access it.. and maybe throw some MFA in there..

That is understandably a significant requirement! However, when discussion sophisticated attacks against Financial Market Infrastructure (FMI), it is more than reasonable to accept that an Advanced Persistent Threat (APT) would see this as a feasible objective - We don't need to dig into the history of how sophisticated attacks targeting SWIFT systems can be.

Next, it was time to finally identify a feasible attack vector for message forgery.

Now with an idea of how to gain the right access, as well as an understanding of the various technologies and security controls in place; I update my diagram:

You may have noticed I've added something called “LAU” around the SAA-to-SAG adapter, and another “LAU” to the MID-to-SAA MQ channels, which I have yet to explain. “Local Authentication” (LAU) is a security control implemented by SWIFT to authenticate messages using a pair of shared keys between two systems. These keys are combined and used to generate a SHA256 HMAC of the message and append it to the S block. This can then be validated by the recipient system. Effectively, this validates the origin and authenticity of a message. As such, even if an attacker was in position to introduce a fraudulent payment, they'd first need to compromise both the left and the right LAU signing keys, generate the correct HMAC, and append it to the message in order to have it accepted / processed successfully.

But LAU aside, I now just needed to figure out which queue to target! There were a lot of queues to work with as each system essentially has multiple “input” and “output” queues. With that in mind, it was important to note that: an incoming message would require being in the format expected by the target system (from a specific upstream system) and an outgoing message would need to be in the format “produced” by one target system and “expected / ingested / processed” by its respective downstream system. So to figure this out, I worked backwards from the Gateway.

Targeting SAG

This was the least feasible attack vector!

I hadn't really looked into how the SWIFT adapters worked - If only I could research literally everything);

SAA and SAG implemented LAU on messages sent between them - An excellent security control!;

The output of SAG was directly on to SWIFTNet which would entail all sorts of other complications - this is an understatement)!

Next!

Targeting SAA

So what if I wanted to drop a message on the “outbound” channel of SAA?

LAU and the SWIFT adapter aside, remember those session and sequence numbers? Well, messages which leave SAA are in the near-final stages of their outbound life-cycle, and as far as I understood would need to have valid session and sequence values. Given I didn't know how to generate these values without gaining access to SAA or how they worked in general (and lets not forget the LAU signing) this didn't currently seem feasible.

Next!

Targeting SANCT

This solution didn't actually transport messages back and forth; it just reads messages off the queues and performed checks on their details. Not much I could wanted to leverage here.

Targeting MID

To target MID, I could try and inject a message onto SAA’s “input” queue, or the “output” queue of MID. This would only need to match the format of messages produced by the Middleware solution (MID). Following this, in theory, the (mistial) message session and sequence number would be added by SAA, along with the UETR. This was promising!

However, MID was a SWIFT “message partner”, which are typically solutions developed using the Alliance Access Development Kit that allows vendors to develop SWIFTNet compatible software, and consequentially, implement LAU. So again, in-order to forge a message here, I’d need to compromise the left and right LAU signing keys used between SAA and MID, manually HMAC the message (correctly!), and then place it on the correct queue.. This also no longer looked promising..

Targeting SYS

OK, how about the input of the next system down - the 'Payment System'?

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages To My

As described previously, the inbound data was a custom “application specific” payment instruction from the institutions back office systems, and not a SWIFT MT message. This would be an entirely new core concept I'd need to reverse - not ideal for this project.

But how about the output queue?

Although SYS received custom format data, I found that it output what seemed to be an initial SWIFT MT messages. This was perfect! Additionally, SYS did not have LAU between itself and MID because (unlike MID) SYS was not a SWIFT message partner, and was just one of many-many systems within the institution that formed their overall payment landscape.

Additionally, because SYS was esentially just one small piece of a much larger back office architecture, it was not part of the SWIFT Secure Zone (after all you cant have your entire estate in the Secure Zone - that defeats the purpose) and as such, made use of the Queue Manager within a more accessible section of the general corporate environment (QM1). Konica minolta bizhub c352 driver mac os xcompubrown recovery tool.

With this in mind, and having - in theory - compromised the MQ admin, I could leverage their access to access on the corporate network to authenticate to QM1. I could - in theory - then write a fraudulent payment message to the SYS “output” queue, which we will call “SYS_PAY_OUT_Q” from here on.

OK! It seems like I finally had an idea of what to do! But before I could put it into practice, I of course needed to create a diagram of the attack:

I think it’s important to take a minute to refer back to the concept of “trust” which is what lead to this attack diagram. My theory behind why this may work is because the MID application, implicitly trusts whatever it receives from its respective upstream systems. This is intentional, as by design the security model of the payment landscape ensures that: at any point a message can be created, a 4 (or 6) eye check is performed. If there was a system whose purpose it was to ensure the validity of a payment message at any point upstream, the downstream systems should have no real issue processing that message (with some exceptions). After all, It would be next to-impossible to maintain a high-throughput payment system without this design.

And with that said, the plan was now clear:

Leverage the access of a Message Queue administrator;

to abuse the “trust relationship” between SYS, MID, and SAA;

to introduce a fraudulent payment message directly on to the output queue of SYS;

by leaning on my new found understanding of complete MT103 payment messages.

It was finally time to try to demonstrate a Proof-of-Concept attack!

So at this point I believe I had everything I needed in order to execute the attack:

The target system!

The message format!

The queue manager!

The queue!

The access requirements!

The generously granted access to a fully functional SWIFT messaging architecture! (that’s a good one to have!)

The extra-generously granted support of various SMEs from the target institution! (This was even better to have!)

Message Forgery

I needed to begin by creating a valid payment message using valid details from the target institution. So before moving on I was provided with the following (Note: as with many things in this post, these details have been faked):

Debtor Account Details – John Doe, GB12EBNK88227712345678 at EBNKGB20

Creditor Account Details – Alice Smith, GB15EBNK88332287654321 at EBNKGB20

Some of you may have notice that the sending and receiving BIC’s are the same. This was because, for the sake of the research, I wanted to send the message back to the target institution via SWIFTNet so that I could analyse its full end-to-end message history. Furthermore, you may have noticed we are using 'test & training' BIC code (where the 8th character is a 0) - this was to make sure, you know, that I kept my job.

But yes, with access to these 'valid' account details and the knowledge gained during the research so far, I could now forge a complete Input MT103 messages:

Note: Field 33B is actually an optional field, however, the MT standard stated that “If the country codes of both the Sender’s and the Receiver’s BIC belong to the country code list, then field 33B is mandatory”. As such, if 33B was not present in the message, it would fail network validation rules and SWIFTNet would return a NAK with the error code: D49.

Optional / Mandatory fields aside, it was not quite that simple! There were a few minor changes I needed to make based on the specific point in the message's its life-cycle I was planning to introduce it!

As I list these changes, remember that the objective is to introduce the message to the output queue of SYS (Which exists before MID, SAA and SAG)

The first 3 blocks needed to be placed on a single line;

Remove field 121 (UETR) from the User Header, as this would be generated by SAA during processing;

Remove 1 character from the transaction reference as it needed to be exactly 16 characters (classic user error);

Add decimal point to transaction amount using a comma - otherwise it would fail syntax validation rules;

Ensure the IBAN's were real and accurate, otherwise it seemed the message would fail some type of signature validation on the SWIFT network. The IBANs are fake here, but during the real PoC we used accurate account details in collaboration with the target institution;

Remove the trailer block (5) - as this would be appended by SAA during processing;

Remove the System Block (S) - as this would be completed by the SAG.

And the final message was as follows:

Note that the location in which I introduce the message has resolved all of the 'issues / blockers' I'd tracked whilst researching the message structure! It would seem the further upstream you go, the easier the attack becomes - given MQ is still used as a transport medium.

Message Injection

Now I had my raw MT103 message, I just need to save it to a file (“Message.txt” - sure why not) and place onto the “SYS_PAY_OUT_Q” queue using one of the admin's tools:

With access to a sole MQ Administrator's AD account;

We connect to the MQ admins machine;

Log into the Jump Server;

Open our MQ tools of choice and authenticate to queue manager (QM1) where the output queue for SYS was managed;

Connected to the 'SYS_PAY_OUT_Q' queue;

Selected my forged “Message.txt” file;

Invoked the “write to queue” function;

And it was off!

Loggin in to Alliance Access and opening the message history tab, we sat awaiting for an update. Waiting, waiting, waiting… waiting… and..

ACK! It worked!

That's a joke; did we hell receive an ACK!

See, this last section is written slightly more 'linear' than what actually happened. Remember those 'tweaks' used to fix the message in the previous section? I hadn't quite figured that out yet..

So roughly seven NACKs later - each time troubleshooting and then fixing a different issues - we did indeed, see an ACK! The message was successfully processed by all systems, passed target system validation rules, passed sanctions and AML screening, passed SWIFTNet validation rules, and SWIFT’s regional processor had received the message and sent an 'Acknowledgement of receipt' response to the sending institution!

For the sake of completeness, I’ve included the ACK below:

And of course a breakdown of what it all means:

NameValueContextBasic Header Flag1Block 1Application TypeFF = FIN ApplicationMessage Type2121 = ACKInstitution CodeEBNKGB20AXXXEBNKGB20 (BIC) A (Logical Terminal) XXX (Branch)Sequence and Session No.19473923441947 (Sequence No.) 392344 (Session No.)Date Tag177200103 (Date) 1102 (Time)Accept / Reject Tag4510 = Accepted by SWIFTNet

Excellent! WooHoo! It worked! .. That took a lot of time and effort!

Closer Inspection

But the ACK wasn't enough, I wanted to make sure I understood what had happened to the message throughout its life-cycle. From the message I placed on the initial queue, to being processed by SWIFTNet.

Thankfully, as we sent the message back to the target institution we could see its entire message history. I already knew what the raw message placed on the queue looked like, so I wanted to focus on what became of the message once it had been processed by SAA:

The end-to-end tracking UUID had been generated and added (b42857ce-3931-49bf-ba34-16dd7a0c929f) in block 3;

The message trailer had been added ((5:(TNG:))) where I could see that - due to the BIC code used - SAA had flagged the message as 'test and training'.

Additionally, an initial System Block segment had been added ((S:(SPD:))), tagging the message as a possible duplicate. I wonder why - *cough* 7th attempt *cough*?

OK, so that was SAA. Now let’s see how it looked it once it passed through the Gateway and regional processor:

OK, we can see a few changes now.

The session and sequence numbers have been populated (1947392344);

The I/O identifier in block 2 has been updated to track that it is now an 'Output' message;

The additional data within Block 2 is a combination of the input time, date, BIC, session and sequence numbers, output date/time, and priority;

The trailer has been updated with a message authentication code (MAC) calculated based on the entire contents of the message using a pre-shared key and a secret algorithm;

Additionally, a checksum of the message body has been stored within the trailer’s “CHK” tag. This is used by the network to ensure message integrity.

I also took a look at the entire outbound message history, just to see all the “Success” and “No violation” statements to make it feel even more awesome!

So that's that really..

With a bit of research and support I was able to demonstrate a PoC for introducing a fraudulent payment message to move funds from one account to another, by manually forging a raw SWIFT MT103 single customer credit transfer message, and leveraging various system trust relationships to do a lot of the hard work for me! https://arfox158.tumblr.com/post/655263262721638400/wireless-external-hard-drive-for-mac.

As mentioned briefly in the introduction, this is not something I have really seen or heard of happening in practice or in the 'wild'. Perhaps because it clearly takes a lot of work.. and there is a huge margin for error. However, if an adversary has spent enough time inside your network and has had access to the right documentation and resources, this may be a viable attack vector. It definitely has its benefits:

No need to compromise multiple payment operators;

No requirement to compromise - or establish a foothold within - the SWIFT Secure Zone;

No requirement to bypass MFA and gain credentials for a messaging interface;

No generation of application user activity logs;

No payment application login alerts;

No bespoke app-specific and tailored malware;

And all the other things associated with the complex task of gaining and leveraging payment operator access.

All an attacker may need to do is compromise one specific user on the corporate network: a Message Queue administrator.

The industry is spending a lot of time and effort focused on securing their payment systems, applications, processes, and users to keep - among other things - payment operators safe, Messaging Interfaces locked down, and SWIFT systems isolated. But the reality is,; the most valuable and most powerful individual in the entire model, might just be a single administrator!

As always, a security model is only as strong as its weakest link. If you're not applying the same level of security to your wider institution, there may very well be many weak links within the wider network which chain together and lead to the comrpomise of systems which feed into your various payment environment.

I think the main thing to remember when reflecting on this research is that it did not abuse any vulnerabilities within the target institution's systems, or even vulnerabilities or weaknesses within the design of their architecture. It simply leverages the legitimate user access of the Message Queue administrators and the trust relationships that exist by design within these types of large-scale payment processing systems.

So the harsh reality is, there is no particular list of recommendations for preventing this type of attack in itself. However, the main point to drive home is that you must ensure the security of your users - and overall organisation - is of a high enough standard to protect your highest privileged users from being compromised. Things such as:

Strong monitoring and alerting controls for anomalous behaviour;

Requirements for Multi-Factor authentication for access to critical infrastructure;

Segregation of critical infrastructure from the wider general IT network;

Strong password policies;

Well rehearsed incident detection and incident response policies and procedures;

Frequent high-quality security awareness training of staff;

Secure Software Development training for your developers;

Routine technical security assessments of all critical systems and components;

The use of 3rd party software from reputable and trusted vendors;

However, in the context of Message Queues, there is one particular control which I think is extremely valuable: The implementation of channel specific message signing! This, as demonstrated by SWIFT's LAU control, is a good way in which to ensure the authenticity of a message.

As discussed, LAU is - as far as I know at the time of writing - a SWIFT product / message partner specific control. However it's concept is universal and could be implemented in many forms, two of which are:

Update your in-house application's to support message signing, natively;

Develop a middleware component which performs message signing on each system, locally.

This is a complex requirement as it requires considerable effort on the client’s behalf to implement either approach. However, SWIFT provides guidance within their Alliance Access Developers guide on how to implement LAU in Java, Objective C, Scala and Swift;

Strip any S block from the FIN message input. Keep only blocks 1: through 5;

Use the FIN message input as a binary value (unsigned char in C language, byte in Java). The FIN message input must be coded in the ASCII character set;

Combine the left LAU key and the right LAU key as one string. The merged LAU key must be used as a binary value (unsigned char in C language, byte in Java). The merged LAU key must be coded in the ASCII character set;

Call a HMAC256 routine to compute the hash value. The hash value must also be treated as a binary value (unsigned char in C language, byte in Java). The HMAC size is 32 bytes;

Convert the HMAC binary values to uppercase hexadecimal printable characters.

An example of how this may work in the more flexible middleware solution proposed is where the original service is no longer exposed to the network, and is altered to only communicate directly with the custom 'LAU-eqsue' service on its local host. This service would then sign and route the message to its respective queue.

When received, the core of the recipient payment service would seek to retrieve its messages from the queues via the 'LAU-esque' signing middleware, which would retrieve the message and subsequently verify its origin and authenticity by re-calculating the signature using their shared (secret) keys. Key-pairs could further be unique per message flow. This design could allow for the signing to be used as a way to validate the origin of a message even if it had passed through multiple (local) intermediary systems.

As a final bit of creative effort, I made yet another diagram to represent what this could perhaps look like - if life was as easy as a diagram:

If you made it this far thanks for reading all.. ~6k words!? I hope you found some of them interesting and maybe learned a thing or two!

I'd like express our gratitude to the institution who facilitated this research, as well as specifically to the various SMEs within that institution who gave their valuable time to support it throughout.

Fineksus - SWIFT Standard Changes 2019

https://fineksus.com/swift-mt-standard-changes-2019/

Paiementor - SWIFT MT Message Structure Blocks 1 to 5

https://www.paiementor.com/swift-mt-message-structure-blocks-1-to-5/

SEPA for corporates - The Difference between a SWIFT ACK and SWIFT NACK

https://www.sepaforcorporates.com/swift-for-corporates/quick-guide-swift-mt101-format/

SEPA for corporates - Explained: SWIFT gpi UETR – Unique End-to-End Transaction Reference

https://www.sepaforcorporates.com/swift-for-corporates/explained-swift-gpi-uetr-unique-end-to-end-transaction-reference/

M DIBA - LAU for SWIFT Message Partners

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/lau-swift-message-partners-mohammad-diba-1/

Prowide - About SWIFT

https://www.prowidesoftware.com/about-SWIFT.jsp

5m Mathmrs. Mac's Messages For Her

Microsoft - SWIFT Schemas

https://docs.microsoft.com/en-us/biztalk/adapters-and-accelerators/accelerator-swift/swift-schemas

SWIFT FIN Guru - SWIFT message block structure

http://www.swiftfinguru.com/2017/02/swift-message-block-structure.html

[refinedbuffoonery]

Riley + Sunglasses + Undercover (5)

masterlist.

Read it on AO3. 

*****

Of course the one time Matty let the CIA borrow her best agents, they ended up walking into a trap. The Company was messy like that. Matty swore that as soon as she got her team back safe and sound, heads were going to roll. Starting with the director of the CIA himself. 

In the meantime, she tapped her foot on the war room floor while she waited for Riley to finish scrubbing the security footage. No one spoke. 

“There,” Riley said. She mirrored her screen so Matty could watch. 

Desi stood in the lower left corner of the video. While all of the other guests were enraptured by something just outside the frame, a pair of gloved hands smothered her agent’s face with a rag and dragged her out of view. 

Mac and Riley weren’t in the picture at all. 

“Mac, Riley,” Matty said, “where were you when this happened? And what is everyone staring at?” On the other end of the line, someone choked. It sounded like Riley. Bozer’s soft chuckle came through the speaker. 

“Guys, what are you not telling me?” she prompted. With the way Bozer was laughing, she knew something was up. Bozer’s “I have a secret” vibe was literally visible from the moon. 

Mac finally answered her. “Riley and I were...uhh...busy.” No one elaborated further. 

Matty had a feeling she knew exactly what “busy” entailed. Apparently, it was a very public ���busy.” Even though they couldn’t see her, she smiled. “I look forward to reading all about it in your reports.” Just to make them squirm, Matty let her statement hang in the air for a few moments before getting back to the situation at hand. “Riley, can you see where Desi was taken?” 

Riley’s nails clicked on her keyboard. “Desi was standing in front of a side exit. The footage of the hallway outside doesn’t show anyone entering or leaving, so whoever took her must’ve looped the cameras.” 

Perfect. This op was the gift that just kept giving. “Mac, what do you think she was drugged with?” 

“Chloroform, most likely. Everything you need to make it can be found in any janitor’s closet.” 

“Okay, and where are we on locating Pierre?” 

“I’ve got him,” Riley answered, mercifully. “He’s in a car driving southeast.” 

“What’s southeast?” Bozer asked. 

After a few clicks, Riley said, “For starters, the border with France. But it looks like there’s a helicopter-only airport before that.” 

Matty didn’t like the directions she was about to give, but she gave them anyway. “Riley, go get him. Bozer, stay in the suite to help Riley and figure out how to get the hotel out of lockdown. Mac, find Desi.” A chorus of “yes ma’am”s filled her ears. 

She hung up and took a deep breath. Her agents had been in far worse situations, but any mission that went belly-up put Matty on edge. Mac and Riley would get them home safe, she promised herself. One way or another, they always did. 

*****

None of them like splitting up, but they all agreed it was their best option. Riley was the best high speed chase driver, and Mac would know what to do if Desi needed immediate medical attention. 

Riley was secretly relieved she’d be getting some distance from Mac, however brief. She’d figured she would spend the entire op tied to him, but chasing down Pierre gave her an excuse to process her emotions alone and figure out what the fuck was going on. 

First, she needed to get out of the building and find some wheels. 

“Hey, Mac.” He immediately met her eyes. “Could you please make me a small grenade?” 

Mac’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “Sure.” He started to head off in search of ingredients, but seemed to think better of it and turned around, leaning against a wall. “Riles, why do you need a grenade?” 

Riley grinned. “Distraction while I steal a car.” 

Mac’s mouth quirked into his ‘I’m impressed’ smirk. “That’s my girl.” 

His voice echoed in her head. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. 

A few minutes later, Mac handed her his suit jacket and a plastic water bottle filled with god only knew what. For once, their fingers didn’t brush, and that stung more than any impending rejection. Even though it was wholly unnecessary, they always found excuses to brush hands. Brief reassurances they had each other’s backs. 

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” he said with mock seriousness. 

“No promises.” Riley stared at the jacket, trying and failing to figure out how it was related to the grenade. Maybe she was supposed to wrap it around the bottle? Looking up, she asked, “What’s the jacket for?” 

She could’ve sworn Mac blushed. “In case it’s cold outside.” She pulled it on, ducking her head to hide her own blush. Trying not to love him was damn near impossible, even if he was confusing. He didn’t touch her, but he gave her his jacket? If this was supposed to be a rejection, he was doing a terrible job at it. The jacket was way too big, but it was warm and smelled like him. Riley immediately felt safer, like his actual arms were enveloping her. Fresh memories of being wrapped up in him lurked in the back of her mind. She told them to fuck off. 

Water bottle grenade in hand, Riley slipped out of the suite, fighting the urge to look back. 

Walking through the hotel without raising suspicion was easy enough, but getting to the hotel’s underground parking lot was another matter. Since the hotel only had valet parking, there was no guest entrance to the lot. After consulting the building’s blueprints, Riley had found the series of hidden staircases she crept down now, narrowly avoiding getting caught by a pair of roaming guards. With every step, her heels clicked on the concrete, and the sound echoed up the stairwell. She’d been planning on begging Matty to let her keep the designer shoes, but at this point, she would give anything to have her favorite boots instead. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Riley clutched the water bottle and peeked into the lot. There wasn’t a soul in sight other than the twenty-nothing year old kid on his phone in the valet booth. His right thumb moved rapidly across the screen, as if he were playing a game. Lucky her. 

She chucked the grenade as far as she could away from the booth--and the exit. It exploded with a loud bang, causing the boy to practically jump out of his skin before running to investigate. “Boom,” she said with a smirk. 

Riley walked right into the booth. Keys covered two walls from floor to ceiling, each labeled with a number. Her eyes caught on a set of Lamborghini keys just below eye level. Perfect. She hit unlock, and the car chirped from across the lot, lights flashing. 

First checking to ensure the valet employee was still distracted, Riley jogged between cars and through the aisles, ignoring the way her stilettos pinched her toes. 

“Hey!” A male voice called across the lot. Shit. The valet employee finally saw her. Riley sped up. She probably looked ridiculous, running as fast as she could while trying not to fall on her face. 

When she finally reached the sleek, black convertible, Riley flung the door open and slid inside, yanking off her right shoe. It still had that new car smell. Aside from being pissed at her for not giving the car the reverence it deserved--or something like that--Jack would’ve been so jealous if he knew. Not only was it the nicest car any of them would ever drive, but the real icing on the cake was that Mac wasn’t there to destroy it. 

The engine roared to life. Bozer practically screamed in her ear. “Damn, Riley. What kind of car did you get? Also, when you exit, turn right.” 

“You’ll see,” she responded gleefully. Riley gunned it out of the lot, following Bozer’s instructions. 

As soon as she pulled out into the street, Bozer shrieked. “A Lamborghini?!? You stole a fucking Lamborghini?” 

Riley cackled with delight, speeding off in pursuit of Pierre. 

*****

Meanwhile, Mac set off in search of Desi. Riley’s laughter rang in his ear, a warm sound that reverberated through his bones. He tried and failed to ignore it. 

He knew Desi was still in the hotel. Bozer was monitoring all the exits using a Phoenix satellite, so if she had left, Bozer would’ve seen it. 

Mac knew this was all his fault. If he hadn’t been distracted by kissing Riley, then Desi wouldn’t have been kidnapped. Plain and simple. 

At the thought of kissing Riley, he was transported back into that damn closet, where they’d kept kissing for a few seconds, even after they ditched their audience. 

Those precious few seconds nearly undid him. 

There was no need to continue the show, yet she still kissed him like he was the very air she needed to breathe. And the way she’d pulled him closer by his tie…It was just enough to foster a small hope that maybe, just maybe, she might have feelings for him too. 

He just hoped those feelings were strong enough to forgive him for throwing himself at her without her consent. He’d kissed other girls as ruses before, but this was Riley, and it was different because she’s his best friend and there were uncommunicated feelings involved. Even if it made her uncomfortable, Riley played along with his ruse and totally sold it because that’s her job. That didn’t mean she wasn’t probably pissed. He crossed a line he could never uncross, and no matter what she inevitably said about it, a piece of her hard-earned trust was gone. 

Mac shook his head. Getting caught up in Riley was what got him in this mess in the first place. He needed to focus on finding Desi. 

He shoved thoughts of Riley into the far recesses of his brain and got to work. Starting from the ballroom--where the auction was still going--he tried to retrace Desi’s attacker’s steps. If he was the kidnapper, then he would’ve taken Desi down the hallway to the left. It was, by far, the least traveled, and it had a multitude of doors and other hallways branching off it, providing plenty of hiding places and alternate routes. 

Mac didn’t like working on mere speculation, but it was the closest thing to a lead he had. Whoever took Desi was careful to leave no trace of either person. 

“Okay, Mac.” Bozer said. “In this direction, there are four places they could’ve gone: an out of the way conference room, a janitor’s closet, upstairs to a room, or downstairs to the basement.” 

The conference room seemed too obvious, but Mac wanted to check it anyway. “Where’s the conference room?” 

“It’s-- Hang on. Riley, go straight through the next two roundabouts. Once you’ve gone through the second one, you’ll have crossed into France.” 

“Got it.” 

“Sorry, Mac. The conference room is down the hall, second to last door on the right.” 

“Thanks.” Mac marveled at how Bozer simultaneously juggled helping him search for Desi while guiding Riley through the streets of Monte Carlo--and now, apparently, France. He imagined Bozer at the computer, bouncing between maps and satellite imagery on one monitor and building blueprints on the other. 

Mac checked the conference room and the janitor’s closet. Both empty. He hated it, but he was slightly relieved Desi wasn’t stuffed in the closet. Something about the irony of finding his ex--who was kidnapped while he was in a different closet with a different woman--in a closet made him feel sick. 

Riley’s voice floated over comms. “Hey, Mac! Any leads on finding Desi?” Her calm and collected tone yanked him out of his guilt spiral. It was like she knew he was caught up in his head, even while hurtling away from him at breakneck speed. He silently thanked her. 

“Nothing yet. I’m going to check the basement next.” 

“Riley Davis, you are driving over a hundred miles per hour.” Bozer used his best chastising-mom voice. “Pay attention to the road!” Riley didn’t dignify him with a response, but Mac knew she rolled her eyes and pressed the gas pedal a little harder. 

*****

Riley couldn’t believe her luck when she caught up to Pierre’s blue sedan without running into any cops. She’d been driving well over a hundred miles per hour, weaving around literally every other car on the road without using her blinker like a true Californian. Catching Pierre was hardly different from her daily commute to work. 

Driving that fast, she couldn’t afford to get distracted, so she banished every trace of kissing Mac from her head and focused on catching the con man. 

She tailgated Pierre long enough for him to realize she was following him. He turned off the highway, but Riley was hot on his heels. 

“Bozer! How do I cut him off?” Her plan was simple: let Pierre think he lost her in the streets and cut him off before he could get back to the highway. 

“Take your next left, then an immediate right.” 

Riley let a couple cars merge between her and Pierre. Predictably, he kept going straight, which was the quickest way back to the highway from what Riley could tell. Following Bozer’s directions, she turned onto a parallel street. 

The cars on this road drove infuriatingly slowly--slowly enough that moments from the auction and the goddamn closet clawed their way in from the edges of her mind. As much as Riley tried to ignore and deny it, she had put all her cards on the table with that kiss. 

In doing so, she’d screwed everything up. Before Bozer interrupted them, Mac had been about to say something. A rejection, most likely. Short of verbally confessing, Riley had made her feelings crystal clear, and Mac didn’t feel the same way. He’d played a role to cover their tracks, but he meant none of it. She wasn’t even upset that he’d launched himself at her without asking first. If anyone else tried that, Riley would’ve kicked their ass the moment they had some privacy. But, this was Mac. She trusted Mac. And, if she had said stop, he would’ve immediately stopped, even if it got them in a heap of trouble. 

But, even though she trusted him with her body, with her whole life, she didn’t trust him not to shatter her heart into a thousand tiny pieces that even duct tape and paperclips couldn’t put back together. 

She cursed at a car that nearly swerved into her lane. Riley had no idea what to do next. There was no way Mac didn’t know how she felt, but she felt none of the relief that came with actually confessing feelings. Should she confess, even though she already knew he couldn’t reciprocate? Or was it better to just keep it to herself and learn to let him go? Both options sucked. 

Some part of her knew it was best to just cut her losses and break her own heart, but she wasn’t ready to go down that road just yet. 

In addition to her situation with Mac, Riley had no idea what to do next in a literal sense. Bozer had been eerily silent for the last couple minutes. 

In the distance, the street came to a dead end. “Bozer…”

“TURN RIGHT!” 

Riley nearly jumped out of her skin, but she skidded around the corner and mentally flipped Bozer off. He really needed to work on giving better directions. 

Riley brought the car to a screeching stop in the next intersection, blocking Pierre. She put the car in park, flung her door open, and stood, pointing a gun right at Pierre’s face. 

“Pierre! Get out of the car and put your hands up, or I’ll shoot.” 

“Shoot?” Bozer asked. 

“Since when do you have a gun?” Mac followed. 

“It’s Desi’s spare,” Riley explained, “now shut up!” 

She wiggled her gun at Pierre, something she’d seen Jack do a thousand times. Pierre, smartly, did exactly as she commanded. Slowly, he stepped out of his car and raised his hands up by his head. Keeping her gun trained on his chest, Riley walked toward Pierre, stopping only a few feet away. 

“Miss Jackson,” Pierre babbled, “I’m sure we can work something out.” 

“Cut the crap. Who do you work for?” 

“I work alone.” Pierre didn’t seem to be lying. If he worked alone, then who the hell took Desi? 

“Tell me something.” Riley stepped closer. She still wasn’t all that comfortable with guns, but mercifully, her arms held perfectly still. “Do you consider yourself good at your job?” 

“Of course, Mademoiselle.” 

“Then tell me why a skilled con man would try to pull such a pathetic, obvious scam.” 

He gave her the same sick smile he’d given her at the pool. Riley really didn’t like this guy. Schooling her expression into cool boredom, she raised the gun and pressed it to his forehead. “I’ll only ask once more. Who hired you?” Pierre’s eyes widened, realizing who was the predator in this situation and who was the prey. Good. Be scared, Riley thought. Maybe then you’ll give me better answers. He didn’t need to know that she wouldn’t actually shoot him. 

“Okay, okay! Let’s not get hasty. I was hired by a man named Viktor Petrov to run this specific job. He supplied the locket and the chip.” 

She didn’t dare lower the gun. “I need more information than that. Who is he?” 

“I don’t know. He hired me to run it, and gave me ridiculously specific directions, like he didn’t trust me--a professional con man--to successfully run a con. Oh, and he let me keep all of the profit from the sale of the locket. That’s all I know, I swear.” Riley was pretty sure he was telling the truth. 

“Riley,” Bozer said in her ear, “I’ve got Interpol agents closing in to pick up Pierre. Did he tell you anything useful?” 

“I’ve got a name, but it’s a common one.” She eyed Pierre. Even with a gun between his eyes, he shamelessly dragged his gaze up and down her body, taking in her fitted, navy gown and Mac’s gray suit jacket. Her stomach churned. 

Behind her, a pair of Interpol agents announced their presence. Riley breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to endure Pierre’s creepy staring anymore. 

Slapping handcuffs on the con man, one of the agents said, “We’ll take it from here.” Riley waited until Pierre was securely in the agents’ car before returning to her own. 

She prayed their only lead wasn’t a dead end. 

*****

Mac had nearly cleared the whole laundry room before finding Desi unconscious and slumped against a washing machine, wrists and ankles zip-tied together. A rag was tied over her nose and mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit. He yanked the rag off and checked her pulse. She’d been drugged--a quick sniff confirmed his chloroform theory--but she was alive. 

He cut the zip ties before shaking her shoulder to wake her up. After a few minutes, Desi groaned and cracked her eyes open. “Hey,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got you.” 

She mumbled something, and it took Mac a moment to realize she’d said “I know him.” 

“Know who?” 

“The man who did this.” Desi coughed. “I...we hooked up once.” Her voice was high-pitched and loopy; she was high as a kite. “Okay, maybe a lot more than once, but before you judge, you need to know that he’s really hot.” Desi tried to sound stern but failed miserably. “Viktor Petrov. He’s a mob boss who poses as an art collector.” Mac checked her for injuries while she explained. “I didn’t find out about the mob boss part until later...about five minutes before he discovered I was a spy. It was all downhill from there.” No shit, Mac thought. “He must’ve been at the auction and recognized me.” 

“Then let’s get you out of here before he comes back,” Mac said, hauling her to her feet. 

“Goo--I think I’m going to puke.” Mac dutifully held her hair back as she hunched over and vomited on the floor. He couldn’t help but think this was his fault. If only he’d been paying attention…

Not even looking at him, Desi snapped, “Give yourself a break. This isn’t your fault.” 

“It feels like it is.” 

Desi straightened up. “I know a hundred different ways to take someone out with just my bare hands, yet I still got drugged and dumped in a hotel laundry room. It happens to the best of us. The important part is that you found me, I’m fine, and now it’s time to move on.” 

Move on. She didn’t know him at all if she thought he could just move on. First he’d fucked up his relationship with Riley, then he fucked up keeping his partner safe, all in the span of a few minutes. He was on a high speed train of fuckery that only crashed at the end of the line. 

“Let’s go,” Desi commanded. 

They stumbled back to the suite without any trouble.

[abuttoncalledsmalls]

Take A Giant Step - Chapter 3

Warnings: Alcohol, Angst, Fluff, and Language

Word Count: 2.7K

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!OC

A/N: Here is Chapter 3! If you would like to be tagged in upcoming chapters, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Shout out to the AMAZINGLY LOVELY @yespolkadotkitty for beta-ing this. Please enjoy. <3

The skies had opened when I walked into the theater on Tuesday morning. It was normal for our area to get thunderstorms around this time of year, but not of that magnitude. A small ball of worry began to form in the pit of my stomach. What if the weather was too severe and Frankie wasn’t able to make it? Between my mild panic and the sound of the pounding rain, I missed hearing the front door open.

“Good morning, Maggie.” Frankie was standing at the entrance holding a faded red toolbox. As always, he was wearing his baseball cap. His ripped blue jeans and beat up beige shirt hinted that his project would involve him getting messy. As he gently smiled, his coffee colored eyes sparkled.

“Good morning, Frankie. Thanks for braving the weather and coming in.”

“No problem. Were you able to move the desk into your shop?”

I led him backstage and through the back hallway to our scenic shop. It wasn’t a very large space, but we were still able to build and store all of our sets in there. I flipped the light switch on to reveal the area. The remnants of the desk were in a sad heap on the floor, waiting for him. He walked over to the pile, knelt to the floor, and examined the task before him.

“Feel free to use anything we have in here, if you need it. Our tools are on the ancient side, but they get the job done. Can I get you a bottle of water?”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

I turned and headed to our lobby bar. As I opened the fridge, I grabbed two bottles of water. When I returned to the shop, Frankie was separating the broken pieces of wood.

“I brought you two bottles. Just in case you needed an extra one. Sometimes it can get a little warm in here. I left the bar fridge unlocked out there for you. If you need more water or even a soda, you can just grab one.” 

I paused slightly.

“Is there anything that I can help with at the moment?”

Frankie looked up. As he surveyed the room, he mentioned that he was good for the time being. I smiled, trying to hide my slight disappointment. Before I left him to his work, I let him know that I would be in my office down the hall if he needed me. He thanked me and went straight to work.

As I headed to my desk, I chastised myself. Why was I letting my hormones hijack my brain? Yes, he was very cute but that was it. We didn’t really know each other that well. Even if we did that still wouldn’t mean that he could be interested. This always happened. As soon as a man said or did something even remotely nice for me, I’d start seeing fireworks. Then my heart would inevitably break into a million little pieces when it was discovered that he didn’t feel the same way. No matter how many times the cycle would repeat itself or I recognized the same patterns, it played out the same way. It was like my brain couldn’t comprehend that a man showing me respect was not the same as him indicating affection. They were just being decent human beings.

To distract myself from myself, I began working on several projects. I went into my Gmail account to find an endless stream of emails from hopeful actors requesting audition slots for our summer theatre festival. With each confirmation notice I sent out, the more and more Frankie’s presence slipped from my mind. I became consumed with scheduling auditions, contacting designers, and texting Jeff about upcoming meetings. When I looked up at the clock on the wall, three hours had already flown by. It was a little after 1:00 PM.

I rose out of my chair and stretched. While heading to the scenic shop, I heard the bar fridge open. Frankie must have been thirsty. I changed my direction and headed to the bar. He was facing the front door, with his back to me and no idea that I had joined him. I was able to see that he was drinking a Coca Cola.

“So you’re a Coke fan?”

He jumped and then turned on his heels to face me. I thought I had really surprised him because his face went white and his eyes widened. He almost choked on his soft drink.

“It’s okay. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl myself.” He exhaled and what tension his body held left.

“So, it’s one o’clock and I do believe that I promised you lunch. Are you hungry? What are you in the mood for?”

“You know, I’ve haven’t had a really good BLT in a long time…”

“Perfect! There is this great sandwich shop three blocks over. I”ll call and have them deliver. Do you want something else to go with your BLT? Chips? A brownie? Their brownies are made from scratch every day and are to die for.”

“Sure - I’ll get a brownie. Thanks, Maggie.”

He shot me a grin. I pulled out my phone and placed our order. It would be about twenty minutes before the food would arrive.

“The desk is mostly done. I just need to reattach the legs and secure the top. Do you wanna check it out?”

I nodded and followed him into the shop. Sure enough, our sad little desk was mostly assembled. I was taken aback at the progress he made in three short hours. Turning to him, I asked how he was able to do all of that in such a little amount of time. He bashfully looked down at the floor while his prominent cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“It’s nothing special. The damage looked worse than it really was. It just took some glue, screws, and a little patience.”

The building’s doorbell rang out loud. The food had finally arrived! We both walked to the entrance of the theater to meet the delivery driver. After taking the food, I fished my wallet out of my back pocket to give the driver a tip. Frankie raced to pull out his wallet.

“Let me take care of the tip.”

“No way. I said that I’m paying and that is precisely what is going to happen.”

“You said lunch was your treat. That doesn’t cover the tip.”

“Dude. No. I am paying and that’s that. Put your wallet away.”

Frankie sighed, but relented. He put his wallet back into his pants. I turned to face the poor confused driver. She thanked me as I handed her a ten dollar bill and then promptly left.

“Let’s eat on stage at the table. I’ll grab us each a beer. Just don’t tell Jeff if you see him. This’ll be our little secret.” I held my finger up to my lips. Frankie made a zipping motion over his. Grinning, I handed him the bag of food to set up. I flounced over to the fridge and grabbed a Budwiser, an Angry Orchard, and a bottle opener. I opened our drinks at the bar. When I returned to the stage, he was pulling up a second chair to the table. I hopped up onto the stage. We both sat down and began to eat our lunch.

“This is great,” he said with his mouth partially full.

“I told you. Sandwich Society is one of the best places to eat in the city. At least that’s how I feel.”

“This is as good as the BLTs I grew up with in Colorado.”

“You’re from Colorado?”

Frankie nodded his head as he swallowed a bit of sandwich.

“Yeah. Boulder. I lived with my grandparents there until I was 14. Then I moved in with my best friend’s family. Once Pope and I graduated high school, we joined the army and then left. That’s my best friend. His name really isn’t Pope, it’s Santiago. Pope is just a codename.”

“Do you have one?”

“A codename? Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“It’s not that important. The only people who refer to me by it are my army buddies and it’s really ridiculous -”

“Is it like Pinkie Pie or something along those lines?” He looked down at the table and softly chuckled. As he looked up, he blepped his tongue. I would have been a liar if I said that I didn’t find that adorable.

“No - it’s not Twilight Sparkle either. Uh, it’s Catfish.”

“Why Catfish?”

“Cause of the whiskers on my face. I know, it’s dumb.”

I didn’t think it was dumb. It was pretty clever - almost bordering on the line of cute. All I could do was grin like an idiot. To change the subject, I brought out my phone and opened Spotify.

“How about some tunes? The sound of the rain hitting the roof is driving me nuts. What kind of music are you into?”

“I’m more into classic rock. Sometimes old country, but mostly classic rock.”

“I can dig that.” I pulled up my classic rock playlist and tapped the large green play button on the screen. Kansas began playing the intro to “Carry On Wayward Son”. I returned to my veggie burger.

“You listen to classic rock,” Frankie asked, arching one of his eyebrows.

“Of course, I do. It’s great music and what I was raised on. Fleetwood Mac was practically a religion in my house. Why wouldn’t I listen to it?”

“I didn’t think that someone in their mid-twenties would know this stuff.” 

I laughed. “Mid-twenties? I hate to break it to you, but I’m thirty-one.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s okay, Frankie. I’ve always looked younger than I really am. I can’t count how many times in high school alone I had friends’ parents who thought I was a younger sister in elementary school. Especially since I had a penchant for wearing oversized hoodies. I’m pretty used to it by this point.”

As I gave him a reassuring look to know that I was not offended in any way, the next song on the playlist began to play. Just hearing that first guitar chord of “Go All the Way” by Raspberries caused a wave of dopamine to wash over me.

“I fucking love this song. When the tape player in my car worked, I would play it constantly. I’m almost convinced that the stereo died on purpose so it wouldn’t have to play this song again. But it’s such a good song - it hits all of my buttons. What I would give to have that stereo system work again. Just to listen to my music with the windows down and the wind playing with my hair on a warm summer night.”

“I’m not really a mechanic, but I do have experience with technical systems like that. If you’re comfortable, I don’t mind trying to see if I can fix your stereo.”

“Oh, Frankie. That’s so sweet of you, but you are already doing me a solid by fixing this desk. I can’t ask you to tackle that as well. It’s not fair. Anyway, I couldn’t even begin to afford a repair that big -” Frankie gently held his hand up to stop me where I was.

“I’m offering because I want to do this. I’m not asking or expecting anything in return. I only want to help a new friend. Especially since it seems like you really miss your music.” He looked at me with big brown puppy dog eyes.

“Okay. Just remember that Carly is an old lady. She’s set in her ways.”

“You named your car CARLY?”

“It seemed punny.” He rolled his eyes and suggested that he return to work. I nodded in agreement and volunteered to clean up while he finished. As “Don’t Fear the Reaper” began to play, he headed into the shop and I began to tidy up. I was utterly charmed by this man. This man who appeared out of thin air and dropped into my life. He was so sweet, generous, soft, and - No. He was just being friendly. His being friendly did not mean that he was interested in me like that. I needed to reign in my sense and feelings immediately. Leaving them to run wild would only result in me getting hurt.

“You should be fine for the show this weekend,” said Frankie as he reentered the space. “Just keep the clamps on until Friday morning. The glue should be dry by then. I can come by during the day and do it for you, if you want.”

“Thank you so much. You don’t have to do that. Unless you think it’s best that you remove the clamps yourself.”

“It’s not trouble. I’ll swing by on Friday. If something looks out of the ordinary over the next couple of days just call or text. I’m always just a text away.”

****

Over the next few days, Frankie and I were constantly texting each other. We were almost as bad as teenagers. One of us would send a hilarious meme and the other would have a smartass remark. We’d ask each other how their day was going and if they heard the latest stupid headline. It felt good to be able to check in on someone and to have them check in on me. Every time that my phone’s text alarm went off, I smiled to myself like I had a sweet secret. I knew that Frankie was just being polite with these conversations, but it made me feel so special.

Frankie sent me a message on Friday asking if he could come by then to take the clamps off of the desk and to look at Carly’s stereo. Within the hour, he was there inspecting his work. He said that everything looked good and he removed the clamps. The desk ended up looking like nothing had happened to it. As I looked at the repaired furniture with a sense of dumbstruck awe, he asked for my car keys. I handed them to him without even looking. When I snapped out of it and turned to thank him, he had already moved on to the car.

For the next few hours, I kept myself busy with administrative work and preparing for that evening’s show. As I was finalizing the evening’s will call list, I heard a quiet knock on my office door.

“Yes,” I said. My head was down, still going over seat assignments.

“Hey, Maggie. I’ve got something I think you should see. Could I pull you away for a few minutes?”

I looked up to see Frankie at my doorway. His brow was covered in beads of sweat that kept his curls matted down. He was clearly hot, but it didn’t detract fromthe enthusiasm in his face. I stood up and followed him outside. We walked over to Carly and he opened the driver’s side door for me. Thanking him, I slid onto the red cloth seat. 

“Turn the ignition and press the power on the radio.” His face radiated excitement. I did what he asked me. All of the sudden the sweet sound of guitars and asking to go all the way filled the car. I was shocked.

“I do have to ask this - are you some sort of warlock or part of the occult?” He laughed and adjusted his cap, bashful.

“No. I just had to replace the fuse and reconnect some things.” 

I turned to face him. “Frankie, this is incredible. You are so insanely talented with your hands. I know several people who need things done or fixed. They would be willing to pay good money for that. Would it be okay with you if I passed along your number so they could contact you?”

He looked taken aback at my suggestion. I automatically felt embarrassed. Had I overstepped my boundaries? He was a pilot. Maybe he didn’t want to do handyman work. Did I offend him? He began to speak again.

“Yes, please. Thank you so much. I’d really like that.”

“Fantastic! My sister has some things that need to be repaired. I will go ahead and text her right now.”

--------------------

TAGS: @absurdthirst​ @larakasser​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @wickedfrsgrl​

[strongsassysexysloane]

It Was Like A Movie

Summary: Whats an innocent movie night amongst friends? Every Friday night, for months? What are these feelings when Jack changes plans? 

I needed an excuse to write fluff while in amongst writing so much Angst. 

… . 

You don’t know when it had become your weekly routine but sometime ago Friday nights had turned into movie nights with Jack. Mostly at your place because you had a ridiculous amount of movies. Most you got from Tony before he left and others you’d collected over the years. Jack always brought over the icecream and you order take out. It was something fun and chill to do after a long week and neither of you liked it when a case got in the middle of your plans.

“So pizza?” Jack slipped off her boots, hung her beige trenchcoat up and walked into your living room where you were sitting cross legged on your sofa. She walked past the couch, into the kitchen and placed the icecream of the night in your freezer.

“Is that even need to be asked?” You huffed, flicking through the pizza menu on your phone.

“We had it last week!” She laughed, walking back into the living room and sitting down on the couch beside you, grabbing her already full glass of wine.

A smile spread wide across your face and an eyebrow raised at her attempt at a complaint. “And?”

“You’re insufferable.” She laughs and bumps your shoulder, leaning over to read the menu with you even though you both know what pizza you both like.

“We can order something else?” You needed to offer just in case she was serious in her attempt to change your mind.

“I never said that.” She nudges your shoulder again and you can only chuckle at her antics, she was the insufferable, incorrigible one.

“You drive me nuts.” You sigh and continue scrolling down the menu.

“Thank you.” Jack said it like a proud accomplishment with a cheeky grin curving her lips. She rests her chin on your shoulder and you lean your head against hers.

It only takes a few minutes and you both decide on one ham and pineapple with cheesy garlic bread. To be fair you usually only get normal plain garlic bread but you felt like the added calories were needed. The case you just wrapped was a long, hard one.

“And the one before that wasn’t?” Jack sniped and you sighed with your lame excuse.

“Just drink your wine and pick a movie. It’s your choice tonight.” You breathed and took a long sip of your wine. It wasn’t the nicest wine but it was doing the trick. You could feel your muscles starting to relax.

Jack scanned the shelf for a movie, holding her glass in one hand and slipping her other into the back pocket of her jeans. You knew she was only dragging out her perusal of your selection. She’d had a few in mind since last week, she was slowly going through all your soppy romantic movies. Something about enjoying the fairytale on screen because it never worked out like that in real life.

On queue she selected the dvd, slipped it into the player while you refilled your glasses and grabbed the blanket from behind your sofa before sitting back down. You were ten minutes into the movie when the pizza arrived and enjoyed the icecream towards the end. It was another perfect relaxing movie night. Jack had enjoyed too many glasses of wine because she insisted on opening the third bottle of wine into the second movie with the second bowl of icecream. She crashed on your couch, just like the time before and you left some advil and a glass of water on the coffee table for her when she woke up.

The next movie night was postponed until Saturday night because of a case that only wrapped up Saturday morning. You told Jack that you could just have it next Friday but she insisted she needed the movie night. She’d just have it by herself if you didn’t feel like it and of course you couldn’t have that.

“Let me guess, pizza again?” Jack teased as she shut your front door and hung up for denim jacket on your coat rack.

You laughed and shook your head. Her sass was on fire for the past few days. Kept you awake and on your game when you just wanted to crumble on the floor because the case was just too draining. A child had been kidnapped and held for randsom. Something you’d never get use to. Gibbs, obviously, was extra grumpy but so was everyone. McGee was wokring himself to the bone because he just couldn’t seperate his kids from the situation, kept thinking if it was his twins. So when everything came to a head this morning you were all running on empty.

You heard jack walk in and hop up on your breakfast counter. “What are you cooking? Thought we did takeout on movie nights?” The curiosity peaked in her voice, her eyes watching you move and almost float around your kitchen.

When you got home, you couldn’t sit still so you decided to cook. It was one thing you did when you needed to relax and take your mind off things. Another thing you needed after a rough case was comfort food and this is how you came to be making your grandma’s mac and cheese. “You love my cooking! And movie nights are Friday nights and I needed the distraction.” You let out a deep sigh with the last word. Jack would no doubt ask you what’s up because she knew cooking was a stress relief for you. Better to just bite the bullet.

“Smells scrumptious. I figured you might had wine but it seemed like a beer kind of night.” You looked over your shoulder and saw jack lifting out two beers from the cooler she had perched beside her on the counter and handed you one.

“You know me too well.” You stopped stirring the cheese sauce for a moment to bang the lid on the counter and it came flying off. It was a skill you’d perfected over the years.

Jack laughed and handed you her beer just to see you do that again. “You need to teach me that.” She hummed, swigging her beer.

“Nah, have to have one thing on you. You already own me at Darts and I use to be a pro at that from college.” Turning back to your cheese sauce, it’s almost ready so you take it off the stove while the macaroni cooked. “How about you pick a movie while I put this in the oven.”

“But it’s your turn to pick?”

“I know but i’m busy. So you pick this one and I’ll pick the one after that.” You quickly move around the kitchen, straining the pasta and mixing it in the sauce.

The mac and cheese was a hit, not that you had any doubt that it wouldn’t be. There was too much cheese for it not to be and mixed with Jack’s beers it was perfection. The movie was an easy watch and you chatted throughout. You were glad she insisted on the movie night tonight, for some reason you didn’t think you could be alone after his case.

“Wanna stay over? We can head to the markets in the morning?” You said it lightly, trying to not sound desperate and put pressure on her but by her sweet, soft smile you knew she wanted to as well.

“Okay. Sounds great. Another then?” Jack got up from her spot close beside you on the couch and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. She brings them back and lets you do your thing with the caps against the coffee table. You like that it makes her laugh and smile. She rests her arm along the back of the couch and you rest back into it.

The one night movie turned into three. You’d dozed off a few times throughout the third one to which Jack giggled at but she was asleep by the end. You managed to hop up without waking her and stretched out her legs so she wouldn’t have a sore body in the morning. The blanket that was already spread out over you both, you tucked it around her and brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. She was so cute and peaceful when she was asleep. Like no sass or smart ass remark could never cross her lips. Like many times before you placed a glass of water and Advil on the coffee table and went to bed.

This was the routine now. She’s more than likely crash on your couch unless she had any plans the next day and you’d happily let her. She was nice company and you’d become best friends over the past few months. Always bantering and grabbing coffee whenever you could. Unfortunately work had gotten hectic over the next month so movie nights weren’t as routine.

This week’s case was actually not that intense. Just a lot of paper trail, no body or gruesome murder. It was a nice change. Some had just tried to get away with robbing the wrong Admiral. Was there a right person to rob?

Jack waltzes into the bullpen, stopping right in front of your desk. You look up from your computer with a bemused look on your face “Hey sorry to be a party pooper.” Her face saddens slightly, she shifts her eyes around nervously and you suddenly don’t want to know what’s coming out of her mouth next. “Can I do a rain check on tonight’s move night? My date tonight off instead and asked if we can change it to tonight?” She doesn’t look you in the eye. She looks around at the objects on your desk, her fingers fiddling with your posted note stack before she finally looks at you.

You can see she’s torn, you don’t want to have to make her choose and be the reason she’s not happy. After all it was just move night, you two could do it any other time. Although you’d missed last weeks because of a case and the week before was cut short because you got a call to a case. This job really knew how to stuff up your plans.

“It’s fine Jack.” You plaster on a smile and wonder why this is hurting you so much. It was just movie night with Jack. Friends ditched friends plans all the time to go on dates.

“You sure?” She seems nervous for some reason, all her tells are showing and you can’t think why.

Her fingers shift to run along your photo frame and you reach up and halt her movements with you hand. Resting your hand on top of hers, the simple gesture shocks her, you can see her eyes widen slightly which makes you pull your hand away. “Absolutely, it’s just movie night.” You grimace slightly at how easy that came out and how wrong it sounded. Why did it sound so wrong?

Jack nods slowly, still unsure about your answer but then shrugs. The movement instantly changes the mood and she smiles. “Great, now I have to find an outfit to wear.” You both laugh and she walks out of the bullpen. Your eyes catch Ellie’s who is looking at you knowingly. She’d come along to a few movie nights in the beginning but then ditched saying she had other plans and never rejoined again.

The rest of the day was boring. You couldn’t concentrate. Your mind always going back to how hesitant Jack was to ask you about the rain check and how weird you felt about it. She was just your friend right? Best friend? You really enjoyed spending time with her and all. But both of you had but a line in the sand a while back. Not interested. Ellie had teased you both and you both joked it off saying you were just friends. You shared a look and that was that.

You groaned and got up from your desk, you needed chocolate because the realisation just hit you like a tonne of bricks. You hated the idea of Jack going on a date instead of spending the night at your place. You enjoyed her company, her smile, her laugh, just about everything that was her. No matter what you’d both said weeks, months ago that feeling had never changed. You’d just been lying to yourself about it. Hoping that the lie would ring true. She just wanted to be friends so that’s how it was going to be. And you’d be the supportive friend that just want to see her happy, even if it was with another person.

The vending machine didn’t have the right chocolate you wanted so that made the rest of the afternoon even worse. By the time home time hit, you couldn’t get out of the office fast enough. You preemptively bought enough ice cream for you and Jack the night before so now you had it all to yourself and that would just have to do for tonight. The movie you had picked, because it was your turn, would have to wait. You couldn’t watch it without Jack plus it was a silly rom com. You only watched those with Jack, how you’d managed to lie so well to yourself for so long was beyond you.

Your apartment seemed less inviting when you got home. Not as inviting as it had been when you left this morning. The shower helped a bit, so did the chocolate icecream. You were half way through the small tub (you never bought large ones just in case you had the urge to eat it all. Tonight you had that urge.) when there was a knock at your door. The buzzer didn’t sound so it must be one of your neighbours, you looked down at your sweat pants and sloppy joe and shrugged, your neighbours had definitely seen you in worse. You’d definitely seen some of them in worse. You shuddered at the memory of seeing Mr Johnson on the bottom floor, mowing his little patch of lawn last summer in just his underwear. He wasn’t a fit man, he also liked a lot of takeaway.

The knock came again and you shook the image out of your head and walked towards the door. You peeped through the little spy hole and was shocked to see that it wasn’t your neighbour. Now you really wished you’d chosen something nicer to wear but she wasn’t meant to be coming tonight.

“Jack, what are yo-?” You stepped back as she sprung into your apartment, not giving you the time to step properly out of the way. She seemed frazzled. Where was her date? “What happened, weren’t you on a-?”

“Got to the bar and turned around.” She was chewing her thumb nail. She was adorable whenever she did that but you knew something was definitely bothering her because that’s what she did. “Needed to ask you a question.” Her hand moved away from her lips and she paced the small area of your living room.

You close the door and turn back around to her. She’s still pacing and it’s very unsettling. “You couldn’t text me? What’s so important you had to run out on -” She was having a good effect on cutting off your sentences tonight. Her deep frown and sudden stop in pacing caused you to rethink what you were going to say. “Sorry, what do you need to ask me?” You can’t help but swallow. She was making you nervous now and the outfit she had on wasn’t helping your case.

Jack was wearing your favourite dress of hers. It was white with an intricate pattern all the way down and along the sleeves, you’d say it was pretty see through too but it wasn’t revealing. It fit her perfectly and she looked stunning (As per usual). She shifted back onto her heels, which was dangerous considering she was in heels but you suspected she’d be able to run in heels so a little balancing was easy.

“Why did your smile and words seem so forced in the squadroom today? Like you said it’s fine and it’s just movie night but it didn’t seem.. fine.” Her eyes were boring into yours now, you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.

The question wasn’t at all what you were expecting, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. This wasn’t meant to be happening. She was meant to be across town having a date while you sulked and ate your feelings away in the form of chocolate icecream. You ran your hand through your hair, feeling very in the spotlight right now and you hated the way Jack was looking at you. Analysing your every twitch and shift.

“Why does it matter to you so much?” You knew answering her question with a question was a dangerous move but you couldn’t answer her honestly. How could you? You didn’t want to ruin your friendship with this incredible woman, you didn’t want to risk that. You couldn’t!

You saw the disappointment cross her face, she wasn’t doing very well at hiding her feelings right now. Your wall was barely standing at this point.

“Jack, I can’t answer your question and I don’t want to lie to you.” The moment those words left your lips, you couldn’t look at her anymore. Your eyes landed on her feet then on the floor beneath them because even looking at her feet hurt. You felt so stupid.

Jack took a step towards you and then another. You saw her hand reach up before you felt her cup your cheek and you couldn’t help but lean into her touch. Her thumb moving softly back and forth across your cheeky slowly. She ever so slowly guided your head back up so you had to look in her eyes, the distance between you was small. You could now smell her perfume, it invaded your senses and you didn’t like it. Not that it didn’t smell good, it just didn’t smell like her. You loved her scent (you realised how stupid), the smell of her floral shampoo, mixed with her cherry blossom hand moisturiser and something else you couldn’t quite name. It was just Jack.

“Jack..” The words didn’t come, they couldn’t. How had it all gone so wrong in the last 8 hours?

“Y/n, I didn’t want to go on this date tonight. I wanted you to say you wanted me to come over. That we missed last week’s and it’s too difficult with our job’s to get a night off together.” She eyes were soft, sad and her thumb was still stroking your cheek softly.

“Together?” You breathed. Trust your brain not to respond to her properly right now. That was the word or part of her speech that you were hung up on?

“I know we said things a while back about us, not being an us but..” She drifts off and you are hung up on her words.

“But?” There was too much hope and possibility in that word. She saw your eyes light up, hers did too when she saw the possibility become a reality.

You watch as her eyes flick down to your lips, you can’t help but part them slightly. Your breath hitches when she moves in closer, your noses brush against one another and her hand on your cheek curves round, her fingers splaying into your hair to draw you forward. Her lips ghost over yours, her bottom lip catches yours and you can’t help but let a soft whimper escape. Jack captures your lips then, like the whimper was all the confirmation she needed. Your hands cirlce around her waist, pulling her in close, her other hand rests at the base of your neck, helping her dominate and guide the kiss. Her tongue glides along your lip and you give her enough room to slide her tongue along yours, letting her explore and devour you in one.

Breathless you both pull apart far enough to catch some far too important oxygen. Your arms still wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. Her hands still in place, keeping you still. “What was the answer you couldn’t tell me?” Her eyes dancing mischieviously, her lips curving into a sweet, teasing smile.

“That I wanted you to be with me tonight. That I want you to be with me every night. That those words I said  were just a lie I’ve been telling myself and I almost believed it until today.” It was true, every single word. You would never lie to Jack, never again. And you’d try your best not to lie to yourself either.

She pulled you back in then, this time the exploration was softer, drawn out more. She nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away again. “I want that too.” The teasing gone from her lips, the games gone from her eyes. All you saw was truth, devotion and certainty.

It was your time to pull her in for a kiss, you smiled, she smiled and the kiss wasn’t near as long as you hoped it would be but that was ok. You had all night to kiss her as many times as you liked and hopefully the next day too. Plus the day after and the day after that. “Stay?” You hummed against her lips. It wasn’t for anything more than to be with her, to have her in your arms and she knew that but that didn’t stop her from the sass returning, the cheekiness she loved to tease you with.

“Well aren’t we forward.” She smiled, her eyes sparking and kissed the corner of your mouth before pulling away.

“You come to my house in that dress, ditching a date and would rather spend the evening with me. And I’m the one being forward?” You laugh at her shocked, playful hurt expression. “Shut up and kiss me.”

She does as you command because you were hers and she was yours and you’d both known it for a long time but now you were living it.

“I feel over dressed.” She laughs, looking down and you flush.

“I feel frumpy.” And you laugh as she rolls her eyes.

“You look cute.” She hums, brushing her nose against yours.

You can’t help but smile. “You look hot.” Your hands running up her sides and back down, pulling her in by the waist.

She hums, kissing you again, sucking at your bottom lips before pulling back. “Got that old NCIS shirt and boxers I can borrow, again?”

“That seems like still too much clothing.” You get a shove to the shoulder for that sass before pulling away and grabbing her hand.

She gladly followed you into your bedroom. Hugging you around the waist and dropping soft kisses to your neck while your searched through your drawers. Maybe you took a little longer, enjoying her against you and her lips against your skin.

“You keep doing that and we won’t get to the movie and icecream.” You turn in her arms, placing a peck to her lips, snaking your arms around her neck, pulling her back in for longer, teasing, moan causing kiss.

“That such a bad thing?”

The movie and clothes long forgotten. The ice cream you’d share later. Movie nights got infinitely better and more frequent after this.