Just4fun

I'm writing fanfiction for NCIS. There are multi-chapter stories and short fics, too. If you have any wishes for new stories, feel free to tell me. I'll try to realize it. Hope you have a good time reading my words. Masterlist is up.

[crazycurly-77]

MAIN MASTERLIST

Actual story content of this blog:

NCIS: NOLA - 1 story

NCIS (Gibbs) - 101 stories

Useful links for this page:

Alternative Masterlist

Here you will find a listing of all the stories I've written to date.

When you click on the name of a story you'll get to a post with the plot and the links to the chapters of this story.

Masterlists of my stories:

Direct links to all of my stories (in progress and finished) - Part 4

Direct links to all of my stories (finished) - Part 3

Direct links to all of my stories (finished) - Part 2

Direct links to all of my stories (finished) - Part 1

Masterlists of the plots with the stories:

Short plots and links to my stories (in progress and finished) - Part 4

Short plots and links to my stories (finished) - Part 3

Short plots and links to my stories (finished) - Part 2

Short plots and links to my stories (finished) - Part 1

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[crazycurly-77]

Bourbon, Boats, and Burning Walls - Chapter 3

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: smut, hard sex, +18 readers only!!!

The next morning, I didn’t go to work. I couldn’t. I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling completely numb inside. I reached for the phone, called headquarters, and reported myself sick indefinitely. 

At NCIS, Gibbs received the news in silence. When DiNozzo mentioned that I had called in sick, Gibbs merely let out a gruff grunt. He demanded no details; he asked no questions. He knew exactly why I wasn't coming in.

In his mind - a mind consumed by guilt - he told himself that this was probably for the best for both of us. He had drawn the line. He had protected me by driving me away. At least, that’s how he rationalized it to himself.

But the days passed, and one week turned into two. My desk in the bullpen remained empty. No humming computer, no stacks of files, no familiar scent. Gibbs sat at his own desk, staring unwaveringly - with increasing frequency - at that empty chair.

Every time DiNozzo or McGee asked a question regarding my status, they were met with a look that could kill. Yet deep within Gibbs, the carefully constructed facade began to crumble. His supposed certainty that he had done the right thing gave way to a gnawing unease, and finally, to raw, consuming worry.

He missed me. It was no subtle longing; it was a physical ache that stole his breath away. He missed my banter, my laughter, the way I drank my coffee, and the memory of my soft skin beneath his rough fingers.

I, meanwhile, remained holed up in my apartment, feeling as though the walls were closing in on me. Yet the mere thought of having to face Gibbs at the office made my throat tighten with dread. I no longer dared to return there. I was afraid of his coldness - afraid of yet another rejection.

After exactly fourteen days, Gibbs couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his coffee mug onto his desk, grabbed his jacket, and walked wordlessly toward the elevator.

“Boss? Where are you going?” McGee called after him.

“To bring back an agent,” Gibbs growled before the doors slid shut.

It was late afternoon when a heavy pounding shook my apartment door. I knew immediately who it was, and my heart hammered in my throat as I opened the door.

There he stood, clad in his tactical jacket, his hair slightly windblown, his steel-blue eyes brimming with pent-up emotion. He looked exhausted.

“You’re AWOL, Probie,” he said. Though the words were those of a superior, his voice was husky, quiet, and utterly devoid of its usual sarcasm.“

“I’m sick, Gibbs,” I retorted defiantly, though my voice trembled.

I moved to close the door again, but he took a quick step forward, pushed his way into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind him.

“You’re not sick,” he said, stepping so close to me that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You’re hiding. From me,” he finally whispered. As he spoke, his lips brushed against my ear, and his breath grazed my skin. My body grew even more acutely aware of his proximity, and only with great effort did I manage to stifle a moan.

Instead, I took a step back.

“You threw me out! You pushed me away!” 

I screamed at him, and the tears I had held back for two weeks finally broke free. 

"What do you want here, Gibbs? Do you want to tell me again just how much I’m ruining your life?"

Gibbs looked at me. The two weeks of separation, the staring at my empty desk, the agonizing certainty that he had nearly broken the woman he loved - all of it erupted in that single moment. His stoic composure exploded.

"I want you to stop calling me Gibbs," he murmured, closing the distance between us and gripping me by the hips.

Before I could answer, he pressed his mouth against mine. This kiss was unlike any before. It was driven by a desperate, painful longing - one that had nearly pushed us both out of our minds over the past two weeks.

His lips pressed against mine with an intensity that stole my breath away. His tongue demanded entry - wild and possessive - and I parted my lips with a loud moan to welcome him in.

We tasted the tears on my face as we tore the clothes from each other’s bodies. There was no hesitation left. His jacket hit the floor; my thin sweater was yanked over my head. Gibbs urged me backward down the hallway until the backs of my knees hit the edge of my bed, and we tumbled onto the mattress together - a tangle of bare skin, burning kisses, and greedy hands.

His rough palms traced the curve of my waist and hips, finally pushing my legs apart to make room for himself between them. We were naked, and his manhood pressed hot and hard against my thigh. It was massive, throbbing with a desire that had been building for two weeks.

"I missed you,” he confessed in a voice so raw and broken it tore at my heart. “Every damn day.”

Then he slid down my body, kissing his way across my stomach to my core, and looked up at me with an intense gaze filled with desire. He lowered his head and buried his face between my legs. His tongue stroked over my sensitive clit in long, wet sweeps. I cried out in ecstasy, digging my fingers into the sheets as his tongue worked with masterful skill. He drew my pearl into his mouth, cupped my hips to lift my pelvis, and drank my juices until I was trembling wildly, teetering on the brink of orgasm.

“Jethro, please… I need you inside me. Now!” I begged, completely intoxicated by desire.

He shifted over me, his blue eyes burning with dark lust. He draped my legs over his muscular shoulders, spreading me wide, and positioned his slick, scalding-hot head against my entrance. Without further delay, he buried himself completely inside me with one deep, powerful thrust.

A piercing cry escaped my lips as my tight walls clenched around his massive member. He stretched me to my absolute limit, penetrating so deep I thought he might touch my very soul. A deep, vibrating groan tore itself from Gibbs’s chest; he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the incredible tightness and heat of my depths.

Then he began to move. It was a rhythm of defiance against lost time - passionate, intense, almost brutal in its hunger. He withdrew almost completely from me, until only the tip remained inside, only to thunder back in with full force the very next moment.

The loud, wet slapping of our bodies filled the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck and bit into his shoulder to stifle my screams as he drove me further up the bed. Every single thrust struck my cervix, driving me deeper into a vortex of madness.

(To be continued in the last Chapter 4.)

----------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

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[mrs-pride-archer-gibbs]

Great chapter. So glad the two talked over things. Gibb's such a great lover. He has loads of love to give.

@breakthestereo @gridmouse86

[crazycurly-77]

@mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

Thanks a lot my friend. I'm totally with you and I really hope that you'll like the ending too. 😊😘❤️❤️

[crazycurly-77]

Bourbon, Boats, and Burning Walls - Chapter 3

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: smut, hard sex, +18 readers only!!!

The next morning, I didn’t go to work. I couldn’t. I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling completely numb inside. I reached for the phone, called headquarters, and reported myself sick indefinitely. 

At NCIS, Gibbs received the news in silence. When DiNozzo mentioned that I had called in sick, Gibbs merely let out a gruff grunt. He demanded no details; he asked no questions. He knew exactly why I wasn't coming in.

In his mind - a mind consumed by guilt - he told himself that this was probably for the best for both of us. He had drawn the line. He had protected me by driving me away. At least, that’s how he rationalized it to himself.

But the days passed, and one week turned into two. My desk in the bullpen remained empty. No humming computer, no stacks of files, no familiar scent. Gibbs sat at his own desk, staring unwaveringly - with increasing frequency - at that empty chair.

Every time DiNozzo or McGee asked a question regarding my status, they were met with a look that could kill. Yet deep within Gibbs, the carefully constructed facade began to crumble. His supposed certainty that he had done the right thing gave way to a gnawing unease, and finally, to raw, consuming worry.

He missed me. It was no subtle longing; it was a physical ache that stole his breath away. He missed my banter, my laughter, the way I drank my coffee, and the memory of my soft skin beneath his rough fingers.

I, meanwhile, remained holed up in my apartment, feeling as though the walls were closing in on me. Yet the mere thought of having to face Gibbs at the office made my throat tighten with dread. I no longer dared to return there. I was afraid of his coldness - afraid of yet another rejection.

After exactly fourteen days, Gibbs couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his coffee mug onto his desk, grabbed his jacket, and walked wordlessly toward the elevator.

“Boss? Where are you going?” McGee called after him.

“To bring back an agent,” Gibbs growled before the doors slid shut.

It was late afternoon when a heavy pounding shook my apartment door. I knew immediately who it was, and my heart hammered in my throat as I opened the door.

There he stood, clad in his tactical jacket, his hair slightly windblown, his steel-blue eyes brimming with pent-up emotion. He looked exhausted.

“You’re AWOL, Probie,” he said. Though the words were those of a superior, his voice was husky, quiet, and utterly devoid of its usual sarcasm.“

“I’m sick, Gibbs,” I retorted defiantly, though my voice trembled.

I moved to close the door again, but he took a quick step forward, pushed his way into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind him.

“You’re not sick,” he said, stepping so close to me that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You’re hiding. From me,” he finally whispered. As he spoke, his lips brushed against my ear, and his breath grazed my skin. My body grew even more acutely aware of his proximity, and only with great effort did I manage to stifle a moan.

Instead, I took a step back.

“You threw me out! You pushed me away!” 

I screamed at him, and the tears I had held back for two weeks finally broke free. 

"What do you want here, Gibbs? Do you want to tell me again just how much I’m ruining your life?"

Gibbs looked at me. The two weeks of separation, the staring at my empty desk, the agonizing certainty that he had nearly broken the woman he loved - all of it erupted in that single moment. His stoic composure exploded.

"I want you to stop calling me Gibbs," he murmured, closing the distance between us and gripping me by the hips.

Before I could answer, he pressed his mouth against mine. This kiss was unlike any before. It was driven by a desperate, painful longing - one that had nearly pushed us both out of our minds over the past two weeks.

His lips pressed against mine with an intensity that stole my breath away. His tongue demanded entry - wild and possessive - and I parted my lips with a loud moan to welcome him in.

We tasted the tears on my face as we tore the clothes from each other’s bodies. There was no hesitation left. His jacket hit the floor; my thin sweater was yanked over my head. Gibbs urged me backward down the hallway until the backs of my knees hit the edge of my bed, and we tumbled onto the mattress together - a tangle of bare skin, burning kisses, and greedy hands.

His rough palms traced the curve of my waist and hips, finally pushing my legs apart to make room for himself between them. We were naked, and his manhood pressed hot and hard against my thigh. It was massive, throbbing with a desire that had been building for two weeks.

"I missed you,” he confessed in a voice so raw and broken it tore at my heart. “Every damn day.”

Then he slid down my body, kissing his way across my stomach to my core, and looked up at me with an intense gaze filled with desire. He lowered his head and buried his face between my legs. His tongue stroked over my sensitive clit in long, wet sweeps. I cried out in ecstasy, digging my fingers into the sheets as his tongue worked with masterful skill. He drew my pearl into his mouth, cupped my hips to lift my pelvis, and drank my juices until I was trembling wildly, teetering on the brink of orgasm.

“Jethro, please… I need you inside me. Now!” I begged, completely intoxicated by desire.

He shifted over me, his blue eyes burning with dark lust. He draped my legs over his muscular shoulders, spreading me wide, and positioned his slick, scalding-hot head against my entrance. Without further delay, he buried himself completely inside me with one deep, powerful thrust.

A piercing cry escaped my lips as my tight walls clenched around his massive member. He stretched me to my absolute limit, penetrating so deep I thought he might touch my very soul. A deep, vibrating groan tore itself from Gibbs’s chest; he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the incredible tightness and heat of my depths.

Then he began to move. It was a rhythm of defiance against lost time - passionate, intense, almost brutal in its hunger. He withdrew almost completely from me, until only the tip remained inside, only to thunder back in with full force the very next moment.

The loud, wet slapping of our bodies filled the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck and bit into his shoulder to stifle my screams as he drove me further up the bed. Every single thrust struck my cervix, driving me deeper into a vortex of madness.

(To be continued in the last Chapter 4.)

----------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

Back to the overview of this story

Back to the main Masterlist

Back to the alternative Masterlist

----------------

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

----------------

[crazycurly-77]

Bourbon, Boats, and Burning Walls

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Story: After a grueling case, you can't find any peace. You head to your boss, Gibbs, and the long-suppressed desire between the two of you erupts - with unforeseen consequences.

🔥🔥🥵🥵

Chapters: 3 (1 more is coming)

Warnings: SMUT, hard sex, +18 readers only!!

Read chapter 1

Read chapter 2

Read chapter 3

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

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[crazycurly-77]

Bourbon, Boats, and Burning Walls - Chapter 2

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: smut, hard sex, +18 readers only!! 🥵🔥

“Jethro, please,” I whimpered, tears of overwhelming emotion welling up in my eyes.

He smiled faintly - a rare, tender sight - and knelt down between my legs.

He drew my knees up toward my shoulders, opening me completely to him, and slowly - centimeter by centimeter - slid back inside me. The sensation was so intense that I sobbed.

He rode me in the pale moonlight with a slow, deep intensity. Every thrust was pure surrender. He held my gaze the entire time, refusing to let me look away, as he drove me to the brink of madness - until, exhausted, drenched in sweat, and tightly entwined, we both fell asleep.

Morning brought back the cold. When I opened my eyes, Gibbs was already standing by the window—fully dressed, a coffee mug in his hand. The soft features of the night were gone. His walls were not merely rebuilt—they had been reinforced.

“You should go. We have a briefing with Vance in two hours,” he said, without looking at me. His voice was once again that of the unapproachable boss.

A cold shiver ran through me. The unease was palpable, thick as fog. “Gibbs… Jethro, about last night…”

"It was a mistake. The bourbon," he cut me off icily, his eyes fixed rigidly on the street. "Won't happen again, Probie.”

That stung. Humiliated and furious, I gathered my clothes and left the house. 

Over the next two weeks, we both tried to push what had happened to the back of our minds, but it was impossible. The air in the bullpen was electric. All Jethro had to do was look at me, and my pulse would race. Every time he handed me a file, I felt the spark.

The atmosphere between us grew more charged and volatile with each passing day. He snapped at me over trifles, and I snapped right back - until DiNozzo and McGee looked awkwardly at the floor.

It was inevitable. One evening, after everyone else had already left, I was searching the evidence room for a file. Gibbs walked in to retrieve the key, and the moment our eyes met, the pent-up tension exploded.

He slammed the door shut and, without a word, pinned me against the shelves. His lips sought mine in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was a desperate, passionate clash of lips and wills.

We bit each other’s lips, tasting blood and lust. I tugged at his hair; he pressed his hand against my buttocks with painful force. Yet no sooner had we broken apart, gasping for breath, than he roughly shoved me away.

"That was the last time," he hissed, breathing heavily, and left the room.

The next day, we both denied it with an icy silence.

Three days later, the ordeal ended in utter chaos. After work, I had driven back to his house - driven by an unbearable, aching longing that was consuming me from the inside out. I couldn't fight it any longer.

When I entered his basement, he looked at me and knew instantly why I was there. He threw down his tools, strode toward me, grabbed me by the collar of my jacket, and dragged me upstairs to the bedroom.

There was no foreplay, no sweet words. We tore the clothes from each other’s bodies—buttons popped off, fabric ripped. We were driven by an addiction that lay beyond all reason. He threw me onto the bed, climbed on after me, and ruthlessly forced my knees apart. He was already fully erect, the veins on his hard shaft standing in stark relief. Without lubricant, driven by raw lust, he thrust himself inside me with a single, violent plunge.

I sobbed aloud. “Oh my god…yessss!” My tight pussy gripped him like a vise, and he groaned in an agony of pleasure. It was wild, dirty sex, charged with frustration. Gibbs seized my hands, pinned them to the mattress above my head, and began to pound into me like a man possessed. His thrusts were so hard and merciless that the bed slammed violently against the wall.

"Damn it, you’re driving me insane," he hissed through clenched teeth as he grabbed my hips and roughly flipped me onto my stomach.

He dropped to his knees behind me, hiked up my hips, and penetrated me again. The angle was so breathtakingly deep that his balls slapped against my labia with every thrust - a wet, rhythmic sound that left me completely dazed. 

He reached forward, grabbed my breasts, and yanked me hard against him as he took me without restraint. I arched my back and screamed my orgasm into the pillows, my body trembling under the force of his hard thrusts. Just seconds later, I felt him convulse deep inside me, flooding me with his hot cream.

But when it was over, the unexpected happened. Gibbs abruptly pulled out of me, sprang out of bed, and looked at me with an expression that seethed with rage, remorse, and pure pain. His hands were trembling violently.

“Get out!” he suddenly screamed, his voice nearly cracking.

I started up, shakily pulling the covers over my naked chest. “What? Jethro…”

“I said go to hell home!” he roared, the veins in his neck bulging dangerously.

He stepped up to the bed, and I reached out to touch him, but he roughly shoved my hand away.

“Don’t touch me! Do you hear me? I can’t do this! I destroy everyone I love! I buried my family; I buried Shannon! I won’t destroy you, too! Go! You’re my agent, damn it! Get out!”

It was a brutal, desperate act of self-destruction—a final attempt to protect me from himself by pushing me away, both emotionally and physically. But this time, something inside me snapped. The humiliation - the harshness in his voice and the shove - hit me like a physical blow.

Shaken, I sat there, my vision blurred with tears and breathing heavily. Then, without saying another word, I slid out of bed. My limbs trembled so violently that I struggled to gather my torn clothes from the floor.

Gibbs stood with his back to me, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. I pulled on my clothes, slipped into my shoes, and fled blindly from his house, out into the cold night.

(To be continued in Chapter 3.)

----------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

Back to the overview of this story

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

----------------

[crazycurly-77]

Bourbon, Boats, and Burning Walls - Chapter 1

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: smut, +18 readers only!! 🔥🥵

The scent of sawdust, epoxy resin, and old wood usually had a calming effect. But tonight, nothing was calming. The case - the mutilated body of the young Marine lieutenant, the sleep deprivation, the images seared into my retinas - kept me wide awake.

At three in the morning, I gave up, got into my car, and drove aimlessly through the streets. My destination was unknown. But when I arrived, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. For I stood in front of the boss’s house.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs’s basement door was, as always, unlocked. So I went inside and descended the wooden stairs. The rhythmic *shriiiiich* of a hand plane told me he was awake.

And sure enough, there stood Gibbs - clad in an old T-shirt - working on the mahogany hull, the muscles of his forearms taut beneath a thin layer of wood dust. He didn’t even look up as I reached the bottom step.

“The lieutenant won’t let you rest, huh, probie?” he asked. His voice was a rough, sarcastic rumble that felt like fine sandpaper scraping against my skin.

“The ghosts in my apartment were making too much noise,” I retorted, stepping up to the workbench and grabbing a sheet of sandpaper. “And I thought your boundless optimism might cheer me up.”

Gibbs froze mid-stroke. His steel-blue eyes locked onto me - intense and unfathomable.

“Optimism is for people who have no clue how the world works. Sand the stern.”

For hours, we worked in silence. The unspoken feelings that had hung between us like a charged storm cloud for months - every fleeting glance in the MTAC, every accidental touch at our desks - intensified in the close confines of the basement.

Around four in the morning, Gibbs set aside his plane, reached for a bottle of bourbon, and poured two glasses. He handed one to me.

"To the dead," he said softly.

"And to the living who don't know how to live," I added, and took a sip. The alcohol burned a path down to my stomach, loosening the knots in my chest and leaving behind a dangerous warmth.

Gibbs took a step closer. He smelled of sweat, bourbon, and that irresistible, distinctly masculine scent of his own.

"Do you think you know?" he challenged me, his lips twisted into a mocking smile.

"At least I know you can't drown your pain in a boatyard, Gibbs."

"Are you trying to analyze me right now? Dangerous territory, Probie."

"Maybe I like danger."

The glass slipped from my hand and landed with a clatter on the workbench. The bourbon was doing its work - the walls were swaying. Gibbs’s gaze locked onto my lips. His sarcastic facade began to crumble, revealing a raw, naked longing beneath.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured.

"Then burn me."

Gibbs let out a low groan, a deep, animalistic sound, and the very next moment, he was there. His hand shot out, buried itself in my hair, and tilted my head back - gently, yet firmly. Then, his lips pressed hard against mine.

That first kiss was like a hurricane. It tasted of sharp bourbon and months of pent-up frustration. His tongue demanded entry, claiming everything from me, and I gave it to him willingly. I parted my lips and was instantly conquered by him.

He pressed me backward against the unfinished boat hull, the rough wood scraping against my back. Gibbs grabbed the hem of my shirt; his rough palms burned against my bare skin as he ripped the fabric over my head in a single, violent motion.

He unclasped my bra with a practiced touch, freeing my breasts. His eyes dark with lust, he gazed at me for a moment before pressing his mouth against my nipple. He sucked at it hot and hard, drawing the sensitive bud deep into his mouth, while kneading my other breast with his rough hand until I threw my head back with a whimper.

“Gibbs…” I panted.

“Jethro,” he corrected in a raspy voice, as his hand slid down to the waistband of my pants. He undid the button, yanked down the zipper, and stripped both my pants and panties down my legs in one swift motion.

He lifted me effortlessly and set me down on the edge of the workbench, right amidst the wood shavings. My legs wrapped around his hips as if of their own accord. He unfastened his trousers, and his manhood sprang out at me - hot, thick, and throbbing. He slowly stroked the head of his cock up and down against my wet slit, tormenting me for agonizing seconds with that mere touch, until I lifted my hips in silent supplication.

Without another word, he drove himself deep inside me with a single, powerful thrust. I cried out. He filled me completely, stretching me in a way I had never been stretched before. Gibbs held my hips in an iron grip and began to move, establishing a fierce, relentless rhythm.

The sound of skin against skin - the wet slapping of our bodies - echoed through the basement. He withdrew almost completely from me, only to thrust back in the very next moment with even greater force, until he struck my cervix. A loud moan escaped my lips; my hands clawed at his muscular shoulders while his face remained buried in the crook of my neck.

The rhythm was relentless, driven by pure desire. My inner muscles clenched hot and tight around his shaft, finally driving him out of his mind. His thrusts grew faster, greedier, and I felt the wave building inside me until, at last, I exploded in a trembling release.

My walls pulsed violently around him. But that proved too much for his iron self-control. With a deep, rumbling growl, he thrust into me one last time - all the way to the hilt - and spilled himself in hot, thick surges.

But our longing was a beast that could not be sated with a single feeding. When we finally caught our breath and air returned to our lungs, he carried me upstairs to his bed. Once there, every trace of his earlier hardness melted away.

He laid me gently upon the sheets, settled himself over me, and kissed me with an infinite, exquisite tenderness. His lips moved softly against mine, exploring every contour, while his fingers slowly slid between my legs. He found my most sensitive spot and began to rub it in rhythm with his kisses. 

I writhed beneath him, moaning into his mouth, as he slid two fingers deep inside me and moved them in perfect sync with his thumb. I was so wet that his fingers slid effortlessly in and out of me, and the slick, wet sound they made drove me out of my mind.

(To be continued in Chapter 2.)

-------------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

Back to the overview of this story

Back to the main Masterlist

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

-------------------

[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 54

It is finished! Here comes the final chapter of this story. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. 😊❤️

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: pure fluff

After Pride and Franks had led Jenny away and Jimmy had received medical attention, things slowly began to settle down again. 

Everyone’s greatest concern was for you, since you were pregnant. Yet you were the most composed of them all - aside from the lingering shock of having just narrowly escaped death.

Jethro put his arm around you and asked gently, “Are you really okay? Shouldn’t the doctor take a look at you, just to be sure?”

His concern felt incredibly reassuring, and you snuggled into his arms. But it was more out of love for him than a need for comfort. You sighed.

“It’s all over. I’ve been expecting her to launch a major retaliatory strike this whole time. But it's done now, and we don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

He smiled proudly and kissed you tenderly. "My brave darling," he whispered to you.

You gazed at him lovingly, about to say something in return, when the judge approached you.

"After these events, would you prefer to postpone the wedding?" he asked cautiously.

Both he and Gibbs looked at you expectantly, wanting to leave the decision up to you. And you were absolutely certain of your choice.

"It won't be postponed. I want to marry this man already.”

With that, you playfully punched Jethro in the shoulder, and he nearly burst out laughing. And it was precisely this uncharacteristic, infectious laughter that lifted the spirits of the wedding party.

"But..." you continued, "I want to wait until Mike and Dwayne are back. I want them to be there when we exchange our vows."

"Of course, my love." He kissed the top of your head. "Should I—"

"You’d better get down to the altar, probie!"

"Yes! The woman has waited long enough for you!!”

Cheers erupted, and Abby - closely followed by you - ran toward the returnees. You nearly squeezed the air out of Mike and Dwayne with your embrace, but it simply had to be done. They were the undisputed heroes of the day. 

“Should I leave you two alone for a while?” Gibbs grumbled from the altar, half-jokingly, half-seriously.

“Are you afraid we’ll elope?” Dwayne quipped, thoroughly amused by Gibbs’s stern glare. He gently disentangled himself from your embrace and led you to the altar, where Jethro immediately took your hand - never to let go again. 

“Since we were already at this point anyway, we might as well just pick up right where we left off,” the judge suggested.

Solemnly, he asked: 

“Do you, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, take Y/N Y/L/N, here present, to be your lawfully wedded wife? And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Leroy Jethro Gibbs, here present, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" 

You stood facing one another, gazing deep into each other’s eyes, and - as if speaking with one voice - you answered loud and clear: 

"YES!" 

Silence. Your hearts nearly leaped from your chests with excitement, and then:

"I hereby pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride.”

Gibbs didn't need to be told twice. He grinned, buried his hands in your hair, and kissed you - tenderly, passionately, deeply, and intensely. 

Gibbs: "I love you so much."

You: "I love you even more."

You felt as though you were floating on clouds. 

It was the most intimate kiss the judge had ever witnessed. Tears welled up in his eyes and those of the three women, while the men began to whistle.

You kissed again and again, but your friends showed no mercy and demanded their right to congratulate you. The garden was filled with laughter and joy, and you were constantly being hugged. Gibbs would surely have bruises the next day, because the somewhat battered-looking Franks and Dwayne kept patting him on the back in appreciation. 

All in all, it was a wedding typical of NCIS - yet your happiness outshone everything else. Your wedding night could not have been more beautiful. The entire house was adorned with hearts and flowers, and you made love all through the night. Finally, you were one. Together. A family. And at long last, you could show each other your love - without barriers, without restraint, without doubt. Openly, honestly, and full of confidence in your shared future.

Yet, much to your surprise, you would not remain the only couple within this circle of friends; for - as quickly became apparent - Mike and Rachel hit it off perfectly and began dating shortly after your wedding.

Despite his deep reluctance to take the job, Gibbs became the new Director of NCIS. His very first official act was to decree that he would continue working on cases as an investigator. However, he left the dangerous missions to (the now) Tony's team, as he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks.

To ensure that no harm could come to you, he transferred you to the research department. You actually quite liked it there, as it allowed you to drop by your husband's office from time to time for an "exchange of information." 

By now, you had become friends with Elaine. She visited you privately every so often and helped you design the nursery - which wasn't exactly Jethro's favorite pastime. Nevertheless, he willingly carried out every task you two had planned.

And a few months later, the moment finally arrived. Your twins came into the world, and the excitement and joy were immense.

They were a healthy boy with his father’s striking blue eyes, and a healthy, beautiful girl with her mother’s dark curls and her father’s steel-blue eyes. 

One thing is certain: your daughter will one day turn heads wherever she goes, and your son is bound to become a heartthrob.

Yet no one was prouder than their father - Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The tough-as-nails man who turned soft as butter at the sight of his family.

That is what makes your family so special: 

Rose, Sophia Kelly, Luca Jackson and Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

The End

------------------

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @lemmons1998, @mightypocketcow, @doctorwhorocksuniverse-blog, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs, @niqhtvibez, @annieteamedge, @wanniiieeee, @n-o-p-e-never

------------------

[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 53

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: none

Finally, the moment had arrived, and you stood beside him. Completely entranced, you gazed deep into each other's eyes while Ducky, smiling contentedly, placed your hands together and then took his place beside Jethro - because he was, after all, his best man, and he was immensely proud of the honor.

Rachel and Abby stood beside you as your bridesmaids. But Abby had two more roles she was overjoyed about - she was also your maid of honor and carried the small cushion with your wedding rings. She could hardly contain her joyful squeals. She wanted to cheer, dance, and celebrate, but there would be plenty of time for that later.

The officiant began the ceremony, yet you had eyes only for each other. In the background, you heard the man’s address, but the words did not reach you - only the feelings they evoked. Peace. Happiness. Togetherness. Love. Infinite love.

It was all wonderfully romantic and could have been so beautiful - if only…

…Yes, if only the stranger in the back row hadn't pulled out a gun. It was a woman. With short dark hair, dark glasses, and a large hat. But nobody seems to know her.

“Stop! Stop!” she screamed, beside herself, pointing the weapon at you.

The judge froze in shock, as did everyone else.

“You have to do everything yourself…” the stranger grumbled, slowly approaching you.

“The moment I found out about the pregnancy, I hired a hitman. I couldn't let myself lose you forever because of that brat.”

She paused briefly, then continued, her voice filled with menace and hatred. 

“I won't let this wedding take place. Who knows which bastard that slut let impregnate her!”

This woman was insane and determined to do anything; that much was clear. From the very beginning, this woman seemed familiar to Gibbs, but now it dawned on him, and his face darkened.

"I was the bastard, Jenny. That's what you call starting a family, and I'm so happy about our children."

This threw the woman off balance. Irritated, she asked in a thin voice,

"I... how do you know...?"

Gibbs' eyes hardened even more than before.

"Your disguises have always been flawed," he hissed.

Indignantly, Shepard took off his glasses and threw them away. Then she roared,

"That bitch just won't die!"

She shifted from one foot to the other. She didn't want Gibbs to see her like this, but that was secondary now, because in the end, he'd thank her for intervening. Right? ...Right?

She lowered her voice, and her next words were no longer just a threat, but an immediate danger.

“So I have to do it myself…”

Then she aimed at you and pulled the trigger.

“Just die already!!!”

But fortunately, Pride and Franks lunged at her at just the right moment and tackled her to the ground.

It all happened at once. The two of them held Jenny down, Abby and Rachel tended to the wounded Palmer, who had been hit by the bullet, and Gibbs held you protectively in his arms.

There was also a certain irony to the situation. While Gibbs, clad in his wedding suit, was unarmed, Elaine managed to get hold of Jenny’s gun - using it to keep her at bay.

The fact that she was trembling like a leaf as she did so—and that it wasn't actually necessary, since Dwayne and Mike already had everything in hand—was, however, beside the point. She simply wanted to do something to help, too.

Despite all the chaos, Jethro quickly assessed the situation - as he always did. Jimmy had been hit, but it was merely a graze to the shoulder, and he was already being tended to. You were shaken, certainly, but otherwise appeared to be fine - and that was all that mattered.

That left him with only one thing to do: settle the score with Jenny Shepard. Once and for all.

He approached her, his body tense. His face was a mask, yet beneath it seethed rage, hatred, and revulsion.

She fought as if her life depended on it. Time and again she struck at Mike and Dwayne, who struggled to restrain her without knocking her out - she was, after all, still a woman.

But as Gibbs came to a halt directly in front of her, she froze. Her resistance crumbled instantly.

“Jethro… Jethro… you came back to me… I always knew that we belonged together,” she cooed.

He merely watched her in silence. This woman he had once loved… nothing of her remained. Instead, her eyes held the peculiar glint of madness.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he was responsible. But no, certainly not. Because SHE had betrayed and abandoned HIM. Apparently, she regretted it now, but it was far too late.

He leaned toward her, and his voice had the sharpest, coldest tone she had ever heard from him as he spoke:

“If you ever get too close to my family or me, I will kill you. This isn’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

“And if he doesn’t, I will,” Frank added, his voice filled with hatred. Dwayne could only agree with both of them and nodded in support.

“Get her out of here. I never want to see her again,” Gibbs ordered. He turned his back on her without another word and walked toward you, while Franks and Pride dragged Jenny to the car.

She thrashed about like a fury again. She screamed, shrieked, kicked, and flailed wildly - but against the two seasoned investigators, she was powerless.”

Once they reached the car, they handcuffed her and taped her mouth shut.

"Peace at last," Franks grumbled, eliciting a grin from Pride.

They had both sustained scratches from her fingernails, and by tomorrow additional bruises would appear; but the threat to the Gibbs family was finally over, and happiness could begin.

And since they didn't want to miss as much of the wedding celebration as possible, they sped to NCIS headquarters to take Shepard into custody.

One thing was certain: she would spend the rest of her life in prison for multiple counts of attempted murder - and part of it certainly in a psychiatric hospital.

(To be continued in the last chapter 54.)

------------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @lemmons1998, @mightypocketcow, @doctorwhorocksuniverse-blog, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs, @niqhtvibez, @annieteamedge, @wanniiieeee, @n-o-p-e-never

------------------

[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 52

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: pure fluff

After getting up, you had breakfast before diving straight into the wedding preparations. First, all your close colleagues were informed. Everyone was thrilled and immediately got to work.

But no one was happier than Ducky. Your wedding was to take place in his beloved garden. But that wasn't all - he was also chosen to walk you down the aisle and give you away to Jethro.

The greatest honor, however, came from his old friend. As you were all sitting together in the garden, Gibbs leaned toward him and looked at him. No walls. Open and honest.

“This is very important to me. To us. And to our children.”

A pause. He swallowed hard before continuing.

“I’m asking you to be my best man.”

Ducky’s eyes widened before he let out a laugh and pulled him into a hug.

“Of course, Jethro. Of course. I am always here for you.”

They patted each other on the back in friendship, holding on tight. They had been through so much together, and finally, everything was going to be alright. They were certain of it - and, of course, they would be proven right.

Rachel wept tears of joy when she arrived in Washington to support you and you asked her to be your bridesmaid. She was over the moon and made a great team with Abby, who was set to be your ring bearer and had shed quite a few happy tears of her own.

With every passing day leading up to the ceremony, the nerves grew, but the joy far outweighed the jitters. The entire team played their part in the planning, but finding a wedding dress for you proved to be a particular challenge, as none of you knew exactly what Gibbs would like.

Glitter? No. Ruffles? No. The princess look? Definitely not. But then… after several dresses, just as you were all becoming completely frustrated… you found the PERFECT gown. You tried it on, and not only did it feel wonderful - you looked breathtaking.

This is the exact dress you will be wearing in two days' time, when you walk down the aisle on Ducky’s arm toward Jethro. Toward the man you love so dearly - and whose children you were carrying beneath your heart.

As is usually the case, the men's search for a suit was much faster and easier - but even Gibbs was nervous. He finally felt like he had come home. The endless suffering and loneliness had come to an end.

And then - finally - the big day arrived. Your wedding. Not undercover for a case. No. Just the two of you. Exactly as you were. The sun was shining, the garden was decorated with flowers and white ribbons, and the excitement in the air was palpable.

Your heart was pounding so hard you thought you might faint. But then, there was a knock at the door. Ducky had come to collect you.

With shaky knees, you walked to the door and opened it cautiously. He stood there in his black suit, his eyes widening as he looked at you.

“Y/N, you are beautiful. Jethro is a very lucky man.”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you lowered your eyes. “Do you really think so?”

He gave a short laugh and pulled you into a hug.

“But of course, my dear. Without a doubt.”

He held you reassuringly in his arms for a minute before finally asking softly, 

“Are you ready? Shall we? He’s waiting for you quite eagerly.”

You gave him a brave smile and nodded.

“Then let’s go to him… before he grows impatient,” he said, and winked at you.

That finally made you laugh. Dr. Mallard had achieved his goal. He placed your hand on his arm, and together you walked out into the garden where everyone was waiting for you.

When they saw you, they were breathless. You looked stunning. You tried to soak in every detail - the decoration, the way everyone looked at you with such delight and smiles. But as you reached the aisle, everything else faded away.

Because there HE stood. Jethro. In a perfectly tailored grey suit, looking absolutely divine.

“Is this really happening?” you asked yourself. But yes, every sign pointed to the fact that this wasn't one of your countless dreams, but actual reality. He was truly standing there at the altar, his bright blue eyes fixed on you, waiting.

And he shouldn't have to wait a second longer.

“Let’s go to him,” Ducky whispered. And step by step, to the sound of Bette Midler’s “The Rose,” you walked down the aisle toward Jethro and the altar where he stood.

He, on the other hand, saw things quite differently than you did. Gibbs was oblivious to everything around him except for you. When he saw you, his heart pounded as if it were about to leap out of his chest. It was as if an angel were appearing before him. Finally, his dream was coming true.

As you approached him, the rest of the world simply faded away for him. You were a vision in your sexy white dress. It was off-the-shoulder and form-fitting down to the knees - a mermaid silhouette. You wore your hair half-up, half-down, just the way he likes it, because he loves burying his hands in it when he kisses you - tenderly, passionately, deeply, and intensely - pouring all his love for you into every kiss

But the most beautiful part was how the cut of the dress accentuated your baby bump, revealing your shared happiness. He was so proud of you - and of your children. For him, there was nothing more beautiful in this moment.

Only a few more seconds - and he could finally call you HIS, completely and forever.

(To be continued in Chapter 53.)

---------------------

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @lemmons1998, @mightypocketcow, @doctorwhorocksuniverse-blog, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs, @niqhtvibez, @annieteamedge, @wanniiieeee, @n-o-p-e-never

---------------------

[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 51

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: fluff

No sooner had you stepped inside and the door clicked shut than a barrage of questions hit you.

“What happened?"

“Are you guys okay?"

“What’s the plan now?"

“Do you know anything about Director Shepard?"

“Shhh, shhh, easy now…” Gibbs raised his hands, trying to stem the tide of questions while the others crowded around to hug you.

The joy of seeing the two of you back together was immense, but the weight of Jenny’s disappearance and your unexpected pregnancy still hung heavy in the air like a dark cloud.

That said, the surprise at your baby bump far outweighed any mistrust of Jenny, since no one had known - except for Ducky and the two of you. But of course, despite the chaos, everyone was overjoyed for you.

There was a huge commotion as everyone gathered around, hugging and squeezing you tight over and over again. A million questions were fired at you at once.

“Are you two really together now?” 

“What happened? Are you okay?” 

“Did Jenny have anything to do with the crash?” 

“Are you coming back to the Team?” 

“Are you two staying together for good?”

Feeling a bit overwhelmed and unsure which question to tackle first, you were relieved when your husband finally stepped in. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulled you close, and raised his other hand.

“Shhhhh…..”

The room went silent. He waited a beat, letting the quiet settle, before he started explaining.

“Yes, Y/N is doing fine. There are only three months left until the babies are due. No, we don’t have any names yet. And yes, we are very much together, and that’s not going to change. I'm not letting her go ever again.” He tightened his grip on your waist, his voice dropping an octave.

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"Jenny hired a hitman to kill Y/N. He planted a bomb in the helicopter, which caused it to crash. Y/N was thrown clear of the wreckage, which is the only reason she survived."

Another pause. Then:

"The manhunt for Jenny is underway. But as for whether my wife returns to the Team - that's a decision she’ll make when she’s ready."

You looked at each other lovingly. It was such a sweet, emotional moment that it brought tears to everyone’s eyes without exception.

Noticing the shift in the room, the three men quickly said their goodbyes and headed home. Abby, however, was still squealing with delight and melting at the sight of you and Gibbs together and the way he was looking at you - until Gibbs decided enough was enough. He gently but firmly ushered her out the door so you could finally recover from the journey.

Then you were alone. Just the two of you. Back in his house, which had now truly become a home for both of you. But you weren't entirely alone—and you never would be again. The peace and quiet would soon be over once your twins entered the world.

Finally, your life together with your children could begin, and you were both looking forward to it immensely. While Jethro started on dinner, you began the quiet task of unpacking the suitcases.

Once you had eaten your fill and finished the dishes, you lay arm in arm on the couch watching an old Western. His gaze kept drifting back to your belly. He was so proud of your bump; to him, it symbolized your future and your happiness together.

Instinctively, he pulled you even closer, his hand beginning to caress you. He tenderly kissed your temple, working his way down to that one little spot on your neck he loved so much, where he adored nibbling on your skin.

Once again, his affectionate, sensual nibbling didn't fail to have its effect; you began to grow restless in his arms. With a soft sigh, you arched toward him, your fingertips grazing his broad, hairy chest - the sight and feel of him always turned you on.

“Let’s go upstairs," he whispered into your ear, playfully biting your earlobe to tease you. The gentle kiss he breathed upon it afterward made everything right again.

“I can’t wait,” you whispered against his lips, giving him a loving kiss, and his response was immediate.

He gently pulled away, scooped you up in his arms, and carried you to your bed. The front door was locked, but he wanted to be absolutely sure you wouldn’t be disturbed, so he locked the bedroom door behind you as well.

You made love all night long, unable to get enough of each other. You had kept your feelings a secret from one another for so long that now you couldn't stop showing them, proving them, and showering each other with affection you had both craved for so long. Even then, it was perfectly clear that this would never change.

The following morning, you were still lying there, tangled so closely together that it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began.

Tender, gentle kisses scattered across your face woke you up. Slowly opening your eyes, you saw the most wonderful sight you could imagine - your husband.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispered, giving you another lingering kiss.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“I had an idea,” he murmured.

You couldn't help but giggle. 

“Have you been watching me sleep again?”

Jethro gave a lopsided smile, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah... I couldn't help myself.”

You placed your hand gently against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your palm as you tenderly pressed your lips to his.

“I love you."

"I love you, too.” 

He kissed you again - this time more firmly, more possessively.

When he finally pulled away, he told you about his idea. "I don’t want to wait any longer. Let’s get married again in a week. In Ducky’s garden. With our friends, our colleagues… our family. No undercover roles, no more cover stories. Just us."

He looked deep into your eyes and carefully placed his large, strong hand on your baby bump.

"Just us - and our children. The lives we created together. So that our life as a family can finally, truly begin."

Your face lit up with excitement. 

“Oh, Jethro! Yes! That’s a wonderful idea! I’m sure they’ll all be thrilled and happy to help with the preparations."

You threw your arms around him, and for that moment, the world was the most beautiful place in the universe. 

But Jenny and her unknown plans for revenge hung over your happiness like the sword of Damocles.

(To be continued in Chapter 52.)

-------------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @lemmons1998, @mightypocketcow, @doctorwhorocksuniverse-blog, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs, @niqhtvibez, @annieteamedge, @wanniiieeee, @n-o-p-e-never

-------------------

[crazycurly-77]

100 little Riddles

Yeah!!!! I'm so excited!!! This is my hundredth story for Gibbs - my dream comes true. Thanks to you all for joining me on this voyage. 🥰🥰❤️🥳🥳

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: fluff, romance

Your POV

The morning at NCIS headquarters smelled like always: of stale floor cleaner, paper, the metallic scent of gun oil, and - right next to me - the best coffee in all of D.C. I sat at my desk, staring at the monitor, waiting for the world to explode.

Instead, I found a piece of paper.

It was lying right on my keyboard. A plain white slip of paper with this information written on it in handwriting that looked old-school and disciplined:

"You will receive 100 more messages. Figure out what they mean. No tech. Find out who I am."

"DiNozzo!" I hissed.

Tony flinched so violently he almost fell off his chair.

"I didn't do anything! I swear, the thing with McGee's keyboard was an accident!"

“Did you put this here?” I asked, holding up the note.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Nope. Looks like a scavenger hunt. Pretty old-fashioned. Not my style.”

I just looked at him. Then I turned and looked at Gibbs’ desk. The boss was staring at his screen, his face like it had been carved from granite. He didn’t even notice me looking at him. Or at least he pretended to.

Gibbs’ POV

I looked at you. Out of the corner of my eye, of course. You were holding the first note and looked as bewildered as I’d hoped. Your hair fell slightly across your face as you turned the note this way and that, as if there were an invisible ink that only appeared under UV light.

Rule #3: Never believe what you’re told. Check it out.

You would check it out. You were good at it. Too good for my own good. I sipped my coffee and felt that rare, almost forgotten ache in my chest. 100 notes. It was insane. It was sentimental. It was totally not my style. And that's precisely why she would never guess they were from me. At least not right away.

The search begins

"It wasn't long before note number one surfaced. It was plastered to the inside of my closet, saying “S'agapo”.

I stared at it. “S-a-g-a-p-o?” (Greek), I murmured. What was it? A code? A name? A blood pressure medication?

I was about to pull out my phone when the first message came flooding back: No technology.

For the next three days, my life became a bizarre game of hide-and-seek. I found notes in my desk drawer, in my coat pocket, even one inside my ID badge.

The messages grew increasingly cryptic:

(Note #2) Taku (Maori)

(Note #3) Ke a rata (Sotho)

(Note #4) Nalingi yo (Lingala)

(Note #5) Ek het jou lief (Afrikaans)

I spent my lunch breaks in the old library in the basement, poring over thick dictionaries and phrasebooks. My head was spinning.

"What are you reading?" a voice growled behind me.

I jumped. Gibbs was standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand, his gaze unfathomable.

"Nothing," I said quickly, closing the book. "Just... a hobby."

"A hobby," he repeated dryly. He leaned forward, so close that I caught the smell of sawdust that always seemed to surround him. "You seem stressed. Rule 10, kid."

"Always carry a knife?" I asked, confused.

"No," he grinned that crooked, almost invisible grin. "Never take a case personally."

He turned and left. I stared after him. Had he just smiled?

Gibbs' POV

You were going crazy. I saw you in the library. You looked so determined trying to translate Lingala. I could have made it easier for you, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, the look on your face when you found a new note was priceless. A mixture of triumph and pure frustration.

I placed the next ones in quick succession.

(Note #6) Inuuinniq (Inuktitut) - In your glove compartment.

(Note #7) Anh yêu em (Vietnamese) - At the coffee machine, right on the 'black' button.

(Note #8) Wo ai ni (Mandarin) - Among the files of the current case.

I watched you sitting at your desk, writing lists. You were trying to discern a pattern. Geographical? Alphabetical? You couldn't figure it out.

"Do you need help?" McGee asked on day five.

"No!" you retorted. "I can handle this on my own."

"Sarcasm is the refuge of the helpless," I remarked in passing.

You gave me a look that would have killed a weaker man.

"Says the man who speaks in riddles, Gibbs."

"I don't speak in riddles. I'm just making sure you're paying attention.”

The Flood of Languages

The weeks passed, and the slips of paper became a constant in my life. I kept them in a small box in my desk drawer. It was as if someone were drawing a secret map of my surroundings.

The list in my notebook grew, and I spent nights trying to match the terms. It was an insane mix of dialects and extinct languages.

(Note #9) Tave myliu (Lithuanian) – Behind the mirror in the ladies' room.

(Note #10) Amo-te (Portuguese) – On the floor of my car.

I was getting nervous. Who was getting into my car? Who knew when I used the stapler? I started to see the office in a different light. McGee? Too shy for such a worldly gesture. Tony? Too loud; he would have been bragging about it by now.

(Note #11) Volim te (Croatian)

(Note #12) Maite zaitut (Basque)

(Note #13) Milujem ťa (Slovak)

(Note #14) Jeg elsker dig (Danish)

(Note #15) Szeretlek (Hungarian)

The languages became more exotic, the locations more brazen. I found note number fifteen inside my work phone when I picked up the receiver.

"What's a 'Szeretlek'?" I asked.

Tony looked up. "Sounds like a vacation destination. Or an exotic disease."

Gibbs just snorted into his coffee.

I started copying the notes and pinning them to a bulletin board in my apartment. My head was spinning. Were they threats? Sleeper Agent Codes?

(Note #16) Rakastan sinua (Finnish)

(Note #17) Te iubesc (Romanian)

(Note #18) ỉnk mr.k (Ancient Egyptian)

(Note #19) Eg elski teg (Faroese)

(Note #20) Bi chamd khairtai (Mongolian)

After the first twenty notes had turned my life into a linguistic minefield, I began eyeing every object in the NCIS building with suspicion. Whoever was playing this game was a ghost.

(Note #21) Kuv hlub koj (Hmong)

(Note #22) Mahal kita (Filipino)

(Note #23) Saya sayang kamu (Malay)

(Note #24) Abhi-pay-cha-ya (Sanskrit)

(Note #25) Thane piyar karu chu (Gujarati)

(Note #26) Njan ninnu premikkunnu (Malayalam)

(Note #27) Naanu ninnanu preethisuthene (Kannada)

(Note #28) I mog di (Bavarian)

(Note #29) Obicham te (Bulgarian)

(Note #30) Te sakam (Macedonian)

I found this note in the surveillance room. I stared at the letters, trying to form them in my mind. "Te... sakam?" It sounded gentle. I crept back to my desk and glanced sideways at Gibbs. He was typing a report, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He seemed so focused that I almost dismissed the thought that he might be behind it. Almost.

(Note #31) Ti volim (Serbian)

(Note #32) Ljubim te (Slovenian)

(Note #33) Kocham cię (Polish)

(Note #34) Miluji tě (Czech)

(Note #35) Es tevi mīlu (Latvian)

(Note #36) Ma armastan sind (Estonian)

(Note #37) Ég elska þig (Icelandic)

(Note #38) Jeg elsker deg (Norwegian)

(Note #39) Jag älskar dig (Swedish)

(Note #40) Ik hou van jou (Dutch)

"Who's doing this?" I whispered one evening when only Gibbs and I were left in the office. The darkness outside pressed against the windows.

Gibbs was standing at his desk, packing his things. “Maybe someone who wants to tell you something they can’t say out loud.”

“But why so complicated? Why 100 languages?”

Gibbs stepped closer. He was now standing directly in front of my desk. “Maybe because one language isn’t enough to express what he feels.”

My heart skipped a beat. Was that a hint? No. That was Gibbs. He was sarcastic, a loner, he built boats in the basement and drank coffee like water. He wasn’t the type for romantic notes.

Or was he?

(Note #41) Bahibak (Arabic)

(Note #42) Ani ohev otach (Hebrew)

(Note #43) Seni seviyorum (Turkish)

(Note #44) Ez te hez dikim (Kurdish)

(Note #45) Doostat daram (Persian)

As I pulled this note out from under my keyboard, I felt a glance and looked up. Gibbs stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching me. His face, as always, was a mask of granite.

"Problems?" he asked curtly.

"Just... a puzzle, Boss."

He moved closer, so close I could feel his body heat. He leaned over me, his hand almost brushing mine as he reached for a file.

"Sometimes," he said softly, his voice a deep growl, "you have to stop searching to find."

Before I could reply, he was gone. My heart was pounding in my chest.

(Note #46) M'bi fe (Bambara)

(Note #47) Jarabi (Dioula)

(Note #48) Wa m'bi fe (Malinke)

(Note #49) N'zila (Twi)

(Note #50) Me dɔ wo (Fante)

I was halfway through. And I wasn't a bit wiser.

"You’re looking for patterns where there aren't any,” Gibbs grunted as he walked past.

"There is a pattern, Gibbs!” I called after him. “They’re messages!”

He stopped, turned slowly, and arched an eyebrow. "Maybe someone's trying to tell you you're spending too much time with paper.”

Gibbs' POV

You started to suspect me. I saw it in your eyes. Every time I brought you coffee or handed you a file, your fingers would search for a piece of paper.

Once I was careless. I slipped note number sixty into your lunch while you looked away for a moment.

(Note #51) Ayor anosh'ni (Navajo)

(Note #52) I dhou we (Cherokee)

(Note #53) Qanta munani (Quechua)

(Note #54) Rohayhu (Guarani)

(Note #55) Wayu (Aymara)

(Note #56) Munakuy (Inca dialect)

(Note #57) Я тебя люблю (Russian)

(Note #58) Alofa au ia te oe (Samoan)

(Note #59) Faka'apa'apa (Tongan)

(Note #60) Mon amé (Haitian Creole)

You took a bite of your sandwich and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the lettuce. You laughed. It was a genuine, bright laugh that echoed through the room.

“Enjoying your meal?” I asked dryly.

“Very informative, Gibbs. Did you know my salad speaks Haitian today?”

I just shrugged. “Maybe it’s organic. More educated.”

You shook your head and smoothed out the note. Your fingers were trembling just a little. You suspected it. But you weren't sure. Not yet.

The finale is drawing near

I became obsessed, searching everywhere. The languages became more and more beautiful, more melodic, even if I could barely pronounce them.

(Note #61) Tha gaol agam ort (Scottish Gaelic)

(Note #62) Grá agam ort (Irish)

(Note #63) Rwy'n dy garu di (Welsh)

(Note #64) Kernow (Cornish)

(Note #65) M'e d'e (Breton)

(Note #66) T'estimo (Catalan)

In the middle of the third week, I found "T'estimo" sewn into the lining of my coat, right over my heart. My heart skipped a beat. This was no longer a coincidence. Someone had to have been physically very close to me to place it there. I looked around the office. McGee was buried in his coding, Tony was flirting with a witness, and Gibbs was nowhere to be seen. He was like a shadow.

(Note #67) Quérote (Galician)

(Note #68) Maite zaitut (Basque)

(Note #69) Aimi (Occitan)

(Note #70) I't bieu (Corsican)

(Note #71) Amo-te (Portuguese)

(Note #72) Mi stimabo (Papiamento)

(Note #73) Mi lobi i (Sranantongo)

I started testing Gibbs. Whenever I found a note, I’d place it provocatively in plain sight on my desk.

When I found “Mi lobi i” (Sranantongo) - stuck to the underside of my desk chair - I shoved it right under Gibbs’ nose.

“Do you know what this means, Boss?”

He took the slip of paper, his fingers brushing mine for just a brief moment. A jolt of electricity shot through me.

He stared at the paper, then looked me straight in the eye. “It means you’re neglecting your work. Are you looking for evidence or for poetry?”

“Maybe the poetry is the evidence,” I retorted boldly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Only for a fraction of a second.

(Note #74) Mi ta stima bo (Bonaire)

(Note #75) Ayay (Tetum)

(Note #76) Inuuinniq (Greenlandic)

(Note #77) S'ayapo (Cypriot)

(Note #78) Te amo (Latin - Classical)

(Note #79) Luv'ee (Hawaiian)

(Note #80) M'bi fe (West African)

Only twenty were left. I could feel the circle closing. The places where I found them were becoming more personal. Inside my favorite book on my nightstand at home (how had they even gotten into my apartment?), in my purse, even inside a sealed evidence bag that only I was authorized to open.

(Note #81) Wo ai ni (Cantonese)

(Note #82) Daisuki desu (Japanese)

(Note #83) Saranghae (Korean)

(Note #84) Chan rak khun (Thai)

(Note #85) S'ayapo (Ancient Greek)

(Note #86) A-mi-re (Esperanto)

The hunt became physically exhausting. I searched in evidence bags, under car tires, and in coffee filters.

One evening, while we were at a crime scene in the woods, I found “A-mi-re” (Esperanto) carved into the bark of a tree, right next to the yellow police tape.

“Gibbs, do you see that?” I called out.

He stepped up behind me, his body almost pressed against my back. “What?”

“This! It’s Esperanto!”

He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear. “Maybe the tree is a romantic.”

“It’s not funny! Who is doing this?”

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe someone who isn’t afraid of the truth. Only of your reaction.”

(Note #87) Qanta munani (Quechua)

(Note #88) Nalingi yo (Congo)

(Note #89) M'bi fe (Mali)

I was on note number eighty-nine by now. I had made a list: Geographical? No. Chronological? No. It felt as if someone were circling the entire globe just to arrive at my doorstep.

I was getting thin-skinned. I suspected everyone. Even the mailman.

“You look pale,” Gibbs said one morning, setting a cup of coffee down in front of me. Black. Strong. With milk.

“I’m not sleeping much. These words... they don’t make any sense.”

“Maybe you’re trying to understand them with your head,” he said calmly. “Try using your gut.”

(Note #90) M’bi fe (Senegal)

(Note #91) main tumse pyaar karta hoon (Hindi)

(Note #92) Nakupenda (Swahili)

(Note #93) Ich hab dich gern (Swiss German)

(Note #94) Aku cinta kamu (Indonesian)

(Note #95) Ég elska þig (Icelandic)

And then they came. The final five. The languages I recognized instantly.

I was sitting alone in the office that evening. Gibbs was already gone - or so I thought.

A small stack was lying on my chair.

(Note #96) Te amo (Spanish)

(Note #97) Je t’aime (French)

(Note #98) Ti amo (Italian) (Wait, I knew that one… didn't I?) - No, it was Italian, but was it really? I was unsure.

(Note #99) Ich liebe dich (German)

I stared at the last note, which was still face down. My hands were shaking violently now. Ninety-nine messages. Ninety-nine times “I love you.”

It wasn't code. It was a confession.

But from whom? Tony? No, too much effort. McGee? Too shy. Palmer? Too taken.

I sat there, staring at it. Suddenly, I felt a rush of heat. The handwriting. Those precise, almost harsh lines that nonetheless carried so much emotion in the curves of the letters.

I knew this handwriting. I saw it every day on mission briefings and case reports.

A shiver ran down my spine. Could it be? The man who wouldn't say three words in a row if it wasn't about a case? The man who loved rules above all else?

There was only one man persistent enough to learn a hundred languages - or at least research them - who had access to my apartment, and who knew that I hated technology when it came to the things that truly mattered.

My stomach did a somersault. These weren't codes. This wasn't a case. It was a conquest. And I was only just beginning to stop fighting it - to finally raise the white flag of surrender.

It wasn't a prank.

It wasn't a code.

It was a declaration of love. In a hundred different ways.

And suddenly I also knew why technology wasn't allowed.

Because it wasn't about translating.

It was about feeling.

And I knew that the last one - the hundredth note - would upend the world as I knew it.

I turned it over.

It wasn’t like the others. It was larger. And it was in English.

I love you.

Below it, in the same disciplined handwriting, was written:

"Come down to the basement and bring the bourbon.”

The Confession

I was nearly running. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. As I hurried down the basement stairs of Gibbs’ house, I heard the rhythmic sound of a plane on wood.

Gibbs was standing by his boat. He wore an old T-shirt, and his hair was dusted with sawdust. He didn't look up as I entered.

“It took you a hundred languages, Gibbs?” I asked, my voice slightly unsteady.

He paused, set the plane aside, and turned around slowly. His gaze was intense, blue, and so full of warmth that my knees nearly buckled.

"99," he corrected me. "The last one was my own."

"Why?" I whispered.

He stepped closer, took the bottle of bourbon from my hand, and placed it on the workbench without taking his eyes off me.

“Because I’m a stubborn old man. And because I knew you’d only listen if I challenged you properly.”

“You could have just said it.”

He chuckled softly, a deep, throaty sound. “Rule number four: The best way to keep a secret is to tell everyone, but in a way no one understands.”

“I get it,” I said, taking the last step toward him.

He placed his hands on my face. His skin was rough from the wood and from working, but his touch was incredibly gentle. “It’s about time.”

“Sarcastic bastard,” I whispered.

“Stubborn investigator,” he replied, before kissing me.

It tasted of coffee, of freedom, and of the end of a very long search. But also of all the unspoken words and feelings between us, now clear and open before us.

A Look Ahead

A year later, there were no more notes. At least not every day.

Sometimes I'd still find a note in my lunchbox - usually a reminder of Rule 12 (Never date a co-worker… “unless you absolutely have to,” he'd added by hand).

Our future together wasn't always easy. There were still cases that kept us up at night, and Gibbs was still Gibbs - a man with too many rules and a basement full of wood. But when we sat together in front of the fireplace in the evenings, him with his bourbon and me with a book, I knew that the 100 languages were just the beginning.

We had found our own language. One that didn't need words. Just a glance, a quick nod, and the knowledge that we were both finally home.

And Gibbs? He was already building a new boat. He said it was for us. I believed him. After all, he'd promised me he'd never write 100 notes again.

“Although,” he said one evening with a twinkle in his eye, “there are still a few dialects in Southeast Asia that we haven’t covered yet…”

I threw a pillow at him and he caught it, laughing.

Happy ending? No. A damn good start.

The End

-------------------

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

-------------------

[mrs-pride-archer-gibbs]

Interesting story. I love how Gibbs said I love you in hundred languages. That man is a romantic.

@breakthestereo @gridmouse86

[crazycurly-77]

@mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

Thank you!!!! Yeah, I love it too. It was a spontaneous idea because of the 100, but I think if he decides to let a woman know about his feelings he's either direct or he makes her solving a riddles.

[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 50

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: fluff

He looked at you, surprised. Then, he gently pressed his lips against yours, smiled, and whispered.

"We aren't divorced."

He leaned in to kiss you again, but you turned your head away. "What do you mean? I signed the papers!"

He smiled. "That’s true. But I tore them up."

Your eyes widened. "That means..."

Now he laughed. "It means we’re still married, Mrs. Gibbs."

You stared at him, speechless. You couldn't believe it. He winked.

"There is no one else, and I don’t want anyone else. I only want you. Like I confessed to you that night... I love you, and for me, there will never be anyone but you.”

You continued to stare at him in silence. You needed a moment for it all to sink in. He sighed.

"I was desperate, and I longed for you so much that I simply couldn't let you go."

That broke the spell. In the next heartbeat, you threw yourself at your husband, hugging him as tightly as you could. You covered his face with kisses, confessing your love over and over again.

"I love you. I love you so much."

He laughed, playfully trying to defend himself. 

When he finally managed to catch your wrists, he gently rolled on top of you, looked deep into your eyes, and asked:

"Will you marry me? Again?"

Was he actually serious? His eyes searched yours, pleading as if his life depended on your answer, and your heart just melted.

"YES!!!!" you answered, beaming with joy.

His reaction was instant. Radiating happiness, he silenced you with a passionate kiss that nearly made you lose your mind.

"Let’s go back to D.C. and get married there. In our garden, with all our friends. What do you think?"

Jethro was practically bursting with excitement. He was so worked up that you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"That sounds wonderful. Let’s do it!"

This time, you were the one to kiss him passionately. This incredible, breathtaking man - YOUR husband.

Floating on cloud nine, you held each other close, trading soft, loving kisses. But they weren't just kisses; every single one was a declaration of love. You spent hours lost in each other, making up for lost time, unable to bear even a moment of separation.

Eventually, hunger was the only thing capable of dragging you out of your paradise. You got dressed - punctuated by constant kisses - and went out for a meal. Sitting there holding hands like a couple of lovestruck teenagers, you looked so happy that everyone in the room couldn't help but envy you.

But Jethro remained true to himself, rough edges, sarcasm, and all. Only with you was he noticeably softer, and whenever you were together, he kept a constant hand on you - as if he were afraid you might vanish the second he let go.

A few days later, the time had finally come. The doctor cleared you for travel, and Jethro took a day off for the move back home - to Washington, D.C., and back to your house. He had already packed everything and sent it ahead, and Abby, Ducky, Tony, and McGee had enthusiastically agreed to do the unpacking to take the pressure off you - and to make sure the Boss could focus entirely on taking care of you.

But that wasn't all - they wanted to surprise you. They decorated the entire house with colorful garlands and flowers they were sure you’d love. Above the door, they hung a "Welcome Home" banner, got a cake and some champagne for a toast, and waited for you in the living room. Abby stood by the window, keeping a lookout.

It wasn't long before Gibbs, completely unsuspecting, parked the car in front of the house and helped you out. You were both thrilled about the pregnancy, but your steadily growing bump was becoming more and more of a challenge for you.

"I feel like a clumsy whale," you muttered in frustration.

But your husband took you tenderly in his arms, kissed you, and whispered, "You're the most beautiful whale I've ever seen."

Laughing, you playfully punched his shoulder, your bad mood instantly vanishing.

"Come on, let’s go inside. It’s been a long day."

He was right. It had been a very long day, and you were both completely exhausted. Gibbs grabbed the suitcases from the trunk, and together you headed toward the front door. Just a few more feet…

...when suddenly, the door flew open and Abby came charging toward you.

"Welcome back!!!!" she shouted, throwing herself into Gibbs' arms, who dropped the suitcases just in time to catch her.

“Hmph. Abby. Air,” he wheezed, as she was practically squeezing the life out of him.

"Oh, right. Yeah," she said, letting him go, only to spin around and throw herself into your arms instead.

You caught her, but just as quickly as she’d hugged you, she pulled back. She looked down at you in astonishment, then, looking completely mesmerized, she reached out in slow motion to touch your clearly rounded belly.

She didn't say a word; she just looked back and forth between you and Jethro with a questioning expression. Jethro, however, was busy greeting Ducky, Tony, and McGee.

So, she turned her silent gaze back to you. Her eyes grew wider and wider. You couldn't help but smile.

“Our family is about to get a little bigger.”

"You mean… Baby Gibbs…?"

“Yes. Twins, actually."

For a second, there was total silence - then Abby let out a loud squeal of joy.

"YESSSS!!!! Baby Gibbs!!!! No wait, there are two… TWO Baby Gibbs!!!"

There was no stopping her now. It was a hilarious sight as she leaned down and began talking intensely to your belly. You laughed so hard that tears came to your eyes, while your husband… 

…he just rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a small, genuine smile full of pride and love for you and your children.

Ducky stepped over and gently pulled Abby away from you. "Let them get inside the house first, Abby. There’s obviously a great deal to catch up on.”

(To be continued in Chapter 51.)

---------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

Back to the overview of this story

Back to the main Masterlist

Back to the alternative Masterlist

---------------

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @lemmons1998, @mightypocketcow, @doctorwhorocksuniverse-blog, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs, @niqhtvibez, @annieteamedge, @wanniiieeee, @n-o-p-e-never

---------------

[mrs-pride-archer-gibbs]

I loved how Gibbs and the reader love on each other. Abby can possibly be a godmother to the children.

@breakthestereo @gridmouse86

[crazycurly-77]

@mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

Thank you! We'll see about that 😄😉

[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 50

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: fluff

He looked at you, surprised. Then, he gently pressed his lips against yours, smiled, and whispered.

"We aren't divorced."

He leaned in to kiss you again, but you turned your head away. "What do you mean? I signed the papers!"

He smiled. "That’s true. But I tore them up."

Your eyes widened. "That means..."

Now he laughed. "It means we’re still married, Mrs. Gibbs."

You stared at him, speechless. You couldn't believe it. He winked.

"There is no one else, and I don’t want anyone else. I only want you. Like I confessed to you that night... I love you, and for me, there will never be anyone but you.”

You continued to stare at him in silence. You needed a moment for it all to sink in. He sighed.

"I was desperate, and I longed for you so much that I simply couldn't let you go."

That broke the spell. In the next heartbeat, you threw yourself at your husband, hugging him as tightly as you could. You covered his face with kisses, confessing your love over and over again.

"I love you. I love you so much."

He laughed, playfully trying to defend himself. 

When he finally managed to catch your wrists, he gently rolled on top of you, looked deep into your eyes, and asked:

"Will you marry me? Again?"

Was he actually serious? His eyes searched yours, pleading as if his life depended on your answer, and your heart just melted.

"YES!!!!" you answered, beaming with joy.

His reaction was instant. Radiating happiness, he silenced you with a passionate kiss that nearly made you lose your mind.

"Let’s go back to D.C. and get married there. In our garden, with all our friends. What do you think?"

Jethro was practically bursting with excitement. He was so worked up that you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"That sounds wonderful. Let’s do it!"

This time, you were the one to kiss him passionately. This incredible, breathtaking man - YOUR husband.

Floating on cloud nine, you held each other close, trading soft, loving kisses. But they weren't just kisses; every single one was a declaration of love. You spent hours lost in each other, making up for lost time, unable to bear even a moment of separation.

Eventually, hunger was the only thing capable of dragging you out of your paradise. You got dressed - punctuated by constant kisses - and went out for a meal. Sitting there holding hands like a couple of lovestruck teenagers, you looked so happy that everyone in the room couldn't help but envy you.

But Jethro remained true to himself, rough edges, sarcasm, and all. Only with you was he noticeably softer, and whenever you were together, he kept a constant hand on you - as if he were afraid you might vanish the second he let go.

A few days later, the time had finally come. The doctor cleared you for travel, and Jethro took a day off for the move back home - to Washington, D.C., and back to your house. He had already packed everything and sent it ahead, and Abby, Ducky, Tony, and McGee had enthusiastically agreed to do the unpacking to take the pressure off you - and to make sure the Boss could focus entirely on taking care of you.

But that wasn't all - they wanted to surprise you. They decorated the entire house with colorful garlands and flowers they were sure you’d love. Above the door, they hung a "Welcome Home" banner, got a cake and some champagne for a toast, and waited for you in the living room. Abby stood by the window, keeping a lookout.

It wasn't long before Gibbs, completely unsuspecting, parked the car in front of the house and helped you out. You were both thrilled about the pregnancy, but your steadily growing bump was becoming more and more of a challenge for you.

"I feel like a clumsy whale," you muttered in frustration.

But your husband took you tenderly in his arms, kissed you, and whispered, "You're the most beautiful whale I've ever seen."

Laughing, you playfully punched his shoulder, your bad mood instantly vanishing.

"Come on, let’s go inside. It’s been a long day."

He was right. It had been a very long day, and you were both completely exhausted. Gibbs grabbed the suitcases from the trunk, and together you headed toward the front door. Just a few more feet…

...when suddenly, the door flew open and Abby came charging toward you.

"Welcome back!!!!" she shouted, throwing herself into Gibbs' arms, who dropped the suitcases just in time to catch her.

“Hmph. Abby. Air,” he wheezed, as she was practically squeezing the life out of him.

"Oh, right. Yeah," she said, letting him go, only to spin around and throw herself into your arms instead.

You caught her, but just as quickly as she’d hugged you, she pulled back. She looked down at you in astonishment, then, looking completely mesmerized, she reached out in slow motion to touch your clearly rounded belly.

She didn't say a word; she just looked back and forth between you and Jethro with a questioning expression. Jethro, however, was busy greeting Ducky, Tony, and McGee.

So, she turned her silent gaze back to you. Her eyes grew wider and wider. You couldn't help but smile.

“Our family is about to get a little bigger.”

"You mean… Baby Gibbs…?"

“Yes. Twins, actually."

For a second, there was total silence - then Abby let out a loud squeal of joy.

"YESSSS!!!! Baby Gibbs!!!! No wait, there are two… TWO Baby Gibbs!!!"

There was no stopping her now. It was a hilarious sight as she leaned down and began talking intensely to your belly. You laughed so hard that tears came to your eyes, while your husband… 

…he just rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a small, genuine smile full of pride and love for you and your children.

Ducky stepped over and gently pulled Abby away from you. "Let them get inside the house first, Abby. There’s obviously a great deal to catch up on.”

(To be continued in Chapter 51.)

---------------

Here you will find the other chapters of this story

Back to the overview of this story

Back to the main Masterlist

Back to the alternative Masterlist

---------------

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @lemmons1998, @mightypocketcow, @doctorwhorocksuniverse-blog, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs, @niqhtvibez, @annieteamedge, @wanniiieeee, @n-o-p-e-never

---------------

[crazycurly-77]

100 little Riddles

Yeah!!!! I'm so excited!!! This is my hundredth story for Gibbs - my dream comes true. Thanks to you all for joining me on this voyage. 🥰🥰❤️🥳🥳

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Story: One day, you find the following message on your keyboard:

"You will receive 100 more messages. Find out what they mean. No tech. Find out who I am."

You set out on your quest...and the answer changes your entire world.

Chapters: 1 (one shots)

Warnings: fluff, romance

Read the story "100 little Riddles"

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

-----------------

[crazycurly-77]

100 little Riddles

Yeah!!!! I'm so excited!!! This is my hundredth story for Gibbs - my dream comes true. Thanks to you all for joining me on this voyage. 🥰🥰❤️🥳🥳

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: fluff, romance

Your POV

The morning at NCIS headquarters smelled like always: of stale floor cleaner, paper, the metallic scent of gun oil, and - right next to me - the best coffee in all of D.C. I sat at my desk, staring at the monitor, waiting for the world to explode.

Instead, I found a piece of paper.

It was lying right on my keyboard. A plain white slip of paper with this information written on it in handwriting that looked old-school and disciplined:

"You will receive 100 more messages. Figure out what they mean. No tech. Find out who I am."

"DiNozzo!" I hissed.

Tony flinched so violently he almost fell off his chair.

"I didn't do anything! I swear, the thing with McGee's keyboard was an accident!"

“Did you put this here?” I asked, holding up the note.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Nope. Looks like a scavenger hunt. Pretty old-fashioned. Not my style.”

I just looked at him. Then I turned and looked at Gibbs’ desk. The boss was staring at his screen, his face like it had been carved from granite. He didn’t even notice me looking at him. Or at least he pretended to.

Gibbs’ POV

I looked at you. Out of the corner of my eye, of course. You were holding the first note and looked as bewildered as I’d hoped. Your hair fell slightly across your face as you turned the note this way and that, as if there were an invisible ink that only appeared under UV light.

Rule #3: Never believe what you’re told. Check it out.

You would check it out. You were good at it. Too good for my own good. I sipped my coffee and felt that rare, almost forgotten ache in my chest. 100 notes. It was insane. It was sentimental. It was totally not my style. And that's precisely why she would never guess they were from me. At least not right away.

The search begins

"It wasn't long before note number one surfaced. It was plastered to the inside of my closet, saying “S'agapo”.

I stared at it. “S-a-g-a-p-o?” (Greek), I murmured. What was it? A code? A name? A blood pressure medication?

I was about to pull out my phone when the first message came flooding back: No technology.

For the next three days, my life became a bizarre game of hide-and-seek. I found notes in my desk drawer, in my coat pocket, even one inside my ID badge.

The messages grew increasingly cryptic:

(Note #2) Taku (Maori)

(Note #3) Ke a rata (Sotho)

(Note #4) Nalingi yo (Lingala)

(Note #5) Ek het jou lief (Afrikaans)

I spent my lunch breaks in the old library in the basement, poring over thick dictionaries and phrasebooks. My head was spinning.

"What are you reading?" a voice growled behind me.

I jumped. Gibbs was standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand, his gaze unfathomable.

"Nothing," I said quickly, closing the book. "Just... a hobby."

"A hobby," he repeated dryly. He leaned forward, so close that I caught the smell of sawdust that always seemed to surround him. "You seem stressed. Rule 10, kid."

"Always carry a knife?" I asked, confused.

"No," he grinned that crooked, almost invisible grin. "Never take a case personally."

He turned and left. I stared after him. Had he just smiled?

Gibbs' POV

You were going crazy. I saw you in the library. You looked so determined trying to translate Lingala. I could have made it easier for you, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, the look on your face when you found a new note was priceless. A mixture of triumph and pure frustration.

I placed the next ones in quick succession.

(Note #6) Inuuinniq (Inuktitut) - In your glove compartment.

(Note #7) Anh yêu em (Vietnamese) - At the coffee machine, right on the 'black' button.

(Note #8) Wo ai ni (Mandarin) - Among the files of the current case.

I watched you sitting at your desk, writing lists. You were trying to discern a pattern. Geographical? Alphabetical? You couldn't figure it out.

"Do you need help?" McGee asked on day five.

"No!" you retorted. "I can handle this on my own."

"Sarcasm is the refuge of the helpless," I remarked in passing.

You gave me a look that would have killed a weaker man.

"Says the man who speaks in riddles, Gibbs."

"I don't speak in riddles. I'm just making sure you're paying attention.”

The Flood of Languages

The weeks passed, and the slips of paper became a constant in my life. I kept them in a small box in my desk drawer. It was as if someone were drawing a secret map of my surroundings.

The list in my notebook grew, and I spent nights trying to match the terms. It was an insane mix of dialects and extinct languages.

(Note #9) Tave myliu (Lithuanian) – Behind the mirror in the ladies' room.

(Note #10) Amo-te (Portuguese) – On the floor of my car.

I was getting nervous. Who was getting into my car? Who knew when I used the stapler? I started to see the office in a different light. McGee? Too shy for such a worldly gesture. Tony? Too loud; he would have been bragging about it by now.

(Note #11) Volim te (Croatian)

(Note #12) Maite zaitut (Basque)

(Note #13) Milujem ťa (Slovak)

(Note #14) Jeg elsker dig (Danish)

(Note #15) Szeretlek (Hungarian)

The languages became more exotic, the locations more brazen. I found note number fifteen inside my work phone when I picked up the receiver.

"What's a 'Szeretlek'?" I asked.

Tony looked up. "Sounds like a vacation destination. Or an exotic disease."

Gibbs just snorted into his coffee.

I started copying the notes and pinning them to a bulletin board in my apartment. My head was spinning. Were they threats? Sleeper Agent Codes?

(Note #16) Rakastan sinua (Finnish)

(Note #17) Te iubesc (Romanian)

(Note #18) ỉnk mr.k (Ancient Egyptian)

(Note #19) Eg elski teg (Faroese)

(Note #20) Bi chamd khairtai (Mongolian)

After the first twenty notes had turned my life into a linguistic minefield, I began eyeing every object in the NCIS building with suspicion. Whoever was playing this game was a ghost.

(Note #21) Kuv hlub koj (Hmong)

(Note #22) Mahal kita (Filipino)

(Note #23) Saya sayang kamu (Malay)

(Note #24) Abhi-pay-cha-ya (Sanskrit)

(Note #25) Thane piyar karu chu (Gujarati)

(Note #26) Njan ninnu premikkunnu (Malayalam)

(Note #27) Naanu ninnanu preethisuthene (Kannada)

(Note #28) I mog di (Bavarian)

(Note #29) Obicham te (Bulgarian)

(Note #30) Te sakam (Macedonian)

I found this note in the surveillance room. I stared at the letters, trying to form them in my mind. "Te... sakam?" It sounded gentle. I crept back to my desk and glanced sideways at Gibbs. He was typing a report, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He seemed so focused that I almost dismissed the thought that he might be behind it. Almost.

(Note #31) Ti volim (Serbian)

(Note #32) Ljubim te (Slovenian)

(Note #33) Kocham cię (Polish)

(Note #34) Miluji tě (Czech)

(Note #35) Es tevi mīlu (Latvian)

(Note #36) Ma armastan sind (Estonian)

(Note #37) Ég elska þig (Icelandic)

(Note #38) Jeg elsker deg (Norwegian)

(Note #39) Jag älskar dig (Swedish)

(Note #40) Ik hou van jou (Dutch)

"Who's doing this?" I whispered one evening when only Gibbs and I were left in the office. The darkness outside pressed against the windows.

Gibbs was standing at his desk, packing his things. “Maybe someone who wants to tell you something they can’t say out loud.”

“But why so complicated? Why 100 languages?”

Gibbs stepped closer. He was now standing directly in front of my desk. “Maybe because one language isn’t enough to express what he feels.”

My heart skipped a beat. Was that a hint? No. That was Gibbs. He was sarcastic, a loner, he built boats in the basement and drank coffee like water. He wasn’t the type for romantic notes.

Or was he?

(Note #41) Bahibak (Arabic)

(Note #42) Ani ohev otach (Hebrew)

(Note #43) Seni seviyorum (Turkish)

(Note #44) Ez te hez dikim (Kurdish)

(Note #45) Doostat daram (Persian)

As I pulled this note out from under my keyboard, I felt a glance and looked up. Gibbs stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching me. His face, as always, was a mask of granite.

"Problems?" he asked curtly.

"Just... a puzzle, Boss."

He moved closer, so close I could feel his body heat. He leaned over me, his hand almost brushing mine as he reached for a file.

"Sometimes," he said softly, his voice a deep growl, "you have to stop searching to find."

Before I could reply, he was gone. My heart was pounding in my chest.

(Note #46) M'bi fe (Bambara)

(Note #47) Jarabi (Dioula)

(Note #48) Wa m'bi fe (Malinke)

(Note #49) N'zila (Twi)

(Note #50) Me dɔ wo (Fante)

I was halfway through. And I wasn't a bit wiser.

"You’re looking for patterns where there aren't any,” Gibbs grunted as he walked past.

"There is a pattern, Gibbs!” I called after him. “They’re messages!”

He stopped, turned slowly, and arched an eyebrow. "Maybe someone's trying to tell you you're spending too much time with paper.”

Gibbs' POV

You started to suspect me. I saw it in your eyes. Every time I brought you coffee or handed you a file, your fingers would search for a piece of paper.

Once I was careless. I slipped note number sixty into your lunch while you looked away for a moment.

(Note #51) Ayor anosh'ni (Navajo)

(Note #52) I dhou we (Cherokee)

(Note #53) Qanta munani (Quechua)

(Note #54) Rohayhu (Guarani)

(Note #55) Wayu (Aymara)

(Note #56) Munakuy (Inca dialect)

(Note #57) Я тебя люблю (Russian)

(Note #58) Alofa au ia te oe (Samoan)

(Note #59) Faka'apa'apa (Tongan)

(Note #60) Mon amé (Haitian Creole)

You took a bite of your sandwich and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the lettuce. You laughed. It was a genuine, bright laugh that echoed through the room.

“Enjoying your meal?” I asked dryly.

“Very informative, Gibbs. Did you know my salad speaks Haitian today?”

I just shrugged. “Maybe it’s organic. More educated.”

You shook your head and smoothed out the note. Your fingers were trembling just a little. You suspected it. But you weren't sure. Not yet.

The finale is drawing near

I became obsessed, searching everywhere. The languages became more and more beautiful, more melodic, even if I could barely pronounce them.

(Note #61) Tha gaol agam ort (Scottish Gaelic)

(Note #62) Grá agam ort (Irish)

(Note #63) Rwy'n dy garu di (Welsh)

(Note #64) Kernow (Cornish)

(Note #65) M'e d'e (Breton)

(Note #66) T'estimo (Catalan)

In the middle of the third week, I found "T'estimo" sewn into the lining of my coat, right over my heart. My heart skipped a beat. This was no longer a coincidence. Someone had to have been physically very close to me to place it there. I looked around the office. McGee was buried in his coding, Tony was flirting with a witness, and Gibbs was nowhere to be seen. He was like a shadow.

(Note #67) Quérote (Galician)

(Note #68) Maite zaitut (Basque)

(Note #69) Aimi (Occitan)

(Note #70) I't bieu (Corsican)

(Note #71) Amo-te (Portuguese)

(Note #72) Mi stimabo (Papiamento)

(Note #73) Mi lobi i (Sranantongo)

I started testing Gibbs. Whenever I found a note, I’d place it provocatively in plain sight on my desk.

When I found “Mi lobi i” (Sranantongo) - stuck to the underside of my desk chair - I shoved it right under Gibbs’ nose.

“Do you know what this means, Boss?”

He took the slip of paper, his fingers brushing mine for just a brief moment. A jolt of electricity shot through me.

He stared at the paper, then looked me straight in the eye. “It means you’re neglecting your work. Are you looking for evidence or for poetry?”

“Maybe the poetry is the evidence,” I retorted boldly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. Only for a fraction of a second.

(Note #74) Mi ta stima bo (Bonaire)

(Note #75) Ayay (Tetum)

(Note #76) Inuuinniq (Greenlandic)

(Note #77) S'ayapo (Cypriot)

(Note #78) Te amo (Latin - Classical)

(Note #79) Luv'ee (Hawaiian)

(Note #80) M'bi fe (West African)

Only twenty were left. I could feel the circle closing. The places where I found them were becoming more personal. Inside my favorite book on my nightstand at home (how had they even gotten into my apartment?), in my purse, even inside a sealed evidence bag that only I was authorized to open.

(Note #81) Wo ai ni (Cantonese)

(Note #82) Daisuki desu (Japanese)

(Note #83) Saranghae (Korean)

(Note #84) Chan rak khun (Thai)

(Note #85) S'ayapo (Ancient Greek)

(Note #86) A-mi-re (Esperanto)

The hunt became physically exhausting. I searched in evidence bags, under car tires, and in coffee filters.

One evening, while we were at a crime scene in the woods, I found “A-mi-re” (Esperanto) carved into the bark of a tree, right next to the yellow police tape.

“Gibbs, do you see that?” I called out.

He stepped up behind me, his body almost pressed against my back. “What?”

“This! It’s Esperanto!”

He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear. “Maybe the tree is a romantic.”

“It’s not funny! Who is doing this?”

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe someone who isn’t afraid of the truth. Only of your reaction.”

(Note #87) Qanta munani (Quechua)

(Note #88) Nalingi yo (Congo)

(Note #89) M'bi fe (Mali)

I was on note number eighty-nine by now. I had made a list: Geographical? No. Chronological? No. It felt as if someone were circling the entire globe just to arrive at my doorstep.

I was getting thin-skinned. I suspected everyone. Even the mailman.

“You look pale,” Gibbs said one morning, setting a cup of coffee down in front of me. Black. Strong. With milk.

“I’m not sleeping much. These words... they don’t make any sense.”

“Maybe you’re trying to understand them with your head,” he said calmly. “Try using your gut.”

(Note #90) M’bi fe (Senegal)

(Note #91) main tumse pyaar karta hoon (Hindi)

(Note #92) Nakupenda (Swahili)

(Note #93) Ich hab dich gern (Swiss German)

(Note #94) Aku cinta kamu (Indonesian)

(Note #95) Ég elska þig (Icelandic)

And then they came. The final five. The languages I recognized instantly.

I was sitting alone in the office that evening. Gibbs was already gone - or so I thought.

A small stack was lying on my chair.

(Note #96) Te amo (Spanish)

(Note #97) Je t’aime (French)

(Note #98) Ti amo (Italian) (Wait, I knew that one… didn't I?) - No, it was Italian, but was it really? I was unsure.

(Note #99) Ich liebe dich (German)

I stared at the last note, which was still face down. My hands were shaking violently now. Ninety-nine messages. Ninety-nine times “I love you.”

It wasn't code. It was a confession.

But from whom? Tony? No, too much effort. McGee? Too shy. Palmer? Too taken.

I sat there, staring at it. Suddenly, I felt a rush of heat. The handwriting. Those precise, almost harsh lines that nonetheless carried so much emotion in the curves of the letters.

I knew this handwriting. I saw it every day on mission briefings and case reports.

A shiver ran down my spine. Could it be? The man who wouldn't say three words in a row if it wasn't about a case? The man who loved rules above all else?

There was only one man persistent enough to learn a hundred languages - or at least research them - who had access to my apartment, and who knew that I hated technology when it came to the things that truly mattered.

My stomach did a somersault. These weren't codes. This wasn't a case. It was a conquest. And I was only just beginning to stop fighting it - to finally raise the white flag of surrender.

It wasn't a prank.

It wasn't a code.

It was a declaration of love. In a hundred different ways.

And suddenly I also knew why technology wasn't allowed.

Because it wasn't about translating.

It was about feeling.

And I knew that the last one - the hundredth note - would upend the world as I knew it.

I turned it over.

It wasn’t like the others. It was larger. And it was in English.

I love you.

Below it, in the same disciplined handwriting, was written:

"Come down to the basement and bring the bourbon.”

The Confession

I was nearly running. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. As I hurried down the basement stairs of Gibbs’ house, I heard the rhythmic sound of a plane on wood.

Gibbs was standing by his boat. He wore an old T-shirt, and his hair was dusted with sawdust. He didn't look up as I entered.

“It took you a hundred languages, Gibbs?” I asked, my voice slightly unsteady.

He paused, set the plane aside, and turned around slowly. His gaze was intense, blue, and so full of warmth that my knees nearly buckled.

"99," he corrected me. "The last one was my own."

"Why?" I whispered.

He stepped closer, took the bottle of bourbon from my hand, and placed it on the workbench without taking his eyes off me.

“Because I’m a stubborn old man. And because I knew you’d only listen if I challenged you properly.”

“You could have just said it.”

He chuckled softly, a deep, throaty sound. “Rule number four: The best way to keep a secret is to tell everyone, but in a way no one understands.”

“I get it,” I said, taking the last step toward him.

He placed his hands on my face. His skin was rough from the wood and from working, but his touch was incredibly gentle. “It’s about time.”

“Sarcastic bastard,” I whispered.

“Stubborn investigator,” he replied, before kissing me.

It tasted of coffee, of freedom, and of the end of a very long search. But also of all the unspoken words and feelings between us, now clear and open before us.

A Look Ahead

A year later, there were no more notes. At least not every day.

Sometimes I'd still find a note in my lunchbox - usually a reminder of Rule 12 (Never date a co-worker… “unless you absolutely have to,” he'd added by hand).

Our future together wasn't always easy. There were still cases that kept us up at night, and Gibbs was still Gibbs - a man with too many rules and a basement full of wood. But when we sat together in front of the fireplace in the evenings, him with his bourbon and me with a book, I knew that the 100 languages were just the beginning.

We had found our own language. One that didn't need words. Just a glance, a quick nod, and the knowledge that we were both finally home.

And Gibbs? He was already building a new boat. He said it was for us. I believed him. After all, he'd promised me he'd never write 100 notes again.

“Although,” he said one evening with a twinkle in his eye, “there are still a few dialects in Southeast Asia that we haven’t covered yet…”

I threw a pillow at him and he caught it, laughing.

Happy ending? No. A damn good start.

The End

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

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[crazycurly-77]

Story News!!!

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

My dream is coming true...in the next few days I'll be posting my 100th Gibbs story and I'm so excited! 🥳🥰❤️❤️

The story is called "100 Little Riddles" and it's about 100 messages - one message for each story.

Thank you so much for joining me on this journey through the adventures of these many stories, and I hope we'll experience many more together. 😄😘❤️❤️🥰

Stay tuned!!

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27, @newttheglue250, @mrs-pride-archer-gibbs

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[crazycurly-77]

Are you serious?! - Chapter 49

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: none

The next day, Gibbs brought you home. Or at least to the apartment you'd rented in Frisco.

It was, of course, smaller than his house, where he would have preferred to take you - HOME - but that would have to wait a few more days until your head was clear enough to fly safely.

He took such loving care of you, anticipating your every need before you even spoke. He was better than any nurse. It was funny on the one hand, but incredibly sweet on the other. The big, tough Leroy Jethro Gibbs was fussing over you like a mother hen.

He’d whip up whatever you were craving, and you spent hours just holding each other. Naturally, baby names were a big topic of conversation, too."

"What do you think of Gregory or William if it's a boy? And Carol or Gillian if it's a girl?"

Gibbs snorted. “As long as it’s NOT Tony, Anthony, or Jennifer…”

A brief silence followed. Then you looked at each other and burst out laughing. Fortunately, you still had a few months left to come up with the perfect names.

Silent and overjoyed, you lay in each other’s arms, simply savoring the fact that you were together. Jethro cherished it more than anything. He had held himself back from his love for you for far too long, believing it wasn't returned, and he was so happy to finally be able to shower you with it. And whenever he wrapped his arms around you, he felt like he never wanted to let go.

Meanwhile, the cause of the crash was officially investigated and confirmed. The helicopter crashed due to a bomb explosion, and you were thrown from the burning aircraft by its rotation, which saved your life.

The assassin has repeated his confession and is in custody, while Jenny has gone underground. A nationwide manhunt is now underway for her.

As so often in her past, she was careless, allowing the investigators to find evidence of her contract in her personal notes.

By chance, she learned from Ducky that you were pregnant and knew in that moment that she had lost Gibbs for good. She decided to eliminate you once and for all and hired a hitman. And if your children die with you… all the better.

Both you and Jethro were absolutely horrified. Neither of you had suspected Shepard of such cold-bloodedness and calculation.

But this realization brought a problem. A pretty big one, in fact. Namely, the question of where she was and what she intended to do. Because she was still dangerous and would continue to try.

Your injuries began to heal, but for safety reasons, you remained in Frisco for the time being.

Gibbs led the team and the ongoing investigation from there, all while continuing to nurse you back to health. It was going well - but he was far from happy about having to juggle the Director's duties on top of everything else. It was a job he wanted no part of.

He sat at his desk, muttering to himself in frustration, while you lay on the couch, practically doubled over with laughter. As "punishment," he gave you a thorough tickling. Your clear, ringing laughter finally broke through his foul mood, and he realized once again just how much he had missed that sound.

Two weeks later, you were feeling much better, so you decided to prepare a romantic dinner for the two of you. It was delicious, and after you both finished the dishes, Jethro went over to your CD player and put on "Hello" by Lionel Richie.

He knew you liked the song because you had sung it on his terrace a while back. Surprised and delighted, you looked at him as he walked over, smiled, and asked you to dance.

He took your hand in his, put his arm around your waist, and pulled you close. You danced in the dining room, entwined, and he hummed along to the melody.

Your head rested against his strong chest as you breathed in his scent - wood, soap, and unmistakably him. He rested his cheek on the crown of your head, fighting back tears. You both felt as if you were floating on air. Just like this. This was how it was meant to be. The two of you. Together against the rest of the world.

When he leaned back slightly, you looked up at him. In that same moment, his lips lowered onto yours. Gentle, tender, and soul-searching kisses... growing deeper and more passionate, until your longing to feel one another finally took hold.

He pressed himself against you, letting you feel his length and hardness. He devoured you with his kisses, which you returned with equal passion, moaning softly. But at that moment, the dining room wasn't the right place for this.

So, he swept you up into his arms and carried you like a bride into your bedroom, where you made love all through the night until dawn. Afterwards, you fell asleep wrapped tightly in each other's arms.

But there was a problem…you were divorced by now.

“Jethro…?” you whispered cautiously.

“I love hearing my name from you,” he replied, kissing you.

“Jethro…”

“Yes, my love?” He was nibbling on your neck, not really listening. But your next sentence changed everything:

“Where do we go from here? We’re divorced.”

(To be continued in Chapter 50.)

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