Today is so much calmer ...
I slept half the day yesterday and all night. Yussssssssssss!!! Just chillin' with my tunes on and processing.
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I feel so much despair and weariness. As someone who acknowledges the ongoing pandemic and who has a tuned in awareness to many events in the world right now, a piece of media that acknowledges what some don't even want to or can conceive, it's a comfort in all the carryings on and labeling that "normal."
I need that kind of honesty and a protagonist I so heavily identify with. Pensive, somewhat sad, distant, adrift maybe even, and deeply affected by what's around her.
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A very smol blurb inspired by the end of NCIS ep 11.2 so I can cope with my very big feelings (no spoilers, just discussion of our poor honey’s injury)
Pairing: Jethro Gibbs x wife!reader
__________
The door is unlocked and the lights are off when you come home which, normally, would be par for the course if not for the truck in the driveway with its hood still warm. Slipping inside and shaking off the fall chill, you drop your coat and keys by the door before stepping out of your shoes and making your way further into the house.
“Jay?” you call out into the darkness. “Y’here? You know I don’t do well with jump scares.”
“Better brace yourself then,” he counsels, and you can tell now that he’s in the kitchen. The small overhead light flickers to life, and you take in a shuddering breath, followed by an eloquent, “Son of a fucking whore, who did this to you?” Shaky fingers reach up to graze the fresh bruise blooming on his face, and you wince at the sight of multiple cuts and his bloodshot left eye. “I bet that fucker’s regretting messing with you, huh?”
“Easy, love,” he murmurs with a smile, delicately taking your wrist in his hand and brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Your mouth could rival a sailor’s.”
“Oorah and all that jazz,” you fire back easily. “Answer the question, Jethro.”
“Which one?”
“Jethro.”
“Name’s not important. Locked up and taken care of,” he finally provides as he pulls you into a hug. You nuzzle into his solid chest and tease, “Bet he’s got an uglier mug than you now, hm?”
“You married this ugly mug.”
“And aren’t I just the luckiest gal in the world?” You guide him over to the small table and gently nudge his shoulder. He takes the hint and settles into the chair, finally releasing some tension from the day while you card your fingers through his hair. “I’ll get you some ice.”
Tilting his head back to rest against your tummy, he looks up at you with the closest thing to puppy dog eyes he can muster in his current state. “Make it a beer? It’ll be a twofer.”
“Got it,” you answer, sliding milk and eggs aside to reach for the six pack of your husband’s favorite local brew. You hear the phone ringing as you extract yourself from the fridge, and when you return to his side, Jethro heaves a sigh before lifting the device to his ear with a quiet, “Hey, Ziver.”
You twist off the cap to his beer before placing it down by his hand, then give his shoulder a firm squeeze and press a delicate kiss to his cheek. He places his hand over your own and squeezes back, looking up to meet your gaze with a small smile.
After one more brush of your lips against his temple, you head upstairs to shower and change. He’ll come find you when he’s ready.
__________
LJG tags 🖤 @ilovemark1951 @doctorwhofan24
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