#van palmer x female!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eightstarr · 1 year ago

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i know — van palmer.

summary: you can't remember a life before van, but there was one. there must've been one. it feels ridiculous to think about. you'd rather think about her, rather think about this— two moments then, and two moments now (and so, so many to come).

notes: heyyy i know i said i would post this like a month ago, i fully forgot!! if there was like one person waiting i'm sorry and i love you sm <3 also this ignores the plot entirely and i wanna make that very clear just in case!! it's like a nothing happened and we're all okay au! anyway here's to my loser girl and to whoever also finds themselves staring at the wall in silence thinking about her :)

・。.・゜✧・. ────

THEN.

"You're hogging the blanket," Jackie mutters over a mouthful of popcorn, purple polished nails tugging at the soft fabric.

She's right— you are. "I'm not," you say, and bring your legs close to your chest partly so they can offer some kind of comfort, but mostly so they're not touching the unknown dangers of the floor anymore.

The TV flashes red and Jackie's living room is bathed in it, along with all your faces.

Shauna snorts at a man getting brutally and very unrealistically decapitated on the screen and pulls her own blanket closer to her best friend before she even has to ask. They do that a lot; talk without words. Any other time you would've noticed, thought that's cute and smiled to yourself, but right now you're too terrified.

The movie is bad. Or, that's what you have to keep reminding yourself of. It's lazy in a way that's bordering on comical and needlessly violent in a way that proves that it was written by a man with interesting fantasies. You shouldn't be scared, but you are.

Another death earns you a few minutes of quiet, though you know the build up to the next one will be worse. The characters cry and fret over the dead body of their friend but the killer is nowhere to be seen, disappearing conveniently into the night. You're granted a scene of daylight but the sun comes and goes, and then the screen turns to dark violets and blues again and you're tensing up in your seat.

It's fine, at first— the pretty blonde girl is yielding a kitchen knife and walking around while her muscled boyfriend boards up the windows of the big house. Lottie shifts where she's sitting on the floor next to Laura Lee's legs and whispers about why they would lock themselves in instead of taking their chances outside, which is 'obviously the smartest thing to do'. You don't have time to process what she's saying because suddenly an ax is clawing its way through one of the windows and the characters are screaming and, well, so are you.

"Fuck!" You curse, jumping and landing yourself halfway into Van's lap, the softness of her thighs under your own, your back against her chest.

Van blinks, more startled by your reaction than the scene itself, her hands coming up to steady you and then immediately dropping back down a second after they brush over the cotton of your shirt. She lets out a shaky breath and does not think about how good your weight feels on top of her, because that would be a bad thought, a questionable thought. And it should not have been the first one to pop into her mind. Definitely not. That would be embarrassing. That would be bad.

You cover your eyes with one hand as the sounds of screaming come to a crescendo and hold one of her hands tightly with the other, mumbling sorry, sorry, sorry as if you're doing something wrong. As if you don't know that, even if you were, Van is incapable of being mad at you. Famously so. Everybody knows.

She looks around the room to the rest of the girls. No one is staring, too busy chewing popcorn and wrinkling their noses at the more gruesome special effects. Van turns her head back to you. A million thoughts rush in, overwhelming and unforgiving. Something about the soft tint of chapstick on your lips, the curve of your nose, the shape of your fingers. Things she's noticed before -Van is often greedy of all your details-, but not in this way, never from this close. She can smell your shampoo from here. Somewhere in the back of her mind, over the scent of honey and strawberries, she wonders if she's going insane.

Your body noticeably relaxes as the violence dissipates, your grasp on her hand loosening slightly. When you uncover your eyes, the final girl is clawing her way through the woods. You're unsure of how she got out of the house, but too comforted by the thought of the movie finally coming to an end to care.

Van is scared to say anything, scared to move— if she does, you might push yourself off of her, ignore her for the rest of the night because you're embarrassed. The thought is ridiculous. You'd never ignore her, you're not that kind of person, but it's what she would do. Except she'd probably never be in this position in the first place, because she'd never be brave enough to throw herself on your lap, even if she was as scared as you were. And that's just it anyway, it's not like you chose to do this. You didn't pick her. You would've found the same comfort in anyone's arms. Right? Van feels you shift closer, just slightly, like you're unaware of it. Right?

Her forehead falls on your shoulder as she thinks herself sick.

"It's scary, right?" You whisper, confusing her crisis for fear. Your fingers wrap around her bicep, soft and absentminded when they brush up and down her skin, trying to make her feel better.

Van feels her stomach flip, her hands twitch. In another world, she would wrap her arms around your waist and press her lips to your ear, mumble something stupid like if you say so, baby just to annoy you. Here, though, all she does is nod her head. She whispers back, "Yeah, it is."

She looks up at the screen, tries to be scared, to be invested. You relax further into her, personal and comfortable as if there's no one in the room but the two of you. Van blinks. She can't give you the name of the girl on the screen. A minute passes and your back straightens suddenly, but you don't rush to slide off her lap. You do it carefully, not because you want to but because you're worried about making her uncomfortable. Van wants to pull you back but she's never faced anything as daunting. She comforts herself with the thought that one day she will, a hungry attempt at manifesting or breaking a mental wishbone or something. For now, she follows you with her eyes and feels her anxiety melt away when you notice her staring and give her a smile. The movie's not yet over. She looks back. Who's the bad guy again?

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

NOW.

Van likes to pretend that she's a better cook than she is. Someone else might find it funny, annoying even, but you can't find it anything but cute. You love telling her that you've run out of food and watch her scoff and puff up her chest.

"I'll make you something out of nothing," she'll say. Then she'll open the fridge and bend at the waist, stare at said nothing for a solid two minutes before resurfacing and declaring that she's craving pizza from the place down the street, anyway, so there's no point in cooking.

At the grocery store the next day, you make sure to buy the essentials for the one pasta recipe that she does actually know how to make. Van likes to feel useful. And you like to indulge her every need, maybe a little too much.

You pick the sweetest looking tomatoes for the sauce, no real expertise behind your method— you're not exactly an amazing chef, either, but the two of you do just fine. Someone calls your name in the middle of bagging the last tomato and you turn to meet a face you had almost forgotten about.

"Katie Lopez?" Van asks again, staring at the folded piece of paper with the almost-stranger's number that you'd gotten without asking (a friendly gesture, you're pretty sure) after a slightly lengthy conversation that carried on even after your multiple anyway, I should probably get going's.

You're telling Van about the encounter while washing the tomatoes in the sink, sleeves rolled up. Your cheeks are warm with kisses like they always are when you make it back to her, as if she wants to reward you for it. You've been hers for so long, and she's still amazed at the fact that you come home to her. "Yes," you repeat. "Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not," she says, flicking the paper where it sits on the counter, kinder than her original need to ball it up or light it on fire or something even more dramatic. She moves to open the cabinet and starts putting away the canned goods you've brought. "I just didn't know you guys were close."

"We're not. She was just being polite."

Van hums. For a moment you think she'll let it go, but of course she won't. She doesn't like the thought of someone flirting with you when she's not there and she especially doesn't like the thought of that someone being Katie fucking Lopez, who's most memorable for fingering girls in the bathroom for most of your shared high school experience.

Van clears her throat and the cabinet closes with a thud louder than she intended, definitely not because she was caught up picturing you under Katie's gaze. She means to sound casual, but she's not trying very hard when she asks, "She ever try to get with you?"

You spare her a single glance, as if to check that she's serious. Of course she is. "What, in high school?" You shake your head, chuckling like the idea is funny. "No. She was more into the cheerleader type."

Van knows that you're right. Still, she squints her eyes at you, ginger hair leaning to one side when she tilts her head. "Is that a hint of resentment that I'm hearing?"

You've gotten good at knowing how to handle her jealousy. It's only fair, considering that she's gotten good at handling yours. Neither are ever that serious. "I was making a neutral observation."

You know she's creeping closer before you feel it. You know her too well. "Yeah?" She mutters, her hands on your hips as she presses herself to your back. Her nose is familiarly cold where it brushes against your neck.

You dry your hands and lean back on instinct, and she doesn't flinch at the added feeling of your weight. Van can be a lot like a brick wall, but you don't usually tell her that, unless you're feeling extra sweet and want her to grin like a cocky little shit for the rest of the day. "You were into that type, too."

Van scoffs, a soft gust of air on your neck. "I was into you," she says.

You hum, purely fucking with her. "Maybe."

"May— what the fuck are you talking about?" She pulls away just enough to prove that she's actually offended. And she is, because the idea is ludicrous and yeah, she's taking it personally. You can question Van about anything you want, except for the fact that she's been in love with you for more than half of her life. "When did you ever see me looking at cheerleaders?" She asks.

You and Van work for a lot of reasons. You work because you're different where it matters, enough to balance each other out, and you work because you're the same in everything else. You might've been just teasing her at first, but now the thought does that stupid thing where it starts to linger and -just like she had thought about you and Katie- you can almost picture it in your head, a younger Van standing on the soccer field, her eyes trailing over a girl's short uniform skirt. You roll your eyes, annoyed mostly at yourself. "Oh, don't act like you wouldn't have loved for them to shout your stupid name."

Van chuckles. She can read your train of thought like a book. She knows you too well. "Stupid name, huh? You're cute when you're jealous." And a little mean, too, but in a way that makes her weak in the knees. She won't be telling you that part. You already know, anyway.

You pull the hands that are wrapped around your waist away from you. Van lets you— she wants to see where this is going. "Not jealous," you mutter.

"No?" She teases, half-heartedly disappointed when you don't turn around to let her kiss you.

You look at her over your shoulder and then make eye contact with the piece of paper on the counter, recalling the words of your old classmate. Call me whenever. We should totally hang out. You're too old to be telling people you should 'totally hang out', but Katie Lopez hasn't changed much from the last time you saw her. You hold back the urge to wrinkle your nose at the memory of that same teenager-trying-to-be-cool smirk that she gave you throughout the whole interaction and hum thoughtfully, like you've been tempted. "Maybe I will call her—" you take one step towards the counter in a half assed attempt to reach for the paper but Van is unusually quick as she strides forward and takes it in her hands, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek as she rips it in two. "Van!" You gasp.

"What? Don't tell me you were actually gonna use it," she pouts. "You're breaking my heart, baby."

You try to take the two pieces away from her and all you earn is her breaking it in four, holding it above your head. You're laughing as you slap her shoulder. "God, you're so stupid."

Van raises her eyebrows, mismatched numbers wrinkled in her hand. She drops them on the counter in favor of cupping your face, pressing a contained short peck to your lips. Don't feel bad, she won't hold back for long. "Stupid like my name?"

"I love your name," you shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love it. Just as long as it's mine to say."

It is yours, but you know that already.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

THEN.

Van's room smells like the incense you got her. You wonder if she used it just to appease you because she knew you were coming, but it's a silly thought. Van likes you. You know this now. She takes everything you give her (your time, your smiles, your kisses) like it's a precious gift, so you can't imagine that she would neglect an actual gift.

Your grandmother said you should light the incense before a game, to bring you good luck and calm your nerves, and you're not ashamed to admit that you bought Van her own pack the very next day. Everything makes you think about her lately, especially this kind of thing. You're not even sure that the incense works, but why wouldn't you share it with her? She deserves all of it— good luck, a stomach free of nerves, at the very least a nice lingering scent if your grandma's beliefs turn out to be a myth. But you hope they don't.

Your girlfriend is anxious more often than you are, but never really about a game. Van knows that she's good at soccer. She's nervous about other things. Keeping her side of the house clean, being able to afford Sinéad O'Connor tickets, what her mom's mood will be like tomorrow, English assignments but only because she thinks the professor is the coolest guy alive and she wants to impress him even if she won't admit it. And lately, there's another thing. She worries about whether you'll look at her one day and realize that you're too good for her.

You know about some of her anxieties, but clearly not all of them. She can picture your reaction if she were to share the last one with you, how your face would scrunch up and you'd look at her with eyes so loving and so sad. She can almost hear you ask, soft and patient, why would you think that? And she wouldn't know what to say. There's comfort in the fact that the worry is there, but it's not constant. Van only worries about that when you're gone. When you're in front of her, or sitting next to her in class, or talking to her on the phone, it's hard to imagine that you'll ever stop liking her. She takes in your smile, your laughter, your sparkling eyes and she can't think about anything else. You make all of it go away. If you asked her, she would tell you that she thinks the incense works, but only because it came from you.

She can smell it faintly from where she is now, but there are a hundred other things overwhelming her more— the feeling of your legs on either side of her, the sound of your bracelets clinking together when you move your arms to rest them next to her head and cage her in, the sight of you leaning in to kiss her. It's easy to say, she's only been dating you for three months, but Van is sure that she will never get tired of this.

She hums against your lips, something too close to a moan. Her cheeks are red when you pull away, and you're not sure if it was the sound she made or the regretful, kind of embarrassing thing she has to tell you that gave her that reaction. "My mom will be home in, like, five minutes," she says, raspy and breathy.

Her voice distracts you. Your lips are tingling. "Okay," you say, nodding your head even though it takes you another three seconds to actually process what she said.

This is where you sit up, break apart. Neither of you move.

You smile and lean back down to kiss her again, stomach fluttering from the sound of her giggling as you tilt your head back. How are you supposed to stop when she's so fucking— so cute, so handsome, so in love with you. You've never felt so secure of another person's feelings for you before, but it's impossible to doubt Van. She makes you confident, makes sure that you know at all times. Might as well be saying I love you, I love you, I love you between each kiss that she pulls you back into.

It takes everything in you to break away from her, but you have to. "Fuck, okay. I gotta go," you mutter. You have to. You'll see her tomorrow. It should be embarrassing how greedy she makes you.

She watches as you sit up on her lap, your skirt bunched up over the crotch of her jeans. You must notice her looking, because you're laughing like you can read her mind when she huffs and covers her face with her arms, her lips pursed as she suppresses an even more embarrassing sound than the one she made before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you insist, like saying it outloud will make leaving easier. You stand up and brush your hands over your hair, flattening the flyaways. Then you grab your backpack from the floor (don't think about the pretty pin she got you a few days ago, because it'll make you want to kiss her again) and walk over to her window.

You could take your chances with the front door, but you don't want to. Van was afraid that her neighbors would see you and innocently mention it to her mom, say something like oh, I saw that Vanessa's friend came by the other day. Van wishes it could be left at that, but her mom is rarely that simple. She looked so worried as she told you about it, so ashamed. You kissed her cheek and promised yourself you'd get good at climbing.

She comes closer as you climb to the other side, getting your footing on the familiar edge of the wall, and she hisses when you let go of the window railing to reach over and cup her face. You don't have to pull for her to bend down and let you kiss her, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

"Please don't fall," she's saying as you make your way down.

You look up at her and smile, and Van thinks you're so pretty that she misses the mischievousness behind it. "Have a little faith in me— oh, fuck!"

Van flinches, bumping her head on the window with how quick she moves to look down at you. The sound of your laughter makes her realize your hands never left their safe grip. Her shoulders relax. "Oh my God, fuck you," she scoffs, though she's too relieved for it to have any real bite.

"What were you even gonna do?" You ask, still giggling.

She shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, fucking— grab you or something."

"Your arms are too short to reach me from up there."

"I take offense to that."

"Well, I'm sorry," you sigh, tilting your head. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I better not hear you asking for my short arms to carry you after practice tomorrow," Van huffs, said arms now crossed over her chest.

You look up at her in disbelief, raising your eyebrows. "I have literally never asked you for that, you always offer."

She shifts slightly where she stands, moves her weight from one leg to the other, caught. "Because I can do it," she mutters.

"Yes, I know. You're very strong, baby."

Van rolls her eyes, choosing to believe that you're teasing her because if she believes that you're being genuine she might die.

Your feet hit the ground with a thud. You do a silly curtsy, as if to say ta-da! and Van thinks you're so cute she's certain that she'll die. You give her one last grin and blow her a kiss before sneaking away from her house into the night.

Van goes to bed with her cheeks aching from smiling, her bed smelling of your perfume, and the faint sound of her brain screaming (terrified, celebrating) you are fucked!

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

NOW.

"I wish I'd asked you to prom," your voice is muffled by her sweatshirt, lips partly pressed against her shoulder.

Van snorts, looking down at you. "What?"

"You never went," you explain, and you have that look on your face, like you've been thinking about this for weeks. Like you could cry. Van presses pause on the (admittedly) shitty action film she'd chosen and lets you try to get your thoughts out. "I really wanted you there. You would've liked it."

She lets out a sigh through her nose, a hand coming to rest against your cheek. "I really don't know if that's true, honey," she says honestly.

You straighten your back a little, a tiny frown on your face like you get when you've been challenged. "You would've liked it. You love to dance and the DJ was, like, surprisingly good. And Ms. Dawson actually said yes to a dance with Peter K., even though that was highly inappropriate now that I think about it. But it was funny at the time— and Natalie snuck in a bottle of vodka."

"Yeah?" She asks, awfully endeared even when she's heard the story a million times before. You'd told her all about it the day after prom, your voice groggy and sleepy over the phone. She had felt lame about having missed it, but a thousand times better as soon as she picked up the phone, giggling in her bed like a fool at every detail you gave her.

You wrap your fingers around the hand on your cheek, press a kiss against her palm. "You would've loved it," you say, sounding somehow more convinced than before. "I should've asked you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was a dick," you insist. "I was a coward—"

"Hey, no. No," Van sits up from her lazy posture, two thin wrinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns. They look good on her. You remember when they weren't there, and it always makes you a little emotional. "Don't say that. You weren't."

"But I was," you try to reason, stubborn to a fault. "I'm not, like, condemning myself. I'm stating a fact."

Her frown deepens. "Well, I don't like it. And I don't think it's a fact."

You didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, but you're not exactly thinking about that at the moment. It happens— you've let the thought saturate in your brain for too long and now you're stuck thinking that you're right. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" You ask, not being petty but genuinely wanting to know.

Van huffs a frustrated breath. "Because I thought about asking you to prom for years, okay?" She says, crawling with embarrassment. "I told myself I would over and over again and then I fucking didn't. If you were a coward, what does that make me?"

You pause, guilt swirling in your stomach because you realize all at once that you've been poking on a tender bruise you didn't even know existed. "Van," you say softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She sighs, almost a chuckle. She can be so mean to herself, so condescending about her own feelings. You know she's not laughing at you, or disregarding you in any way— it's just what she does when she feels like she's humiliated herself. Especially when you're there to watch, looking at her so kindly when she's certain she deserves none of it. "Yeah, well. That was intentional," she mutters.

You let her look away from you for a moment before you push yourself onto your knees, placing one on each side of her hips. She welcomes you like she always does when you come to sit on her lap now, her hands on your waist and her face falling forward to press kisses over your collarbone. A thoughtless motion, automatic.

"Sweet girl," you hum, guiding her head up with a careful hand, smiling when you meet her eyes. "We should've gone out dancing alone. Would've been way more fun."

Van breathes out a laugh. She wonders if she'll cry, and feels like she could. "Yeah," she agrees.

"I would've said yes, you know. I'm not blaming you for not asking me, I get why you didn't. I really do. But it's important to me that you know that." You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's pretty, and getting long. In no time she'll be asking you to wash it over the sink and trim it with your fancy hair scissors, like you've been doing since you got back together when you were twenty five after a stupid argument that led to a two years long break. It wasn't a good time for either of you, but you don't regret it. You have the rest of your life to live with her. Still, there will always be things like this— arguments about deep buried shame, fears that might never go away, moments you missed that other high school sweethearts didn't because their worries weren't like yours. It's sad, but not inescapable all the time. You and Van don't blame each other for any of it. But sometimes you need to be reminded of that.

"I know," she nods, her voice in that soft, quiet tone that you love but rarely get with how passionate she is. It's not a hardship, you love that just as much. "I think maybe that's why— why I was so freaked out. Like, if you said yes, it would become real."

You nod and chuckle a little, sweet and airy. "And you'd have to actually start to date me? Yeah, I would be scared," you joke.

Van buries her face in your chest with a groan. "That's all I fucking wanted," she says, feeling too honest to play along like she usually would.

You let her stay there for a while, her nose brushing against the rise and fall of your chest. Wanna be here forever, she'd told you once, with cold fingers sneaking under your shirt, more than a little drunk. You have been making fun of her about it for ages, but it tugs at something different today. It makes you pull her softly with a hand on the back of her neck, just enough to press your lips against hers, not wanting to deny her any of your warmth that she might crave.

Van hums against your lips, moving where you want her when your hands guide her own from your waist down to your hips. You press your chest against hers like you know she likes and she moans into your mouth, a hand moving to press against your back and force you closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," you mumble when she lets you pull apart, speaking close to her ear as you kiss her cheek, lips soft over old acne scars and sunspots.

Van shakes her head. "I don't care," she promises, smiling like she does when she's about to say something corny. "Look at me now," she shrugs, fake humble. "I got the girl in the end."

You laugh against her smirk and kiss her until she's lifting your hips and pushing you down on the couch, your back against the worn pillows, a hand on the back of your head in case you bump it on the arm rest. You like when she moves you around just to show off, reminds you of when you were younger and she'd flex her muscles just because she knew you were looking. She might not be the same type of strong now, but she can still pull out some tricks when she wants to. And with you, Van often wants to.

She tilts her head back when you try to pull her in for another kiss, sighing as she gets comfortable on top of you. She almost gives up the act when you pout at her, blinking your pretty eyes, but instead she leans her weight on one hand next to your head and says, "That is, of course, if she doesn't leave me for Katie Lopez's magic fingers."

Van expects you to roll your eyes, slap her shoulder so she can say ouch! and dramatically rest her hand over the wounded spot. Instead, you slide your hand over hers where it's resting against your hip, intertwining your fingers together and smiling pretty, tilting your head. "Mmh, but I have the best fingers right here."

Van scoffs, playing amused rather than speechless because she's trying not to show you how much your words get to her. It's embarrassing how proud it makes her, how quickly she melts into the palm of your hand when you as much as imply that she's good at something, that you would pick her over everyone else, that you want her like she wants you. Praise from others makes her smile and say thank you, but praise from you reaches her core, makes her dizzy. Her lips feel dry and her tongue pokes out absentmindedly to lick them as you guide her hand up. Van barely registers the movement, too busy watching your face— how beautiful that she gets to see it all the time now, that she knows all the details like you know hers.

Her fingertips come to rest against your lips and her breath stutters as she tries desperately to maintain any sense of coolness or dignity or fucking something while you kiss each one, soft and attentive. She's thinking, is she insane for finding it as thrilling as she does, even after all these years? Do you know what you do to her? You can't possibly know, Van almost decides, but then you part your lips to slide two of her fingers into your mouth and she thinks that you do. You definitely know.

"F—fuck," she breathes out, and tries to remember her original plan to tease you but can't recall your old classmate's name. "You trying to butter me up?" She asks, her chuckle trembling but deep, from the back of her throat.

Her fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and Van groans. You hum, "Is it working?"

You're mean, evil. You're the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Two things can be true at once. You're a dream, and you're not like this for anyone else. The thought echoes through her skull, warm and infectious. Van smirks. "Yeah."

#van palmer x reader #van palmer x female!reader #van x reader #van palmer x you #van palmer fic #yellowjackets fic #yellowjackets x reader

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floraltypes · 3 years ago

Text

Owe Me a Coffee

who - gibbs x reader

tw - mentions of sex, fires, blood, beatings, death

an - I took french for two years, but I’m not fluent and had to use a translating app so I hope it isn’t too bad ! Request something as well, I finally got them working :)

uneditied :/

“Damn you DiNozzo,” You cursed, staring at the man and moving your hand to smack him up besides the head.

You couldn’t help but think back to this morning, getting stuck with the annoying, cocky, flirty, obnoxious, co-worker. Doing a undercover mission with him definitely wasn’t your first choice, you’d rather do paperwork at this point.

“Huh?” You looked at Gibbs like he had just said a alien had landed down at the NCIS building asking for you. “You want me with Tony?”

“Yeah, did I say it in some other language? You and DiNozzo are going undercover, found a marine’s wife dead, along with her killers. Abby was able to access their computers and found out they were doing hit man work, and the director wants us to locate their boss. But since the two are dead now, we need some people to go undercover, you two,” He reminded you, reading the case the five of you were all taking on now.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Tony laughed, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him. “Looks like little Y/n finally gets a chance with the Tony master.”

“Tony master? Is that another cocky Tony name to make him feel better about himself?” Ziva wondered.

“It’s what my last babe called me, the master, so why not add Tony in front of it?” He smiled, getting smacked in the back of the head by Gibbs.

“You’ll be undercover, not as yourselves. So, refrain from the names DiNozzo.”

“Got it boss!” He exclaimed, shooting you a wink before you turned back to your computer.

“L/n, Elevator, now.” Gibbs commanded, and you quickly stood up to follow after him.

“Do you ever wonder who Gibbs is getting it with?” David asked, standing beside DiNozzo and McGee as they watched you and Gibbs enter the elevator.

“It’s ‘getting it on with’ and yes, I think we all do.” Tony corrected her. “But I doubt he is, because if he was, he might be happier.”

“Well, just because you go to school, it doesn’t make you smart. A perfect example is you, Tony,” David turned towards the man with a smile and pinched his cheek, Tony slapping the hand away.

“I actually get some, doubt Probie has ever had any.”

“Well, I actually-“

“If you have to say ‘actually’ while talking about sex it’s probably a lie. So, probie, just dream out your fantasies without getting them mixed up with real life,” DiNozzo smirked, smacking his back while moving to his own computer.

You were on the elevator, looking at your boss who clicked the ‘Emergency Stop’ button, causing the transportation to pause its route.

“Yeah, Gibbs?” You leaned onto the back of the elevator, a small smile playing out on your lips as you smiled at the man.

“I’m putting you on because I need someone convincing. So, put on your acting skills and make it work,” He mentioned, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, yeah. I took drama for two years in high school just for this moment,” You joked. “You’re going to owe me a nice, creamed, coffee because of this.”

“And if I don’t? Right now, I’m your boss, I can’t be your boyfriend.”

“Good to know, boss.” You moved in front of him and unlocked the button. “I’ll keep that in mind for my acting, I just hope you don’t mind, boss,” The doors soon opened and you exited, walking into Abby’s area.

“Ah Gibbs! L/n! What do I owe this pleasure?” Abby greeted, taking a large sip of her drink.

“Are you running the prints on the gun found by the female hit man?” Gibbs asked as you took a seat on one of Abby’s chairs.

“Of course!” Abby hopped up and moved over to her machine, pointing to it, showcasing that it was running. “Working on it right now. But, I don’t think you’ll find much luck with it considering it was the same gun used to kill the commanders wife.”

“Well, we don’t know that for sure, so work on that. L/n,”

“But I want to chat with my dear friend before moving on,” You whined, while he shot you a stern look in return. “I’m going,” You quickly stood up, following the man out.

“I want you to go upstairs and get ready with DiNozzo,” He demanded and you just nodded.

“Right. On my way!” You yelled, running to the elevator. “I’m thrilled for this, but even more thrilled to finish this mission and go on a date,”

“Have fun with that.”

“I will! Hopefully Palmer will as well,” The elevator doors shut and Gibbs continued to make his way down to the Autopsy room to speak with Ducky. Now, not to thrilled at the mans assistant.

You arrived back upstairs, looking at the agent who had his feet on his desk and talking on the phone.

“Who is he chatting with? Gibbs wants us ready,” You commented, moving by Ziva and McGee who were watching him.

“Some girl, someone named Louis,” McGee answered.

“That sounds like a older woman’s name,” Ziva added.

“Yeah. Hey, McGee,” The man looked up from where he was watching DiNozzo and turned to face you. “Remember when you gave me food poisoning, and felt so bad you promised you give me a favor. Well, I want to turn that in now,” You smiled at him, writing down a note on a piece of paper and handing it to him.

“What are you up to?” Ziva asked as McGee left the two of you, heading to his own computer.

“Having some fun with a certain co worker who is going to ruin my night,” You got up from Ziva and moved over to DiNozzo. “Who are you chatting with?”

“A babe,” He mouthed, smiling as you could hear the little rambles on the phone.

“Gibbs wants you ready to go in twenty. And I know it takes you thirty to just do your hair, so, maybe you should cut the phone call.”

He put his hand to cover the speaker on the phone, taking his legs off the desk, and leaving in closer to you. “And you need forty to suck in that gut,”

You laughed, reaching over to grab the phone and putting it to you ear. “Tony! I got you your superhero costume, sweetie! We can now go and dress up together, but not in those tighty whities,” You voiced into the phone, slamming it down and looking at his stunned face. “Never comment on a woman’s weight, now, get ready for tonight because I’m not easy to please.”

The man mocked you for a moment and then left his desk, you turning to look back at Ziva.

“Impressive,” She complimented, walking by you and patting your shoulder.

“Thanks, I’m just starting,” You smiled at the girl, grabbing your gun and sticking your knife into the pocket inside your custom made boots.

You soon got yourself ready in a nice short, red dress that fit your body well enough that you were comfortable, and able to hide a knife around your thigh area.

“Ready yet Y/n?” DiNozzo knocked on the door, fixing his tie and suit.

“Wow Tony, you do know how to clean up,” Ziva commented, coming up behind him, in front of the restroom door, with McGee.

“Thank you, Ziva,”

“Well, besides the tag sticking out in the back. Are you really that cheap? I thought you took, uh, pride in your choice of clothing,”

“I don’t see the point on wearing something very expensive to a undercover date,” He told her back.

“You also missed a spot when shaving,” McGee pointed out, pointing to the far right side of Tony’s face.

“Shut it Probie. At least I didn’t need mommy to help me shave in highschool,”

“Abby told you about that?”

“Well, now she did,”

You opened the door and flattened your dress, then fixing a ring on your pointer finger and smiled at the three other special agents.

“Tony, didn’t you need your mom to help you do your laundry in highschool? Not one to speak,”

“You look well. Didn’t know you were even able to-” You whipped out your knife from underneath your dress and pointed it at the man. “You look stunning, great, nice.”

“Looks like you’re on a thin glacier, Tony,” Ziva laughed.

“I think it’s thin ice,” McGee corrected.

“Same thing!” Ziva threw her hands in the air. “Y/n, I didn’t know you had those moves,”

“Yeah, not a lot of people do. I like to hold some secrets with the team, and my past career is one of them,” You smiled.

“Let’s go,” Tony gripped your hand and intertwined it with his. “My love,” He gritted through his teeth.

“Not too convincing DiNozzo,” Gibbs walked over, smacking the back of his head. “You don’t treat a lady like that. Grip the hand like this,” He smoothly let his hand move its way to yours and he gently connected it with yours. “Even McGee knows this,” He smiled at you and let your hand go.

“I-I know how to do it, boss. Just- nevermind,” He grumbled, loosening his grip.

“I’m starving, care to escort me to the car, Armon?” You got yourself ready to take on your character, smiling at the man besides you with one as if you were really happy with the situation you were in.

“Anything for you, Belle,” The two of you made your way out of the building. Your fellow co-workers watched as the two of you walked away, yet, you were both still messing with each other and hitting while walking out.

“My last wife tend to do that,” Gibbs commented, soon making his way after you two to get into his own undercover van.

“Is that a normal thing for American couples?” Ziva asked McGee.

“Well, I’m not sure. But I have seen plenty of married couples do that, so they’ll fit right in,” He answered, the two then leaving as well.

Once arriving to the hotel, you waited for DiNozzo to open your door and grab your hand to lead you out of the car and into the new building. While clutching your purse and waiting behind a few other guests who were trying to get in, you turned to fix Tony’s glasses and clicked the ‘on’ button.

“Looking swell, honey,” You smiled at him as he placed a arm over your shoulder.

“Thank you. I’m thrilled we were able to get these reservations, dinner should be delicious tonight. You’ll be getting the salad, like normal, correct?” He looked down at you and you stepped on his foot as the line moved forward.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I always have the most trouble in heels like these, oh the line, hurry up now!” You voiced, walking into the hotel and following everyone else into the dining area.

“We should look for our names now,” He told you, sneaking up from behind as the two of you searched the tables for little cards with your last names on it. “Bingo! Right next to the Lezarres,”

“Oh and the Garndels are here as well. I’ve heard some things about them,” You added, letting Tony pull out a chair as you took a seat.

The both of you introduced yourself to the other couples and went through the night engaging in some small talk about politics and the food. You and DiNozzo had done a swell job at it and you retreated to the rest room at the end of dinner to hear any new news.

“So, what’s the update?” You asked into the little microphone hidden in your bracelet.

“There’s a hotel room in your name, bought out by your boss and, uh, boss wants you two to stay in there,” McGee told you into the ear piece which was located in your right ear.

“Great, more time with that stupid bastard. He couldn’t shut up about himself at dinner, like always, I’m really contemplating divorce,” You muttered, fixing your lipstick as another woman walked out, moving to wash her hands.

“I know just how you feel, best of luck,” She mentioned before walking out.

“Thanks,” You spoke back to her before turning your attention back to the mirror. “Do we think this boss of mine is going to go after the commander of that wife?”

“Yeah, Gibbs want you to stop him before he does. We have no clue who the boss is but he will be visiting the both of you tonight,”

“Got it,”

“Y/n!” Gibbs spoke now into the earpiece on the other end.

“Yeah?”

“If he got the hotel room, expect it to be bugged. So, you better act,”

“No worries. I’ve had to act in the bedroom before, and past boyfriends sure believed it,” You walked out of the bathroom and stood next to Tony. “Hun, my feet are killing me. I think it’s time we head to the hotel room and rest,” Tony nodded and stood up from his seat. The both of you said a goodbye to the couple and got your key from the front desk, soon getting into the elevator.

“So, a hotel room? Really want to sleep with me tonight, huh?” Tony laughed to himself as you positioned yourself in front of him and kissed his cheek, soon moving your lips closer to his ear.

“Room could be bugged, even the elevator, time to act,” You whispered, pulling back and placing a small kiss on his lips.

“Oh dear, if you really want me no need to ask,” He moved a arm around your waist, pulling you into his side a bit.

“The bags should already be in the room,” You smirked at him, and were soon at your level, the both of you getting off the elevator.

Once getting into your room you took off your heels and placed your bracelet on the table.

“I’m going to take a shower, care to join?” You commented, moving to the bathroom and starting the shower.

“It would be my pleasure,” He walked into the bathroom and started to unzip his pants.

“Babe, be patient,” You slapped his shoulder. “Turn around now, you know how self conscious I am,”

“That’s why I warned you not to eat that cake at dinner, my piece too,” He grumbled, turning around and lifting up his shirt as you took off your clothes and stepped into the shower.

“It was just so good! Being the loving, husband you are, I knew you wouldn’t mind,”

“Yeah, anything for you,” He stepped into the shower while your arms were trying to cover your breasts and vaginal area.

“Don’t look, just act,” You quietly scolded. “And try to cover your, uh,” You subtly moved a finger to point in the downwards direction and he quickly moved his hands there.

“Need another hand to help cover yours?” He joked, moving a little closer.

“I’ll kill you,” You mumbled. “Oh! Armon!” You moaned, Tony sending a sly smile and grunting. “You look like you’re enjoying this,”

“Might want to cover up that breast a little better,” He removed one hand to point at your left one.

“Damn it,” You did just that and reached for a towel which was on the toilet lid. “Ah, soap in the eye,” You voiced louder, just in case the man was listening and skeptical about it. You turned around from Tony and wrapped it around your chest area, then moving both hands to block your other.

“You really think they’re listening to us in here?”

“A good boss would. Especially if he is in this type of business.”

“I hate to know about some of your previous bosses,”

“Oh! Right there! Right there!” You yelled. “Yeah, you would. Most of them are dead though, so you won’t have to worry about that,”

“Old age, huh? What’s with old men being bosses anyways?”

“One was, but that’s not how he died. Man was a perve, had it coming,” You shrugged.

“You killed him?!”

“No, no. Not for that reason,” Tony’s mouth dropped. “Ah!” You yelled loudly, then making your breaths sound loud. “Gosh you are one messy man, good thing we did this in the water,” You smirked at DiNozzo who just mocked you.

“And you still are the easiest to ge-”

“I’m getting out now, you should too,” You removed the towel and let it drop to the floor of the shower, covering your breasts and looking for a robe, soon wrapping it around you.

While leaving the bathroom to grab your shirt and pants you heard the phone in the room start to ring and quickly rushed to it.

“Hello, Belle,” The man on the other line spoke into the phone. You could just imagine what he looked like, some rich guy with a cigar in his hand wanting some job done.

“Bonjour Monsieur,” You spoke, grateful that your mother had taught you french when you were young. “C’est qui je pense?”

(Hello, sir. Is this who I think it is?)

“Oui. Retrouvez-moi dans le salon. À neuf heures,”

(Yes. Meet me down in the lounge area. At nine o’clock.)

“D’accord. Au revoir,”

(Okay. Goodbye)

You placed the phone down, and grabbed your clothes, quickly changing into them as Tony emerged from the bathroom with his wet hair clinging to his forehead and a new, comfortable outfit on.

“Who was that, dear?” He asked, sneaking over by you.

“Un ami,” You smiled at him, tapping his nose.

“Uh, yeah,” He nodded, clearly not understanding and you just tried to stifle a laugh. “You know, grandpa, uh, Gibbs, he wants us to figure out when we should have dinner with him,”

“Ah. How about we go over for a breakfast at nine. He just got his living room refinished not too long ago, correct?”

“Sounds good. And never call me a grandpa again, DiNozzo,” Gibbs spoke into both of your earpieces.

“It’s almost nine already. I should go and ask for a extra pillow, sweetie. Get the bed ready for us, can you?” You grabbed your hotel key and put on your special boots. “No need to dress so fancy for getting something so simple,”

“DiNozzo, go with her,” Gibbs commanded. “David and McGee are heading to the lounge area now,”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with?” DiNozzo asked you.

“I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little pillow, nothing too much,” You kissed his cheek and quickly left the room. While walking down the hallway to the elevator, you took a quick look around to make sure you weren’t being followed.

Once waiting for the elevator, you fixed your boots a bit and entered when the doors opened. There was no one inside, so you pressed the ‘1st level’ button. When getting near the ‘2nd level’ the elevator stopped, indicating someone was going to get on.

It was a staff member in their normal uniform. He smiled at you with blankets in his hand and entered.

“Puis-je vous aider avec quoi que ce soit, mademoiselle?” He questioned, pulling out a gun from his side and opened the elevator door once again for two new men to appear.

(Can I help you with anything, miss?)

“Oui. En me alissa the vivre,” You told him, one of the man entering the elevator and pulling you out, the man in the staff uniform having his gun pointed at you.

(Yes. By letting me live.)

“Tsk. Ne peut faire. Vous souvenez-vous de moi?”

(No can do. Do you remember me?)

“Vous n’avez pas l’air familier,” You spoke, getting dragged down the hallway as someone reached into your ear and broke the earpiece.

(You don’t look familiar.)

“Enough of this french,” The man who was dragging you sneered. “I want to hear this bitch speak,”

“Fine,” The one in the staff uniform sighed. “I don’t think you’re the person we’re looking for. It’s a shame you think we were that stupid to not know what our employees look like,”

“You’re just so intelligent,” You commented, getting kicked in the back of the leg.

“I was speaking. You really played it off, the whole sex thing. But it’s a shame you won’t have anymore time with him, he won’t get his little pillow. At least I won’t have to worry about the real couple anymore, they knew too much and I couldn’t let that get out. All I have to do is deal with you,”

“That will be harder than you think,” You told him, the grip on your arm tightening.

“I’m always a fan of having some fun,”

“They’re going to find the bullet your men used to kill the couple. You knew we were here since the beginning,”

“Correct,” One of the men opened the door and you were led in. “With you posing as the couple, you were able to gain a connection with the couples you were seated with. That way, we could then swoop in and learn more about them, giving us the opportunity to hack into their phone and get the passwords needed,”

“You’re stupid to tell me this. I could’ve figured it out on my own, my team probably already has,” One man then put you in a chair and started to tie you up, the one in the staff uniform kicking you in the gut so you fell backwards.

“Lift her up again. I want to have my fun before she must go, I hope you don’t mind the heat,” The second man lifted your chair up and a few more punches were landed on your body.

“Tu es une racaille,” You mumbled, trying to move your arm in the tight ropes.

(You’re scum.)

“Let’s go,” The head man told the other two. One of them grabbed a gas can nearby and started to pour it on the bedsheets. The head man grabbed a match from his pocket and lit it, throwing it on the bed for the flames to begin. “Au revoir,”

They left the room and you struggled to try and move one arm.

Meanwhile DiNozzo was in the elevator with his gun in pocket, going down to the lounge area.

“Y/n can’t hear us anymore,” DiNozzo voiced into his microphone. “Did she make it to the lounge?”

“No. Damn it DiNozzo, I told you to stay with her,” Gibbs spoke, looking at DiNozzo once the elevator door opened. “David, Mcgee, take the back entrance me and DiNozzo will take the front and head up,” He demanded.

Everyone split up. Ziva and McGee ran to the back to catch two men rushing out. They quickly aimed their guns at them and announced their presence, only to receive some shots at them.

Ziva was able to shoot down on of the men and the other surrendered, McGee cuffing the one and letting a police who arrived take care of them.

“We didn’t call for backup,” McGee muttered to Ziva.

“Yeah, uh, someone called into 911 about a fire,” The police pointed to a window on the hotel building. “People should be evacuating the building now, firefighters are on their way,”

McGee’s mouth dropped as he stared at Ziva.

“How odd it happened tonight,” Ziva mumbled.

“It’s obviously intentional!” McGee exclaimed.

“I know that. I hope those guys don’t die,”

DiNozzo and Gibbs started to rush up the stairs, they could feel a bit of the heat from the room and were able to catch the man in the staff uniform in the stairway.

“Sir, are you alright?” DiNozzo stopped, grabbing onto his shoulders softly. “NCIS,”

“I’m fine, just startled, I need to get out of here,” He waved his hands and tried to slip away from DiNozzo’s grip.

“DiNozzo, that’s him,” Gibbs quickly told the agent who soon put the mans hands behind his back. “Where’s our agent?”

“She won’t make it, a fire like that, no one would,” He smiled and DiNozzo led him down the stairs.

Gibbs continued to rush up them, into the hallway that was catching more and more on fire.

“L/n! L/n!” He yelled, looking around to try and find your figure.

He saw you emerge into the hallway, bloodied and bruised, some of your shirt on fire, and a knife in your hand. He rushed to your side, letting you lean on him.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” He asked and you shook your head a little, letting him fully help you down the stairs and out of the building.

He guided you to the ambulance who tended to most of your wounds, but you refused to be transferred to a hospital.

“You need to go,” McGee tried to convince you, standing by your side.

“It would probably be for the best,” David chimed in.

“Hopefully, they can fix your hair too,” Tony laughed, looking you up and down.

“Damn you, DiNozzo,” You stood and smacked the back of his head, while he just laughed.

“Go home you three, I’ll make sure Y/n gets home alright,” Gibbs came over, waving the three agents off who spared a small goodbye or hand wave. “You ready to go, idiot.”

“I almost died, and you’re calling me a idiot,” You chuckled a little. “Help me to your car?” You asked and he let you lean on him once again.

Once the both of you were in the car it was a very quiet ride. You didn’t talk to each other, just letting silence from the long day overtake each other. He truly was nervous for your safety, thought the two of you hadn’t been dating long he felt a lot of compassion regarding you and wanted to continue your relationship smoothly.

“I really was worried. I told you not to go alone, you should’ve let DiNozzo go with you,” He finally spoke, once you were both in his driveway, sitting in the car, in the dark.

“I’m alive. Just got kicked around a bit, I’m super grateful I always carry that knife in my boot,” You softly told him. “Don’t worry about me too much, I may be younger than you, but I have experience.”

“I know that, just don’t be so stupid last time and take the help.”

“Fine,” Gibbs got out of his seat and moved around to your door, grabbing your hand and helping you out of the car. He smiled at the factor of how easily you trusted him to care for you. “I didn’t doubt you would get me for a minute.”

“Good, you should know that.”

“Only because you still owe me a date, and I did say I would let you pick this one out,” You looked up at him with a goofy grin. It amazed him that even with being beaten up a bit, and almost dying in a fire, you could make jokes with him.

“I say we have the little date here,” He leaned down a bit to place a gentle kiss upon your lips, smirking into it a little bit, and then moving the way you were leaning on him so he would be able to pick you up.

“Someone’s excited.”

“Let’s watch a nice movie on the couch. I bought some creamer, so, I can make that creamed coffee you wanted because now I’m your boyfriend but still pissed you made a stupid and life threatening decision in there,”

“Good enough. Palmer will have to wait. Poor kid,” You commented as Gibbs lead you to the couch and helped you rest on it, soon moving to his kitchen to start brewing a pot of coffee.

“That idiot will be fine.”

“Yeah, luckily for him, though I won’t be able to atend, I do have a friend that will,” You smiled to yourself, imagining how that would be going right now.

While you lied on the couch with your boyfriend who was, secretly, doting on you, giving you his undivided attention. DiNozzo was at a bar, chatting with someone while looking around for them.

“She said she would be at this booth,” DiNozzo whispered to himself, wallking to the booth in the corner for where they shall meet. “God, she looked so good in her profile picture, I’m so- Palmer?!”

“Tony?” He looked up from his seat. “You’re Y/n’s friend? I guess I didn’t specify the gender, and she didn’t say a specific name.”

“Y/n? She’s not that good at compute- Damn, probie.”

#leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #gibbs x y/n #gibbs x you #ncis fandom #ncis fanfiction #ncis x reader #ncis fic

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