⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆“You’re somethin’ else, kid.” ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Gibbs shook his head at the sight of your blanket fort, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his usually sharp blue eyes. The living room was a mess—stuffed animals scattered, pillows stacked into what looked like a barricade. He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he crouched down, lifting the edge of the blanket.

“Past your bedtime, baby girl.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed you from under your arms and lifted you with ease, your legs dangling in the air. His grip was steady—rough hands, but gentle as always.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you sneakin’ around, huh?” He held you up to eye level, raising an eyebrow. “What, you plannin’ an ambush?”

You giggled, wiggling in his hold, and he let out a soft snort, shaking his head.

“You’re a handful, you know that?”

He didn’t say it, but he was glad to come home to this—your laughter, your bright blue eyes (more vivid than his, somehow), your little messes that filled the quiet space he once dreaded. Most nights, he came home late, exhaustion settling deep in his bones, but seeing you like this, full of energy, full of life—it made the long days worth it. His place was now a home, he had his daughter and also your mom (his ex-fiancée) it was purely platonic between them but it was still nice to raise you as a family.

Instead of scolding you, he adjusted his grip, cradling you against his chest as he walked toward your bedroom. You curled into him instinctively, your little hands clutching at his shirt, and for a second, something in his chest tightened. He used to carry Kelly like this.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it. Instead, he murmured “C’mon, kid. Bedtime.”

And though you grumbled, you didn’t fight him, because deep down, you knew—your dad was always there to keep you safe, no matter what.