bridgetjonesjunior

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Hi! Feeling sorry for myself after a holiday injury so consoling myself by reading your works! May I please request from the keep a pocket full of hope prompt list 7 From the silence of the speakers, To the bow in your hair, To the sweet smell of perfume, That's hoverin' in the air for either Peter benton or Mike franks? Thank you 🙈

Oh no Nonny! I hope you're ok! I hope this little piece from Mike cheers you up!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @star017 @coppertophomegurl

Summary: Mike can't stop staring at the ribbon.

Companion piece to:

Good Boy - Mike is not a good boy.

Life Lessons (NSFW) - Mike and you don't play the games other couples do.

Count To Five (NSFW) - Mike comes home to a naked woman in his bed.

Pool House (NSFW) - You and Mike steal a moment alone at the LA Law Enforcement Conference.

Love Is A Strong Word - Mike confesses his feelings after a disagreement.

Shirt (NSFW) - Mike turns up to a crime scene to find you wearing his shirt.

Prequel to:

Baggage - You confront Mike after he says another woman's name in his sleep.

The Written Word - Mike's world is turned upside down when he discovers a letter written by Violet before her death.

San Francisco - In his time of need Mike turns to the only other person who knew Violet as well as he did.

The Way of the World - There's a reason Mike's been teaching you all those life lessons.

If You Want Blood - A routine meeting with C.I leads to the beginning of a nightmare.

Faith -  Mike knows you’ll call, he won’t survive it if you don’t.

Friday I’m In Love - You put Mike’s life lessons into practice when you wake up in the trunk of a rapist’s car.

Mike can’t take his eyes off the ribbon in your hair. That pretty little claret bow has been driving him to distraction the entire time you’ve been in his office, filling out the case details on the whiteboard.

He can’t stop thinking about last night, how he fucked you in front of the Christmas tree, all that wrapping paper crinkling underneath you as he gripped your hips and given you it to you with that Santa’s hat still on his head. The fairy lights had bathed your bare skin in a warm, soft glow as your wrists strained against the ribbon keeping them pinned together above your head.

“You are killing me right now.” He murmurs in your ear, his hand coming to rest on your waist, thumb caressing a heated circle through your shirt as he breathes you in. You smell like pine needles and sunshine, all the good things that come with spending Christmas Eve together.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips curving up into a wry smile. “You haven’t been able to sit still since I arrived here to deliver this case.”

“It’s this thing.” He responds, his hand slipping from your waist to tug at the ends of your ponytail. He wraps it around his fist, pulling your head back to reveal your delicate throat, his lips ghosting up along the curve. “It’s giving me all sorta of mischievous thoughts.”

“Careful Mike.” You murmur as his teeth graze your jugular. “You’re writing a one way ticket to the naughty list.”

“Oh sweetheart I can be plenty nice too.” He reminds you, his free hand straying to the waistband of your jeans before delving lower. “I’m more than happy to get on my knees and-”

A door slams down the corridor, a sign that the two of you are about to be interrupted. He pulls away, returning to his desk to re-adjust the stiffy that’s making itself known within the confines of his denim jeans.  

Randy shoulders his way through the door, his gaze taking you in as you continue to write on the whiteboard.

“Nice ribbon.” He says, bobbing his head in approval. “Very festive.”

“Thanks Randy.” You respond, your hand smoothing over it. “Mike seems to think so too.”

Love Mike? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Hi! Feeling sorry for myself after a holiday injury so consoling myself by reading your works! May I please request from the keep a pocket full of hope prompt list 7 From the silence of the speakers, To the bow in your hair, To the sweet smell of perfume, That's hoverin' in the air for either Peter benton or Mike franks? Thank you 🙈

Oh no Nonny! I hope you're ok! I hope this little piece from Mike cheers you up!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @star017 @coppertophomegurl

Summary: Mike can't stop staring at the ribbon.

Companion piece to:

Good Boy - Mike is not a good boy.

Life Lessons (NSFW) - Mike and you don't play the games other couples do.

Count To Five (NSFW) - Mike comes home to a naked woman in his bed.

Pool House (NSFW) - You and Mike steal a moment alone at the LA Law Enforcement Conference.

Love Is A Strong Word - Mike confesses his feelings after a disagreement.

Shirt (NSFW) - Mike turns up to a crime scene to find you wearing his shirt.

Prequel to:

Baggage - You confront Mike after he says another woman's name in his sleep.

The Written Word - Mike's world is turned upside down when he discovers a letter written by Violet before her death.

San Francisco - In his time of need Mike turns to the only other person who knew Violet as well as he did.

The Way of the World - There's a reason Mike's been teaching you all those life lessons.

If You Want Blood - A routine meeting with C.I leads to the beginning of a nightmare.

Faith -  Mike knows you’ll call, he won’t survive it if you don’t.

Friday I’m In Love - You put Mike’s life lessons into practice when you wake up in the trunk of a rapist’s car.

Mike can’t take his eyes off the ribbon in your hair. That pretty little claret bow has been driving him to distraction the entire time you’ve been in his office, filling out the case details on the whiteboard.

He can’t stop thinking about last night, how he fucked you in front of the Christmas tree, all that wrapping paper crinkling underneath you as he gripped your hips and given you it to you with that Santa’s hat still on his head. The fairy lights had bathed your bare skin in a warm, soft glow as your wrists strained against the ribbon keeping them pinned together above your head.

“You are killing me right now.” He murmurs in your ear, his hand coming to rest on your waist, thumb caressing a heated circle through your shirt as he breathes you in. You smell like pine needles and sunshine, all the good things that come with spending Christmas Eve together.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips curving up into a wry smile. “You haven’t been able to sit still since I arrived here to deliver this case.”

“It’s this thing.” He responds, his hand slipping from your waist to tug at the ends of your ponytail. He wraps it around his fist, pulling your head back to reveal your delicate throat, his lips ghosting up along the curve. “It’s giving me all sorta of mischievous thoughts.”

“Careful Mike.” You murmur as his teeth graze your jugular. “You’re writing a one way ticket to the naughty list.”

“Oh sweetheart I can be plenty nice too.” He reminds you, his free hand straying to the waistband of your jeans before delving lower. “I’m more than happy to get on my knees and-”

A door slams down the corridor, a sign that the two of you are about to be interrupted. He pulls away, returning to his desk to re-adjust the stiffy that’s making itself known within the confines of his denim jeans.  

Randy shoulders his way through the door, his gaze taking you in as you continue to write on the whiteboard.

“Nice ribbon.” He says, bobbing his head in approval. “Very festive.”

“Thanks Randy.” You respond, your hand smoothing over it. “Mike seems to think so too.”

Love Mike? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Peter Benton. What would happen if I asked you to stay?

That's my ask for him tonight please, Imma go find one for Carl Morck now ~

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cannonindeez

Summary: Peter takes you somewhere to get out of your head.

Companion piece to:

Plastics - Peter has never had a high opinion of plastics surgeons.

The Right One - Peter makes a realisation about you when the two of you share a patient.

Horror Show - Your date with Peter is thrown off course when John Carter is brought into the ER.

Mind Fuck - An encounter with Rocket Romano leads Peter to make a confession.

The Rooftop -  After a bad day you always end up on the roof.

Before the fire, you used to do ballet. It was a way to relax during Med School, the focus on your breathing and poise was similar to meditation, the physicality of the classes helping to build the stamina you needed to spend hours on your feet in the OR.

After the skin grafts those classes were replaced with physiotherapy to help improve your skin elasticity and restore your range of motion. Ballet faded away into the gruelling sessions as you tried to pick up where you left off in Med School, recouping experience and finishing your boards.

Now you’re standing outside a private dance studio alongside Peter, watching through the window as people inside prepare for their dance class.

“You once told that ballet was the only thing that helped you get out of your head.” Peter says as he gestures at the scene in front of you. “So I thought maybe instead of hanging out on the roof and freezing to death, maybe you should try this instead.”

“I did say that but I…” You trial off because the instructor has already seen you through the glass and she’s beckoning you inside.

You look up at Peter and he shrugs his shoulders. “Estelle’s a friend of mine, I told her you might be a little nervous.” His palm comes to rest on the small of your back, escorting you toward the door of the studio. “Now I’m going to get a coffee down the street, catch up on some medical journals but I’ll be back in 90 minutes and I want to know all about the twirls and the other stuff.”

You pause in the doorway, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “What if I wanted you to stay? Maybe you could watch me?”

Those words, they do a little something to Peter. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare, the tightening of his grip on the handle of the door as he clears his throat. He shifts slightly, just enough for you to realise he has something going on below the belt and the thought of arousing him, you relish it.

“I can do that.” He says gruffly, pulling the door open for you. “Sometimes I like to watch.”

Love Peter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.Interested in supporting me?

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Peter Benton. What would happen if I asked you to stay?

That's my ask for him tonight please, Imma go find one for Carl Morck now ~

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cannonindeez

Summary: Peter takes you somewhere to get out of your head.

Companion piece to:

Plastics - Peter has never had a high opinion of plastics surgeons.

The Right One - Peter makes a realisation about you when the two of you share a patient.

Horror Show - Your date with Peter is thrown off course when John Carter is brought into the ER.

Mind Fuck - An encounter with Rocket Romano leads Peter to make a confession.

The Rooftop -  After a bad day you always end up on the roof.

Before the fire, you used to do ballet. It was a way to relax during Med School, the focus on your breathing and poise was similar to meditation, the physicality of the classes helping to build the stamina you needed to spend hours on your feet in the OR.

After the skin grafts those classes were replaced with physiotherapy to help improve your skin elasticity and restore your range of motion. Ballet faded away into the gruelling sessions as you tried to pick up where you left off in Med School, recouping experience and finishing your boards.

Now you’re standing outside a private dance studio alongside Peter, watching through the window as people inside prepare for their dance class.

“You once told that ballet was the only thing that helped you get out of your head.” Peter says as he gestures at the scene in front of you. “So I thought maybe instead of hanging out on the roof and freezing to death, maybe you should try this instead.”

“I did say that but I…” You trial off because the instructor has already seen you through the glass and she’s beckoning you inside.

You look up at Peter and he shrugs his shoulders. “Estelle’s a friend of mine, I told her you might be a little nervous.” His palm comes to rest on the small of your back, escorting you toward the door of the studio. “Now I’m going to get a coffee down the street, catch up on some medical journals but I’ll be back in 90 minutes and I want to know all about the twirls and the other stuff.”

You pause in the doorway, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “What if I wanted you to stay? Maybe you could watch me?”

Those words, they do a little something to Peter. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare, the tightening of his grip on the handle of the door as he clears his throat. He shifts slightly, just enough for you to realise he has something going on below the belt and the thought of arousing him, you relish it.

“I can do that.” He says gruffly, pulling the door open for you. “Sometimes I like to watch.”

Love Peter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.Interested in supporting me?

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

The loneliness of being a Peter Benton stan while everyone falls in love with John Carter all over again

[bridgetjonesjunior]

🙏🏻

Mind Fuck: Peter Benton x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cannonindeez @hobbit-habbit

Summary: An encounter with Rocket Romano leads Peter to make a confession.

Companion piece to:

Plastics - Peter has never had a high opinion of plastics surgeons.

The Right One - Peter makes a realisation about you when the two of you share a patient.

Horror Show - Your date with Peter is thrown off course when John Carter is brought into the ER.

Prequel to:

The Rooftop -  After a bad day you always end up on the roof.

The worst part about being a woman working on the surgical floor is Doctor Robert Romano. You and every single other person with a XX chromosome are subjected to lewd comments, filthy jibes and the looks…

He doesn’t hide the fact he has a thing for your ass, he even goes as far as to ask if you’re a thongs or g-string kinda gal while you’re wrist deep in someone’s chest cavity.

“I’m a professional kinda gal.” You bite back, taking care to keep your hands steady as you insert a silicone breast implant underneath the exposed flap of skin. “The type that doesn’t appreciate those kind of comments when I’m trying to reconstruct someone’s breast tissue after a double mastectomy.”

“Oh mommy’s angry today.” He shoots back, leaning over your shoulder to watch you work. You can feel his breath on your neck and it makes your jaw clench. “Maybe if I’m lucky she’ll give me a spanking.”

“I’m more likely to stab you with this scalpel.” You respond, making an incision by the areola so you can better manoeuvre the implant in place.

“Oh knife play, I knew you’d be little bit kinky. The messed up ones usually are.” He murmurs into your ear, the heat from his body permeating through the surgical gown. “I don’t imagine you get much sensation with those scars of yours. I guess you need someone who can push you to your limits right?”

“You’ll just have to keep guessing Doctor Romano.” You respond as your cheeks colour underneath your surgical mask. “Because there isn’t a chance in hell of you ever finding out.”

“I love it when you play hard to get Mina.” He says in a tone that implies exactly that. “It’ll make it all that more fun when you come crawling to me on your hands and knees because no one else can stand to look at you.”

It’s a blow, a cruel one delivered by a cruel man who can’t stand the fact that you won’t bend to his will. The thing is he’s actually right. Your scars are the reason your last boyfriend would dress you up in lingerie, the type of things that covered up all the places he didn’t want to see while he fucked you.

“You alright?” Peter asks when he finds you sitting on the bench in the locker room, carefully removing the pins from your hair. They clunk into the metal candy tin you keep them in.

“Yeah.” You say quietly, shaking out the loose strands so your scalp gets some relief. “It’s just Romano mind fucking me because he doesn’t get to actually fuck me.”

“Yeah I heard about that. It sounds particularly vicious even for him.” Peter says as he sits down beside you, his hip bumping against yours. “You know he’s just doing it because he can’t control you, he hates the fact-”

“He’s right Peter…” You say suddenly stopping him in his tracks. “About the sensation, I don’t have any in certain places. It makes it hard for me to… it just makes it hard.”

“Oh.” He says, his dark brows furrowing into a frown as he takes in this new information. “When you’re by yourself or with other people?”

“Other people.” You respond, placing the lid back on the candy tin and screwing it tight.

“You know all the right spots.” He says, nodding his head in understanding. “And no one else has ever taken the time to…”

He struggles to find the right word without sounding vulgar.

“They don’t usually stick around that long.” You tell him as you raise to your feet, placing the candy tin on the top shelf of your locker before pulling out your jacket.

“More fool them.” Peter remarks standing up to help you into it.

“More fool me for thinking I could have a normal life.”  You say as you shove your arms into the sleeves. “That’s the part they don’t tell you when something like this happens to you, it’s all sunshine and roses because you’re lucky to be alive. They don’t see how lonely it is in the aftermath, that nobody will want you.”

“Mina.” Peter says quietly as you turn to face him. “That’s not true.”

“You don’t need to placate me-”

“Mina.” He says again, this time more forcefully, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “I’m telling you, it’s not true.”

Love Peter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.Interested in supporting me?

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Friday I'm In Love: Mike Franks x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @star017 @coppertophomegurl

Summary: You put Mike's life lessons into practice when you wake up in the trunk of a rapist's car.

Companion piece to:

Good Boy - Mike is not a good boy.

Life Lessons (NSFW) - Mike and you don’t play the games other couples do.

Count To Five (NSFW) - Mike comes home to a naked woman in his bed.

Pool House (NSFW) - You and Mike steal a moment alone at the LA Law Enforcement Conference.

Shirt (NSFW) - Mike turns up to a crime scene to find you wearing his shirt.

Love Is A Strong Word - Mike confesses his feelings after a disagreement.

Baggage - You confront Mike after he says another woman’s name in his sleep.

The Written Word - Mike’s world is turned upside down when he discovers a letter written by Violet before her death.

San Francisco - In his time of need Mike turns to the only other person who knew Violet as well as he did.

The Way of the World - There’s a reason Mike’s been teaching you all those life lessons.

If You Want Blood - A routine meeting with C.I leads to the beginning of a nightmare.

Faith - Mike knows you’ll call, he won’t survive it if you don’t.

You wake up in the trunk of a car, Friday I’m In Love by The Cureplaying on the stereo. The lyrics swim around your brain as agony erupts inside your skull, a blinding head splitting pain that make you taste metal as you bite down on the gag that’s pressed between your teeth to muffle the cry that tries to erupt out of your chest.

The music gets louder, drowning out the roar of the engine as the car rolls over a pothole bouncing you around the confined space. A wave of nausea hits you and you try to swallow back the bile so you don’t choke on it, acid burning the back of your oesophagus.

You wrench at the restraints behind your back, the chain between your handcuffs clattering as the metal bites into your wrists. Your fingertips are tingling, meaning they’re on too tight, that if they aren’t released soon they’ll be nerve damage.

You rub your feet together with the intention of kicking off your boots to get to the knife Mike had you stow away but it’s gone along with your back up pistol and your shoes.

Panic raises in your chest but you force yourself to take a deep breath, your eyes closed as you think about Mike. The low rumble of his voice first thing in the morning, his hand combing through your hair as he lies beside you, his nose chasing lightly over yours.

It steadies your breathing, stops your thoughts from racing.

Small steps, you tell yourself because the bigger concept of what you’re facing is too overwhelming, too horrible. Break it down into manageable steps.

First things first get your hands in front of you.

The asshole has already done part of the job for you by taking off your boots. You bring your knees up to your chest, making yourself as small as possible as you try to wrestle the cuffs underneath your ass. You exhale drawing your body up tight, managing to loop them underneath your knees before you get your feet through the gap, arms straining at the joints The exertion costs you, you lie still for a second as the song changes trying catch your breath and thanking God for yoga.

Good girl, Mike says in your head. You know what to do next.

You reach into your hair, plucking one of the hairpins out of the silky strands before twisting your wrists so you can jab it into the keyhole.

It takes a minute, but you’ve played this game many times with Mike, with distractions and without, it’s muscle memory at this point. The cuffs release and you exhale in relief, pulling the gag from your mouth and tearing it off over your head. You tuck the cuffs into your back pocket since both your holsters are gone and focus on your surroundings.

It doesn’t take you long to realise you’re in the back of a Jeep Cherokee, there’s no back panel separating you and the rest of the car, just the seats. You know from one wild summer at the beach with an ex-boyfriend that they fold down, something you can use to your advantage considering you can’t open the trunk door from the inside. Your fingers grasp the seat release, easing them flat.

You can see the back of your captor’s head. Blond military buzzcut, wide set shoulders. Cal was right, typical navy grunt and the exact same description from Mike’s witness statements. The asshole is singing along to the radio as he drives down a rural road, probably leading to the perfect murder spot. A call box whips by and you thank god for the government implementation of that program not too long ago.

Your take down, it needs to be hard and fast, something to get the car stopped before he even realises what ‘s happening.

You slip into the space behind him, your hand lashing out and grasping his seat belt yanking it tight across his body. The action thrusts him back into the driver’s seat, constricting his breathing for a second as you manage to jam your forearm underneath his chin, interlocking your fingers to cut off his air supply, just the way Mike taught you.

He splutters, reacting instinctively, his hands coming off the wheel, to grasp at your arm. You tuck your cheek against the opposite side of the headrest away from the window, squeezing tighter as he scratches at the skin with his short nails. The car skids as the unmanned steering wheel jerks from left to right, you feel the instant the front tire tips over the lip of the ditch and brace yourself for impact.

The sudden force jerks your grip free, sending his head careening into the side panel of the driver’s door as the car rolls, the glass shattering inwards from the collision, showering you both. The roof crumples as it hits a tree, creaking as it dents around the bark, halting the progression of the Jeep further into the ditch.

Every single muscle in your body roars in pain, but pain is good, pain is invigorating. It means that you’re still alive.

In the driver’s seat you hear a gurgling sound, you manage to force yourself into the gap between seats to see that the steering column has driven itself into your captor’s abdomen, trapping him. Blood leaks from his mouth, his breath a hoarse rasp. A crush injury, you fucking hope. You take your cuffs out of your back pocket, fastening one to his wrist and the other to the steering wheel, just in case.

You squeeze into the front seat, your foot coming to rest on the centre console, giving you the leverage and height you need to grasp the handle of the passenger door above you and shove it open. Fresh night time air floods the Jeep as you use the open dashboard and the passenger seat headrest as footholds to climb your way out.

Your head is spinning by the time you make it back to the road, sticky wet heat runs down your face but you focus on that call box in the distance, in putting one foot in front of the other to get to it.

Your hands are trembling by the time you pick up the phone. It’s the shock you think, from the abduction, from the crash. Your fingers slip on the metal buttons as you try to dial Mike’s desk number.

He picks up after one ring, his gruff voice rumbling over the line as he barks his name.

“Mike.” You whisper, your voice ragged as that dizziness starts to get the best of you. “Mike I need help.”

Love Mike? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

🎉

Not a question or anything, just me being a square and freaking out - I’m on the edge of my seat following the return of Mike Franks!

You are not being a square at all. I'm really glad you popped into my inbox to let me know. There wasn't much interaction with that last post so I thought interest in Mike might be dying.

I've actually just rough drafted what happened with her and she's certainly taken those life lessons Mike's been teaching her to heart.

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Can I please request from the Sing Those Songs Baby playlist number 12 - 2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake can you help me unravel my latest mistake with Mike Franks please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @star017 @coppertophomegurl

Summary: Mike knows you'll call, he won't survive it if you don't.

Companion piece to:

Good Boy - Mike is not a good boy.

Life Lessons (NSFW) - Mike and you don't play the games other couples do.

Count To Five (NSFW) - Mike comes home to a naked woman in his bed.

Pool House (NSFW) - You and Mike steal a moment alone at the LA Law Enforcement Conference.

Shirt (NSFW) - Mike turns up to a crime scene to find you wearing his shirt.

Love Is A Strong Word - Mike confesses his feelings after a disagreement.

Baggage - You confront Mike after he says another woman's name in his sleep.

The Written Word - Mike's world is turned upside down when he discovers a letter written by Violet before her death.

San Francisco - In his time of need Mike turns to the only other person who knew Violet as well as he did.

The Way of the World - There's a reason Mike's been teaching you all those life lessons.

If You Want Blood - A routine meeting with C.I leads to the beginning of a nightmare.

It’s two am and Mike’s smoking another cigarette at his desk, staring in the abyss. He’s almost gone through the pack Mary Jo handed to him earlier this evening when he was pacing a hole in the floor and climbing the fucking walls.

Everyone else on his team, they’re out there chasing down leads on your abduction but Mike, he stays right here because the thing they don’t know is this phone on his desk, it’s going to ring.

He just has to have faith.

The moment he doesn’t is the moment he turns his gun on himself because Mike, he can’t go through this again. He just about survived what happened with Violet, he knows he won’t survive the same thing happening to you.

He stubs the cigarette out in his ashtray  before lighting another, his gaze fixed on the board in front of him. The blood and hair stuck to the frame of the passenger seat door, the dent your head made in the metal. There were drag marks leading to another vehicle, a Jeep they think from the tire tracks.

Come on baby, he thinks as he taps the ash form his cigarette. Don’t let all those life lessons be for nothin’.

He’s just starting to lose hope when the phone rings. He snatches it from the cradle, holding it to his ear as he barks. “Franks.”

There’s silence for a moment and he closes his eyes and begins to pray.

“Mike.” You rasp and your voice, it’s just the sweetest fucking sound. “Mike I need help.”

Love Mike? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Can I please request from the Sing Those Songs Baby playlist number 12 - 2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake can you help me unravel my latest mistake with Mike Franks please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @star017 @coppertophomegurl

Summary: Mike knows you'll call, he won't survive it if you don't.

Companion piece to:

Good Boy - Mike is not a good boy.

Life Lessons (NSFW) - Mike and you don't play the games other couples do.

Count To Five (NSFW) - Mike comes home to a naked woman in his bed.

Pool House (NSFW) - You and Mike steal a moment alone at the LA Law Enforcement Conference.

Shirt (NSFW) - Mike turns up to a crime scene to find you wearing his shirt.

Love Is A Strong Word - Mike confesses his feelings after a disagreement.

Baggage - You confront Mike after he says another woman's name in his sleep.

The Written Word - Mike's world is turned upside down when he discovers a letter written by Violet before her death.

San Francisco - In his time of need Mike turns to the only other person who knew Violet as well as he did.

The Way of the World - There's a reason Mike's been teaching you all those life lessons.

If You Want Blood - A routine meeting with C.I leads to the beginning of a nightmare.

It’s two am and Mike’s smoking another cigarette at his desk, staring in the abyss. He’s almost gone through the pack Mary Jo handed to him earlier this evening when he was pacing a hole in the floor and climbing the fucking walls.

Everyone else on his team, they’re out there chasing down leads on your abduction but Mike, he stays right here because the thing they don’t know is this phone on his desk, it’s going to ring.

He just has to have faith.

The moment he doesn’t is the moment he turns his gun on himself because Mike, he can’t go through this again. He just about survived what happened with Violet, he knows he won’t survive the same thing happening to you.

He stubs the cigarette out in his ashtray  before lighting another, his gaze fixed on the board in front of him. The blood and hair stuck to the frame of the passenger seat door, the dent your head made in the metal. There were drag marks leading to another vehicle, a Jeep they think from the tire tracks.

Come on baby, he thinks as he taps the ash form his cigarette. Don’t let all those life lessons be for nothin’.

He’s just starting to lose hope when the phone rings. He snatches it from the cradle, holding it to his ear as he barks. “Franks.”

There’s silence for a moment and he closes his eyes and begins to pray.

“Mike.” You rasp and your voice, it’s just the sweetest fucking sound. “Mike I need help.”

Love Mike? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Love Is A Strong Word: Mike Franks x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @star017 @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms

Companion piece to:

Life Lessons (NSFW) - Mike and you don't play the games other couples do.

Count To Five (NSFW) - Mike comes home to a naked woman in his bed.

Pool House (NSFW) - You and Mike steal a moment alone at the LA Law Enforcement Conference.

Mike is terrible at apologising.

It just wasn’t the way he was raised. His father was a mean son of a bitch and unfortunately some of those traits, they come out in him despite his momma’s influence.

Right now you’re standing at the edge of his crime scene, leaning against your car as you complete your notes in that little black book of yours. It’s part of the protocol when SDPD handover a crime scene to NIS, the detective on call, in this case you, details their initial findings before giving them to the Special Agent in Charge.

Noone knows that the two of you are fucking. You’re both cool in the field, professional. There’s a little humour sometimes but nothing that borders on flirting. He knows that shit like that starts rumours, especially for  a woman in law enforcement and he doesn’t want you catching any flack.  

You don’t acknowledge his approach, you don’t even register the fact he’s standing beside you until he clears his throat to get your attention. Your eyes flicker up to meet his and the look you give him, it’s enough to burn him alive from the inside out.

“I’m bad at this.” He says into the space between you as you tear out the replicated pages and reset the carbon paper in your notebook.

“Well you’ve been a Special Agent for a while now.” You say indicating to the crime scene. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“No, I mean…” He trails off and you look at him expectantly, closing the notebook and placing it inside your jacket pocket. “I shouldn’t have said what I said last night.”

“You were just telling it like it is.” You say frankly, placing a hand on your hip. “I’m just the girl you fuck when you need to work some shit out right?”

He hates himself for saying those words. He’d been tired, sore and frustrated when he’d gotten home and there you were in his kitchen, making dinner. He didn’t expect it, not after the way you left things at the pool back in L.A. Walking away like that, it had made him feel shitty, like he was nothing to you but a cock to get yourself off on. In the past he would have had no problem with that but now, with you…

It’s a big fucking problem because Mike wants more, he just isn’t great at vocalising it. He’ll never forget the expression on your face when you walked out of his house. That hurt, that frustration, he feels it ten fold because he knows he’s blowing his own shit up.

“We both know you’re more than that.” He says softly as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved last night, it wasn’t… gentlemanly.”

“Maybe we need to address why you did react that way.” You state, leaning against the side panel of your car.

“Confusion mostly.” He admits, his gaze lingering on Randy as he stomps through the muddy crime scene in boat shoes. “You’re making love to me but you’re not sleeping with me. I wake up alone and it’s not a good feeling, in fact it’s a shitty feeling because it makes me feel like you don’t want me, the real me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted.” You tell him, your voice lowering as you lean in close so you won’t be overheard. “When we first started this, you made that very clear-.”

“Well a lot’s changed since we first started.” He reminds you because the two of you have spent a lot of time together, picking locks, hotwiring cars and teaching each other all kinds of illegal shit. Mike’s love language it’s acts of service and nothing says romance like making sure his girl has all the options available to her because the world it isn’t kind to women, especially not towards strong, capable ones like you. “Look, I love you and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that you love me too-.”

“Love is such a strong word.” You say with a hit of humour and he knows you’re starting to thaw. “Tolerate is probably more where we’re at.”

“Leigh.” He says fondly, tilting his head towards you with that knowing glint in his eyes. “Can’t you just give an old man a break?”

“Fine, I love you too.” You say resolutely as you hand him your notes. Your fingers brush across his and he holds onto them for just a little too long. “Now get back to work and I’ll see you later tonight.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

TOO GOOD FOR THAT

Mike Franks x F!Wife!Reader // Word Count: 2k Summary: After a bad day you retreat to Daly's bar to meet up with Mike and the team, but things get a little rowdy. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst, comfort, alludes to sexual situations, violence, mentions of blood, drinking. Mentions of dishonorable discharge. A/N: Mike Franks from NCIS: Origins is literally all I can think of and I'm anxious as we wait on election news so decided to pour myself into fic writing. More from this universe

It didn’t take much to fade into the chaos of Daly’s bar. The only criteria that was needed for it to be this packed was the time of night. There were marines, locals, and agents all throughout the bar and while you recognized most of them, your favorite part about Daly’s was that most people minded their own business. Mostly everyone. 

“You ringin’ him out tonight or comin’ to join the fun?” 

There was no need to look to your right where the voice was coming from to know who it was. You could pick Lala’s voice out of a crowd. 

“Still deciding.” You smirked as your eyes fell on your husband who was shooting darts with Randy. 

“Well, while you weigh your options, take a shot with me.” She was bringing a glass of amber liquid in front of your eyes. 

Without a second guess you grabbed the glass, breaking your gaze from Mike you turned to Lala. Clinking your glass to hers and taking back the alcohol, you fought to make a face as the liquor ran down your throat. Lala had finished her shot two seconds before you, but it was long enough for you to follow her gaze to someone you knew through your husband–someone you knew was new to the team. 

“How’s the probie?” You nodded in his direction as he sat alone at a bar table, taking in the atmosphere like you just were. 

“Still figuring him out.” Her gaze didn’t falter as she spoke. 

You wished you could read Lala, but she had a damn good way of presenting neutral. Although, there was something on her face that leaned away from neutrality, you couldn’t place it. 

“So you decide yet?” And just like that, that sliver of something you couldn’t place was gone and she was turning to smile at you. “Should I get my popcorn or get you another drink?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, it was entertaining when you’d get into it with Franks in front of the team. It didn’t happen often but it sure left its mark when you did. But that wasn’t your intention coming here tonight and if Mike had met your eyes when you entered the bar he would have been able to know that immediately. But with the chaos of everything, you were lucky Lala even picked you out. 

“Drink. You know you had me the minute you fed me a shot.” It was true, the alcohol made you feel a little more loose from the shitty day you just had. The plan when you stepped into Smitty’s was to find Mike and have him bring you home but as the dark liquid coursed through your veins the idea of forgetting the day instead of soaking in it felt good. “I’ll buy next round?” You pointed to the bar and began walking before she could answer. 

Next round turned to 3 more, jumping between beer and bourbon. Right now both amber liquids were serving as the comfort you had come to Daly’s looking for, although you were originally expecting the comfort to come from Mike not bottom shelf bourbon. 

Suddenly, you felt hands around your waist and the feel of them against your bare skin as they snuck under your shirt was better comfort than any sip of the highest shelf alcohol could ever bring. 

“How long you been here?” His deep voice in your ear was like coming up for fresh air. 

“Not too long, Lala caught me at the door.” You leaned back into him, his right hand quickly moved off your waist and raised to get Smitty’s attention. 

“Smitty, let me get my beautiful bride a glass of chardonnay.” 

Your brows knitted as he ordered the drink for you, your head turned up to look at him but as you did, he surprised you with a quick kiss and speaking against your lips. “Chardonnay makes you happy, I can tell you had a shit day.” 

With a smile you turned back to the bar and leaned back further into him, snugging your body as much as physically possible into him while his hand found its place back on your waist again. 

“You wanna talk about it?” The vibration of his voice echoed through your body and you felt his lips against the top of your head. 

“Not here.” You answered quickly and your body tensed as you saw the amount of people around you. Lala had disappeared from the bar, and even though everyone was likely to mind their business, you didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. 

Mike picked up on it immediately, he changed the subject without missing a beat, his grip tightening on you in hopes to keep your tears bottled in until you wanted them to flood. “Probie threw up when he saw the body today.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at that, taking the wine glass in your hand the minute Smitty placed it down in front of you. Half of it was gone in two gulps and you turned holding up the glass for Mike to take his own sip. 

“Chardonnay makes you happy too.” You pushed the glass closer to him. 

“I got all the happy I need.” He leaned down to kiss you, this one less quick and more purposeful. His hand reached up and cupped your face, you tasted the cigarette on his tongue this time, mixed with the whiskey on his breath. It made you want to pick up the habit yourself and wash it down with an irish coffee every morning just to keep the taste of him with you. 

When you pulled away from the kiss, you wished you told him to take you home the minute you felt his calloused hands around you. The heat in your body was mixed with a throbbing in your chest and lower body. If you finished the glass of chardonnay in your hand, there’d be very little stopping you from taking him on the bar, but you’d probably opt for a quickie in the bathroom. Optics and all. 

But then, like your gut had been ahead of you the whole time, your eyes bounced to the door which is where you saw him. 

Tensed. Your whole body tensed, it was as stiff as a board. Your mind should’ve been going a mile a minute but it was frozen in time. Your eyes just stared at him, no thoughts, and the echo of Franks wasn’t audible over the ringing. 

The ringing got louder when the man’s eyes met yours. The smirk on his face brought rage from the deepest part of your being. Your hands were gripped tight, one of them against Mike’s side, and the other on the wine glass that was now being removed from your hand. 

“Hey!” Mike’s voice got through to you and your eyes jumped to his. “Talk to me. What’s happening?” 

You stared at him for a minute, letting the red vignette you felt like you were seeing fade away as you took in the features of your husband. He let the time pass without asking again, he was likely just happy you were looking at him after staring off for so long. After a deep breath you spoke. 

“Some guy who served with my brother, he came up to me on base earlier today when I was at the grocery store, harassed me about my brother’s dishonorable discharge. I walked away, he followed me.” You remembered the scene from just a few hours before. 

“How’d he know you were related?” Mike was trying to understand what happened. 

“Had on my college soccer jersey with my last name on it.” Your eyes jumped from Mike to the entrance again but this time your gaze came up blank, the man had moved. “When I walked away, he followed me. Pulled me back by grabbing my jersey, and he screamed at me, completely lost it on me.” 

Your hands were shaking now. 

“He what?” Now it was Mike’s turn to start getting the red vignette around his eyes. “He put hands on you?” 

The question was more rhetorical than anything else, but you weren’t even given the time to answer because the shadow of who you expected to be the man from the grocery store was lingering over you. 

“Can’t seem to shake you.” He had chuckled through the statement, almost like he was a friend who kept running into you all day, not someone who displaced his anger on you. 

Suddenly, Mike was turning, while the man towered over you, he had nothing on Franks. The two were eye to eye, you could see the steam coming out of Mike’s ears as the smirk on the jerk grew wide. 

“Get the fuck out of here.” That was all the control Mike had in him and you knew it. 

“Wasn’t talkin’ to you.” 

Mike barely let the sentence leave the guys mouth before speaking. “But I was takin’ to you. Get the fuck out.” 

“I’m not like this bitch’s pussy ass brother, I don’t run from a fight.” 

The minute the word ‘bitch’ left his mouth was when Mike was cocking back his fist. It connected with the guy's face just as he finished speaking, and it was likely going to be the last thing he said all night. Lala, Randy, and Gibbs were all closing in the gaps within seconds of the punch. The guy squirming on the floor as he held his broken nose and the blood pooled around his knuckles. 

No one tried to stop Mike, not that they had to, he didn’t dive down for more blows although he wanted to badly. He just shook his hand out and called out an apology to Smitty and then waited for the bouncer to remove the trash on the ground. “You so much as glance at her again and I’ll make sure you’re kicked out the service and locked up for harassment and stalking.” 

“Let’s go.” His head turned to you, his eyes connecting with yours to make sure you were okay. It wasn’t the first time Mike had done this for you and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. Turning to his team, he nodded and slapped Randy on his arm, speaking as if nothing just happened. “See you guys tomorrow.” 

You were already in the passenger seat of his car by the time he got out. Turning the engine over, he didn’t put the car in gear, just sat silent for a moment as you stared out the window, thinking about your brother who was currently crashing at yours and Mike’s place. The weight of his dishonorable discharge was nothing on your shoulders in comparison to his. 

“I’m not goin’ to apologize for laying that guy out.” His words were spoken so abruptly it should have made you flinch but all it did was make you smile. Mike’s one rule. Apologies were signs of weaknesses, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have his own versions of them. He’d admit his wrongs by doing the laundry, picking up the groceries for you, coming home with one of your favorite things. Sometimes his apologies even were in the form of his tongue trailing down your abdomen before giving you an honorable concession in the form of an orgasm or two. This was the type of apology where he didn’t feel bad for what he did, but he was worried that you were mad. He continued before you had a chance to say anything. 

“Don’t listen to people like that, people who don’t know what the hell went down. You don’t let assholes like that tear you down, you hear me? You’re too good for that, you let me handle that shit, alright?” His drawl was strong in his statement, the anger still bubbling in him. 

Turning to look at him is when you saw his eyes, they were pleading for you to just take his words and agree. So you did. Grabbing his hand which was now red and inflamed from the punch, you lightly squeezed it and nodded in agreement. 

“Take me home, Franks.” 

All his tension washed away and as his shoulders fell and he leaned back in the driver’s seat, he squeezed your hand back before moving to the gear shift. 

“You got it, darlin’.”

Dividers by: realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🕵️ NCIS Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @shamelessturtlebeliever @babebaber (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

More from this universe

[bridgetjonesjunior]

The Rooftop: Peter Benton x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hobbit-habbit @cannonindeez

Summary: After a bad day you always end up on the roof.

Companion piece to:

Plastics - Peter has never had a high opinion of plastics surgeons.

The Right One - Peter makes a realisation about you when the two of you share a patient.

Horror Show - Your date with Peter is thrown off course when John Carter is brought into the ER.

When you have a bad day, you end up on the roof.

It’s the same for everybody. It’s why some wise soul decided to put a bench up there, and another added some flower pots. It’s a closest thing to a rooftop garden that anyone who works in this hospital will ever get, with the exception of Carter.

It’s after ten when Peter opens the door and steps out into the cool nighttime air, he takes a deep breath as the chilled wind assaults him before striding towards the bench where you’re lying looking up at the stars.

“You can’t stay up here tonight.” He asserts as he stands next to the bench looking down at you. You’re zipped into your winter coat all the way up to your chin, the hood pulled up over your head to keep your ears warm. Your hands are tucked into the pockets, he can tell your wearing gloves from the hem that peeks out. “The temperatures supposed to drop.”

“My coat has insulation.” You inform him, snuggling down deeper into it. “I’ll be fine.”

“Mina…” He drawls out your name like a sigh.

“Go home.” You tell him. “I’m fine.”

But you’re not, not really. Peter may not be the most observant person when it comes to his colleagues but he is when it comes to you. He knows every single tell you have, from the way you brush your hair back behind your ear when you feel self-conscious to the way your nose twitches like a rabbit when you’re trying to hide your distaste at something Rocket’s said.

“If you stay then I stay.” He informs you, stripping off his jacket and fashioning it into a pillow, setting it on the ground alongside the bench. “Which means you’re responsible when they find my ass frozen to death.”

He lays down parallel to you, his gaze fixing on the stars that twinkle up above. His palms come to rest on his diaphragm, feeling the deep rise and fall of his chest. He finds himself focusing on it, the gentle lull of his breathing.  

“There was a girl that came in tonight.” You say finally, breaking the silence. “I reconstructed her face not too long ago because her boyfriend beat her so badly that that he almost disfigured her. She was supposed to be pressing charges but it turns out she went back to him and he rewarded by pouring battery acid over her head while she was sleeping. Her lungs were so scarred from the fumes, she died in the Trauma Room.”

“Shit like that… I’ll never understand it.” Peter says into the darkness. “How can you destroy the person you’re supposed to love?”

“It’s not about love, it’s about possessing a person, owning them.” You find yourself telling him. “I used to have a boyfriend like that in Med School and when I left him… he burned down my house. This thing with her tonight, it took me back there for a minute.”

He’s always wondered about the origins of the fire that changed the course of your life. There’s always been an undertone when you’ve talked about it, something that laced with more than just the trauma you’d experienced.

“Is that why you fall asleep on the roof sometimes, it makes you feel safe?” He questions, tilting his head towards the direction of your voice.

“No.” You say softly. “He’s in prison and I have an insane amount of smoke detectors. I’m good on that front. I just… being out here it soothes something inside me, it relaxes me, helps put things in perspective and sometimes... I fall asleep.”

“Well that will not be happening tonight.” Peter informs you, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he sits up. “If you want to get out of your head there are other ways to do it.”

“Like?” You drawl out the word and he raises to his feet before pulling back your hood so he can see your face properly.

“Come with me and find out.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

The juxtaposition of being willing to die for John Carter within discussions of ER then watching him behind my pillow in his mean crybaby narcissist moments is so jarring. Also his “I love kem” era when she wanted literally nothing to do with him. Come on bro 😭

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Waiting patiently for the Pitt inspired ER watchers/rewatchers to fall in love with Sam Taggart

[bridgetjonesjunior]

The Huntress: Carl Morck x Reader (Dept. Q)

Tagging: @kmc1989

The thing about being fucked up, is that you know you’re fucked up. You can feel the way it twists you up inside, the thorns digging into your internal organs, piercing them until you’re bleeding out into your chest cavity, choking in your own blood.

That’s what it feels like for Carl every second of every day. Like he’s drowning, like every time he takes a breath the waves lap over his face, as he sinks deeper into the depths.

It’s only gotten worse since he saw you standing there at the back of that press conference, hands tucked into the pockets of those navy blue high waisted trousers if yours, the ones he drew down your thighs the night he went down on you in his kitchen. He remembers your hitched breath as his tongue traced over you through those white cotton panties, your fingers threading through his hair as he gripped your hips like a vice, pinning you against his mouth until his name rolled off your tongue.

 It doesn’t stop there, it doesn’t stop until your nails are raking up his back, your teeth biting down on his shoulder as he makes you come for a second time on his cock. He climaxes with you, the ecstasy hitting him like a tidal wave, crashing though him as he spills his release in hot white spurts into the condom.

“Not bad for a girl from Art Crimes.” He’d huffed into your ear in the aftermath and you’d bitten him again, that time a sharp nip that had made him yelp.

That thing between you, it had lasted over a year before he fucked it up and now he’s standing outside the office of one of his ghosts, wondering if he should even be crossing over the veil back into your life.

No, he decides he shouldn’t, so he turns away but it’s too late because there you with a Costa Coffee cup in your hand, a matching brown paper bag in the other.

“Were you planning to knock and run?” You ask him as you squeeze past to open the door. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, something light that reminds him of the wild flowers that swayed in the breeze that weekend away in Shetland. “Or were you just gonna stand there like an asshole?”

“I see the attitude the same.” He remarks drily, following you into your office and closing the door behind him.

The place hasn’t changed much since he was here the last time. There’s a couple of new prints on the wall. Paintings he doesn’t recognise.

Each one is a trophy, a sign of case closed, an art theft foiled or a network disbanded. You’d joked that it was like big game hunting on the Serengeti, tracking the mark, following the footprints and broken branches he left behind. The people you go after, the ones who traffic these paintings their animals. They trade them for guns, drugs, children. Anything that will fund their criminal enterprise, including acts of terrorism.

All the shit he gave you about being in the poshest unit Scotland has to offer, that’s all it was, shit.  You are fucking outstanding at your job and so fucking fearless it galls him. You’ve cut entire criminal networks off at the knees, leaving them bloody and ruined in the dirt as the light dies out in their eyes.

You clear your throat, drawing his attention back to you as you use your thumb to flick the white plastic lid off your coffee cup before tossing it in the trash as you stalk past it.

“That’s what happens when you’re ex turns up at your door.” You inform him as you take a seat behind your desk in an ergonomic chair that’s nothing like the death trap he’s riding down in the basement. “You give him shit and send him on his merry way.”

That is exactly what he did to you after the shooting. He told you that he didn’t need you, that he didn’t want you, that you were just something to waste his time on, to fuck when he needed to get his dick wet.

“I don’t know what you thought it was.” He had spat at you that first time you came to visit him in the hospital. “But it wasn’t love, not a single fucking second of it.”

He had never seen anyone shut down so fast because Carl, he knew just the right way to hurt you. You’d practically handed him the ammunition and the gun.

The sound of the paper bag rustling brings him to the present. You remove your chicken pesto panini, setting it down on the napkin beside your coffee cup before you tilt you head towards him.

“You gonna get the fuck out of here so I can eat in peace?” You ask with a glare.

“I have a case for you.” He says instead, removing the file from underneath his arm and placing it on your desk. Your jaw sets as you look at the faded manilla folder, your fingers twitching before you ball them up inside your fist. “It’s connected to the Van Gogh you told me about that day on the loch, do you remember-”

“I’ll look into it.” You say reaching for the file, but he places his palm on it, preventing you from taking it.

“No.” He says firmly, looking you straight in the eye as he issues a challenge of his own. “You want the Van Gogh, you work with me.”

“Keep it then.”  You say, sagging back into your seat and shrugging your shoulders. “I really don’t give a fuck.”

But you do, he can see it in your eyes. You can’t resist something like this, it isn’t in your nature. You’ve always been a huntress and The Poppy Flowers by Van Gogh, that is a worthy prize, something you’ve coveted for a very long time.

“You change your mind, I’ll be in the seventh circle of hell being tortured by the masses.” Carl says before he picks up the file and strides out of your office.

It’s five hours later, after making his own inquires that he returns to the basement to find you sitting on his desk. Your muddy boots are resting on the seat of his chair as you flick though the file.

It’s another fuck you, but… he got you through the door didn’t he?

“We work it down here.” You say without looking up from the glossy A4 pictures you’re viewing. “Something as big as a Van Gogh… it can’t go through my offices, someone will end up leaking.”

“Alright.” He says, folding his arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. “We’ll start the hunt here.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bridgetjonesjunior]

Am I insane or of general lower intelligence because on X Files rewatches I can easily skip all the overarching space conspiracy episodes in favour of monster of the week episodes, I don’t care about cigarette smoking man and all the conspiracies! Show me weirdos like the flukeman!